I am on the Ancient Tea Horse Road

     Tea, fragrant leaves, tender buds. That delicate touch of green, gently steeped in water, evokes the ancient charm of Jiangnan.

    From the moment they begin to grow, they are gently plucked by the warm hands of tea pickers and placed in bamboo baskets they carry. After the initial processing (killing the green), slender fingers spread each new green leaf flat on bamboo boards, then flatten, bake, and store them. Countless turnings and careful handling are the tea pickers' devout wishes and their longing for spring. The aroma of tea fills the room, making one forget worldly concerns.

    In the dry weather, a sip of clear tea gradually calms the chaotic mind; perhaps only a sense of contentment is worthy of such a feeling. Standing in the courtyard, a cool breeze blows, the heat dissipates, a faint fragrance lingers in the mouth, a subtle bitterness on the taste buds—this calm yet melancholic emotion is addictive. Okay, I admit it. Most tea lovers harbor a hidden romantic ideal. I have at least three or four books about tea at home. Back in high school, I was filled with both longing and despair, and studying these romantic and idyllic things gave me deep comfort. Was that considered neglecting my studies? I'll always remember the scene of standing by the window with a cup of hot tea, watching the snow fall, when my heart was weak, and a sense of perseverance welled up inside me. After all, it was a reflection of my true soul, like the past years reflected in water, clearly seeing myself. Now, I'm captivated by you again, intoxicated by tea, pursuing more of a carefree spirit, like clouds in the blue sky and water in my heart. In the chaotic world, a cup of clear tea silently accompanies me, washing away my impurities and sweeping away my worries.

    When I'm alone, with moonlight as my guide and pine and bamboo as my companions, I wallow in solitude, pondering the myriad flavors of life. When I gather with friends, mostly people of strong character, we are naturally spontaneous, setting aside fame and fortune, talking only about romance, transcending worldly concerns. When the rain falls, laughter chases the eaves, creating a rhythmic patter. The aroma of tea fills the room, its subtle fragrance blurring the vision and instantly touching the soul. In the depths of winter, the warmth that spreads from fingertips to the veins is captivating. A soft murmur, a gentle smile, a slow sip—disregarding any purpose or desire—whether leaning back or sitting, it's an unpretentious and elegant beauty. Tea bestows blessings upon the world, allowing those who understand and appreciate it to radiate pure freshness and naturalness.

    After reading Yuan Zhen's pagoda poem, "One-Character to Seven-Character Poem on Tea," watching the green leaves dance gracefully in the cup, I record this serene moment in this simple life. In this moment, I have attained the most beautiful elegance.

    Tea,

    fragrant leaves, tender buds,

    admired by poets and cherished by monks. Ground

    in carved white jade, sifted through woven red silk.

    Brewed in a pot, its yellow hue swirls like dust in the bowl.

    Invited by the bright moon at night, it faces the morning glow before dawn.

    Washing away the weariness of people past and present, how can one boast of its effects after intoxication?


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