Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Essence of Tea Steeped in the Heart

In the early morning, a light rain had fallen, gently moistening the ground. A soft breeze rustled through, shaking the pear blossoms loose so they fluttered down in a flurry, carpeting the earth.

An Yi reached out to catch a few petals, placing them in her mouth.

“Sister, if you didn’t eat enough for breakfast, you shouldn’t eat raw flower petals. You’ll get an upset stomach,” An Jian said, pulling a paper packet from his pocket. “I have two buns here, still warm. Take them.”

“No need. I’m full. I was just thinking whether pear blossoms could be made into a dish,” An Yi replied, catching a few more petals and eating them.

An Jian’s eyes lit up as he swallowed. “Sister, don’t just think about it—let’s pick pear blossoms and cook them at home. I bet they’ll taste great, just like locust flower cakes.”

“Alright, let’s clear the weeds, pick flowers, and I’ll make pear blossom tenderloin for you.” An Yi put on her gloves and went to the field to pull weeds.

An Jian stuffed the buns back into his pocket and cheerfully went to help weed.

Han Songyan mimicked An Yi, catching a few petals in his hand and putting them in his mouth. There was a faint sweetness; his lips curled in a smile. He looked forward to the pear blossom tenderloin she had mentioned.

After more than an hour of weeding, An Jian was still energetic, but An Yi showed signs of fatigue. She went to the grass pavilion and sat down to rest. After a while, she boiled a pot of water and brewed tea, calling out loudly, “Fourth Young Master, Second Brother, come have some tea to quench your thirst.”

Han Songyan removed his gloves and walked toward the pavilion.

An Jian, impatient, ran over, grabbed a cup, and drank. An Yi was about to warn him that the water was freshly boiled, but he had already scalded himself and spit out the tea, crying out in pain.

An Yi frowned. “Second Brother, why are you in such a hurry?”

“You said it’d quench my thirst, so I thought it was cool! Who knew it’d be this hot? My tongue’s about to be cooked!” An Jian was in so much pain that his eyes were brimming with tears.

“All right, all right, I misspoke. I should have said, ‘Come savor some tea,’ that way you wouldn’t have burned yourself.” An Yi admitted her mistake sincerely.

“Quick, check if my tongue is swollen. If it is, I won’t be able to eat lunch, just drink porridge. Mother said she’d stir-fry duck for lunch, and there’s pear blossom tenderloin—I won’t be able to eat any of it.” An Jian, thinking about the good meal ahead, swallowed.

An Yi looked at his greedy expression, half amused, half exasperated at this glutton. “Stick your tongue out and let me see.”

Han Songyan stood outside the pavilion, smiling as he watched the siblings.

An Jian stuck his tongue out as far as he could, mumbling, “Is it swollen? Is it swollen?”

“Second Brother, don’t talk, your saliva is spraying all over my face.” An Yi wiped her face with a handkerchief, not showing the slightest sign of annoyance. She examined An Jian’s tongue closely. “It’s not swollen, just a little red. Rinse with well water later and it’ll be fine. You won’t miss the duck.”

An Jian laughed and ran off, saying, “I’ll fetch water for you to wash your face.”

Han Songyan entered the pavilion, unfastened the long robe at his waist, sat leisurely on the stone bench, and took up a cup of tea. He sniffed it, sipped lightly, his eyes gleaming. He sipped again, then looked up and asked, “Xier, what kind of tea is this?”

“I picked some young leaves from wild tea trees on the mountain and fried them myself. I think it tastes all right.” An Yi had found a book called “Tea Records” in Doctor Lu’s medical texts, which described various methods of preparing tea. With some spare time, she had tried frying some herself. The first two batches were burnt; the third was successful and tasted good, so she kept it for family and guests.

“Xier, you’re too modest. This tea is more than all right—it’s a rare gem. Look, the leaves are tender green, plump and clustered, the liquor is clear, fragrant to smell, and deliciously mellow to taste.” Han Songyan praised her endlessly.

“Is it really that good?” An Yi took a sip, smacked her lips. Mellow and delicious? She couldn’t taste it—just the same faint bitterness as other teas.

“Xier, do you have any more? Could you spare me some?” Han Songyan, not as obsessed with tea as Doctor Lu, still loved good tea and shamelessly asked.

“There’s more. I’ll pack some for you when you go home.” An Yi agreed readily. She was quite pleased to have someone appreciate her homemade tea.

“Thank you.” Han Songyan stood and bowed.

Seeing his formality, An Yi smiled and stood to return a bow. “Fourth Young Master, you’re too polite.”

Just then, An Jian returned with water. “Sister, here’s water—wash your face.”

An Yi dampened her handkerchief, washed her face, and hung the wet cloth on the pavilion railing.

An Jian finished his tea in one gulp, then frowned. “Sister, I don’t want this bitter tea. Make jujube tea for me tomorrow.”

“All right.” An Yi finished her cup. “Second Brother, let’s go pick pear blossoms.”

An Jian eagerly followed her.

Han Songyan smiled, poured himself another cup, and watched the girl under the pear tree, her smile bright as spring. This place was like Eden—warm, inviting, intoxicating.

A breeze passed, and the handkerchief hanging on the railing drifted to the ground.

Han Songyan bent to pick it up. On the pure white cