The wind blows and the rhythm moves

    Chaochao ran happily in the tea room. She was already six years old, and her friends teased her that she was a "virgin," but she didn't mind at all, or perhaps she really didn't. Listening to the melodious, captivating music, all her thoughts were focused on one point: the Mengding yellow buds gracefully gathered in the cup, the buds at the bottom and on the surface of the soup seemingly drawn together by a quiet, unspoken connection. The small buds stirred countless emotions, even the slight upturn of the woman's lips.

    People who come home for tea gather around the tea table. Next week, if they go to New York or Los Angeles, they certainly won't have such a leisurely and delightful tea experience. Even if they're anxious, they wait for the tea lady to slowly pour out seven-tenths of the fragrant tea.

    Guests come, guests arrive; those who come are both guests and friends, only then can the true flavor of tea be preserved. Sri Lankan broken black tea is silky smooth and rich on the palate, its sweetness lingering on the tongue. One might jokingly say it's missing a touch of rich

    , fresh milk to truly tantalize the taste buds and tongue. It soothes everything seen and forgotten everything on the mind, allowing one to foolishly wish time could stand still for a moment. The seat faces the floor-to-ceiling window, the camera lens framing a slender figure. I love that languid, petite figure, her arm casually draped over the chair, like a veil lightly brushing against my head. No need for flash photography; just a gentle smile in the backlight is enough to melt away past sorrows and awaken the wandering soul in the city. A

    fresh, green aroma fills the air; it must be the third infusion. The dense white downy hairs of the silver needle tea leaves smile, absorbing the water molecules in the broth, unfolding their gentle charm. The tea lady is just like that—refreshing and pure, needing no processing, yet inseparable from the kiss of sunlight and its radiant glow, her body flowing with the sun's gentle, yet not overpowering, energy.

    The lively conversation over tea, and the tea itself amidst that conversation, subtly intensified the flavor. Accustomed to a light and refreshing taste, one finds the robust, roasted character of the rock tea somewhat unsettling. The new tea, not aged long enough to allow the smoky aroma to dissipate, was already invading the nasal cavity and throat, its intensity lingering even with the digestive system. A summer storm seemed imminent.

    Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the opposite bank of the river was inside; this side was us. A cool river breeze blew in, ruffling hair and stirring emotions—some reluctant to leave, some not yet home. Chaochao, somewhat excited, bounced back and forth in the chair, not yet accustomed to sitting quietly and savoring her tea.