AVRL 2

Meng Chi had come to know Song Min through his friend Chen Yan, who had just been heartbroken and immediately fell for Yu Tingzhi at first sight, shouting “dream guy.” Chen Yan and Song Min were both students at Zewu University—one a junior, the other a freshman, in different departments and different majors, but they were in the same student club, so they had some mutual connections.

Song Min wanted to buy some tea as a gift for his elders, so he asked in the club’s group chat where in Zewu he could find top-quality tea. Chen Yan, being close to Meng Chi, saw the message and casually recommended Youran Teahouse.

When Song Min came to Youran Teahouse to buy tea, he happened to catch Meng Chi’s master, Yang Zhengfeng, performing a tea ceremony. Song Min found it quite intriguing and decided to make tea culture the research topic for his traditional culture course. After that, he frequently came to the teahouse to drink tea and watch the tea performances.

Song Min looked young, with an innocent, boyish quality that stood out among the crowd of older patrons, so Meng Chi could hardly miss him. Of course, at first, what caught Meng Chi’s attention was that Song Min had a pair of delicate, exquisite hands, which had a soft, graceful elegance when holding a tasting cup.

As time went on, Meng Chi and Song Min grew familiar with each other, and Meng Chi would teach him some basics of tea art. Meng Chi, who had been naturally inclined toward men from the start, after spending more time together and seeing Song Min’s gentle temperament and considerate nature, began to develop some special feelings for the sweet and well-behaved Song Min, and started thinking about taking things further.

A few days earlier, Song Min had wanted to buy a set of tea ware suitable for beginners but couldn’t find the right one in the shop. Meng Chi then offered to take him to a porcelain factory on the outskirts of town to pick some out, which led to today’s planned date.

Now the date had fallen through, and he’d also discovered a possible romantic rival. Meng Chi felt rather disheartened, but he didn’t go up to greet Song Min and turn one person’s awkwardness into three people’s awkwardness.

After all, Song Min had chosen to stand him up and rush to the hospital to see Yu Tingzhi—clearly, Yu Tingzhi was more important than their date. If Meng Chi went over now, he’d be facing the blunt reality that in his first confrontation with his rival, he’d lost completely.

No way.

That rear-end collision hadn’t caused much damage to Meng Chi’s car. By evening, the 4S dealership called to tell him he could pick it up.

After getting his car back and returning to the teahouse, Meng Chi was startled by the full house.

With the current slump in the brick-and-mortar economy, and neither being peak tourist season nor a special event day, it was very rare to see the teahouse so packed.

Seven years ago, when Meng Chi first came to Youran Teahouse, it had only been a small tea shop with a modest storefront. The owner, Yang Zhengfeng—Meng Chi’s master—had won a silver award at a provincial tea ceremony competition, gaining some modest fame in the tea arts circle.

Afterward, he used the prize money to buy the shop next door, converting it into a teahouse with five private tea rooms and a performance hall. He named it “Youran Teahouse” after his eldest daughter, Yang Youran.

Over the past seven years, tea culture had continued to develop, but Youran Teahouse had started to decline. One reason was its location: a few years earlier, the government had converted the nearby old residential area into a new campus, and the older generation had moved out of Mingshi Street, making it a young people’s territory.

Within a hundred meters of Youran Teahouse, there were six bubble tea shops. Traditional tea drinks faced a severe impact from fast-moving consumer beverages and had almost lost the youth market.

However, tea is, after all, one of the “daily necessities” alongside firewood, rice, oil, salt, soy sauce, and vinegar. Though Yang Zhengfeng was now somewhat past his prime in the tea arts world, he had spent decades in Zewu and still retained a base of loyal, older customers. Plus, with Meng Chi as an up-and-coming tea artist, Youran Teahouse hadn’t completely fallen into obscurity.

But a near-full house like today, before the spring new teas had even hit the market, was still quite unusual.

As soon as Meng Chi stepped through the door, he was met by the low hum of chatter inside. Yang Zile, who helped out part-time as a server, spotted him and immediately trotted over. “You’re finally here.”

“Why so many people today?” Meng Chi asked. “Where’s Master? Why isn’t he around?”

“My dad? He should be at home,” Yang Zile replied casually, pulling Meng Chi further inside. “Never mind him. Anyway, all these ladies are here for you today. Hurry up and get yourself together—go out there and brew them a pot.”

“Here for me?” Meng Chi looked around and noticed that most of the customers tonight were young women. On the natural-wood tables, besides the teaware provided by the teahouse, there were also quite a few milk tea cups—probably from nearby college students.

“Yeah, you’ve gone viral,” Yang Zile said. “A couple of days ago, I filmed a video of you and posted it on our shop’s Weibo. That video blew up, and our shop got a boost too. So now, they’re all here to check out the ‘genuine tea master.'”

They entered the back prep room, and the noise immediately died down. Yang Zile was still excited and didn’t forget to take a jab at his father. “My dad’s always saying I’m just causing trouble with my antics, huh? Hmph! When he sees how many people are here today, I’ll see if he still has anything to say.”

As the son of a veteran tea artist, Yang Zile was naturally very familiar with tea. But he’d just turned eighteen and was still in his senior year of high school, without a tea artist certification.

Yang Zhengfeng, who didn’t have much formal education himself, wanted Yang Zile to get a good diploma before learning tea culture.

But Yang Zile, in the throes of rebellion, was a poor student. Compared to studying, he preferred helping out at the shop, finding ways to boost business, and exploring self-media to save the teahouse’s failing fortunes.

However, the Weibo account he’d set up had little attention besides his own. When Yang Zhengfeng found out, he scolded him for neglecting his studies and wasting time online, adding more strain to their already tense father-son relationship.

Now, with this unexpected viral fame bringing in customers, Meng Chi didn’t know if Yang Zhengfeng would concede, but he could tell Yang Zile was quite pleased with himself—though he was still confused.

“Wasn’t that Weibo account just full of bots you bought? Did my handsome face bring them to life or something?” Meng Chi asked.

“Okay, I admit you’re pretty good-looking, but remember—you’re a tea master, not some oil-field pretty boy, alright?” Yang Zile rolled his eyes and shoved him toward the changing room. “Go change. Time to come out and serve the guests.”

Meng Chi: …

Fair enough, he supposed.

Meng Chi was indeed good-looking. He had round, almond-shaped eyes with slightly pointed inner corners and upturned outer corners, giving a hint of sharpness. His eyelids were broad, his brow bones high, and his nose bridge straight and sharp as if carved, yet without being overbearing. Between the outer corner of his right eye and the end of his brow, a small mole sat like a dot of ornament. Paired with his thin lips shaped like Cupid’s bow and his naturally smiling expression, he had a bit of a roguish charm—the kind of fresh, youthful look that was very popular nowadays.

Because he was always on the move, heading to the countryside during the new tea season, his complexion was a healthy light wheat tone. Coupled with the deep influence of his tea artist profession, Meng Chi had a restrained aura and a certain poise rare in someone so young. He was handsome and worth lingering on.

This quality would fully emerge when he brewed tea, radiating from every movement, every smile and glance.

Although the teahouse’s business had declined over the past couple of years, its decor still maintained a certain style. The interior leaned toward a neo-Chinese aesthetic, preserving traditional Chinese rustic elegance while blending in modern fashion. On both sides were low couches and square tables, as well as semi-open spaces separated by bamboo blinds. The inner wall featured a moon-shaped open window connecting to the lush laurel tree in the courtyard.

In the center of the hall was a small indoor waterscape, with the backdrop featuring a couplet inscribed by Zewu’s famous calligrapher, Mr. Yu—”In solitude, often reflect on one’s own faults; in casual talk, never gossip about others.” To the right and slightly centered stood a half-human-height wooden carving shaped like a vertical konghou. In the very center was a long wooden table, on which sat a set of the six tea gentlemen¹ and the six-piece tea set² in matching wood tones.

This served as the performance stage for tea ceremonies. The stone platform and table on the waterscape could be rearranged according to the scene, allowing for different performance styles tailored to the tea artist.

Since most of the audience today were young women, Meng Chi chose jasmine tea. He changed into a cream-colored Tang-style cardigan with subtle white crane patterns embroidered in dark threads, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal a warm yellow lining, paired with wide-at-the-top, tapered-at-the-bottom casual pants in the same color scheme, and white sneakers with warm yellow trim. That touch of warm yellow complemented his top, balancing out the inherent agedness of the Tang-style outfit, making him look youthful yet with a flowing, ethereal grace.

As soon as Meng Chi sat down at the performance stage, the room fell quiet, with only the slow, gentle sound of a flute playing from the speakers.

With his back straight, Meng Chi shed all his roguish airs. A faint smile on his face, he gave a slight nod to the gazes cast his way, made a simple bow of courtesy, and began brewing tea.

For the tools, Meng Chi used his most frequently relied-on all-purpose white porcelain covered bowls. Based on the number of people present, he selected five identical covered bowls, each adorned with a white crane spreading its wings. After lining them up in a row, he lifted a long-spouted kettle and moved it evenly from side to side to pour hot water in.

He warmed all the tea vessels in turn, finally pouring the waste water into a round, lidded tea basin.

Once that step was done, he used a tea scoop to transfer the leaves from the tea scoop holder into the covered bowls, then poured water to brew—this time, instead of moving the kettle back and forth, he poured into each in sequence.

Amid the rising wisps of steam, Meng Chi’s expression was earnest. His movements were slow but never sluggish, even the arc of the water carrying a natural, effortless grace.

About two minutes later, he picked up the first covered bowl with one hand, slowly positioned it over a glass cup at the head of the table, then flicked his wrist in a crisp ninety-degree turn, and the stream of tea poured into the glass.

After the first infusion, Meng Chi set down the covered bowl, opened its lid and placed it aside, then poured the tea from the glass cup into the small white porcelain cups used for tasting.

Finally, Meng Chi smiled slightly and made an inviting gesture, signaling that the guests could now taste the tea.

At that point, Yang Zile and other staff members came forward to carry the tea on trays to each person in the room.

Once the tea reached their tables, with the fresh, floral aroma lingering at their noses, the audience slowly emerged from the tranquil, serene atmosphere of the performance and began to savor the bright-hued tea.

The magic of tea ceremony probably lies in the fact that whether one understands it or not, everyone is invariably drawn in by its own intrinsic charm, relaxing and quietly enjoying these moments over a cup of tea.

“This should be jasmine tea,” said Song Min, sitting by the window. He twitched his nose and guessed based on that faint floral scent.

Across from him, Yu Tingzhi was still gazing toward the performance stage, as if he hadn’t heard him.

Seeing this, Song Min smiled and asked again, “Brother Tingzhi, isn’t the tea ceremony performance fascinating?”

This time Yu Tingzhi heard him. He withdrew his gaze without confirming or denying it.

Just then, Yang Zile, carrying a tray, arrived at their table. Spotting him, Song Min sat up and, with practiced familiarity, took two small cups from the tray himself. “I’ve got it. Go attend to the others.”

Yang Zile recognized Song Min as a regular and didn’t stand on ceremony. He said a quick “thanks” and continued serving tea to other guests.

Song Min pushed one of the cups toward Yu Tingzhi, then took a sip from his own. “Mmm… definitely jasmine tea. Teacher Meng says this tea has a hint of white sugar sweetness, but I can’t quite taste it. Brother Tingzhi, give it a try.”

Yu Tingzhi asked, “Teacher Meng?”

“Ah, that’s the tea artist from just now,” Song Min said. Just then, a burst of cheerful laughter came from near the performance stage, and both of them looked over.

At the far end of their gaze, Meng Chi had relaxed completely after finishing his performance. His smile was no longer the reserved, dignified one from earlier, but a somewhat roguish grin. He must have said something funny, because the young women near the stage were laughing heartily.

“Teacher Meng only really looks like a tea artist when he’s performing,” Song Min remarked casually, his tone amused but not sarcastic.

Over there, Meng Chi was carefully wiping the table dry with a brown towel and, holding the covered bowl and kettle casually, walked off the stage. Yu Tingzhi looked away. “Are you quite familiar with him?”

“More or less,” Song Min said. “The tea I gave to Grandpa Yu was bought here. Teacher Meng even gave me a discount.”

Yu Tingzhi made no comment, but his gaze flickered again toward Meng Chi’s retreating figure.

“He knows a lot about tea ceremony and has helped me a great deal with my research project. I also made plans with him to visit a porcelain factory on the outskirts—they’re having an exhibition there.” Song Min paused here and looked at Yu Tingzhi, asking, “Brother Tingzhi, would you like to come along?”

Back in the break room, Meng Chi heard a string of “ding-dong” sounds—his phone notifications.

He picked it up and glanced through them. They were all messages from Chen Yan, passionately reporting that after extensive inquiries, he’d finally found out the “dream guy’s” full name, age, and job.

Yu Tingzhi.

28 years old.

Guest lecturer at the School of Art, Zewu University.

[Damn, what twisted fate, twisted fate, twisted fate! And I even signed up for his Art History class!]

[How could he be a teacher in our department?!]

[I’m totally deflated now, you know?!]

Seeing these three messages, Meng Chi could already hear Chen Yan’s helpless, frantic howling—clearly, he was deeply regretful.

It really was twisted fate.

But if the dream guy was a teacher, why would Song Min call him so intimately “Brother”?

Was it teacher-student on the surface, and something else behind closed doors…

Meng Chi clicked his tongue. Another message popped up in the chat, successfully dispelling the unsavory thoughts in his head.

[Now I don’t even have a chance to bottom for love o(╥﹏╥)o].

Meng Chi chuckled a couple of times. He was about to type a reply to ask if Chen Yan knew the relationship between Yu Tingzhi and Song Min when Yang Zile suddenly pushed the door open.

“Ge, Song Min is here.”

“Oh?” Meng Chi’s heart lifted with joy, but then Yang Zile added, “He brought someone with him. So handsome!”

“Who?” Meng Chi first felt curious about how handsome this person could be for Yang Zile to praise him like that, but then a thought struck him, and a bad premonition formed.

When he walked out and saw the straight-backed figure opposite Song Min, that bad premonition became reality.

“…”

Meng Chi was instantly deflated too.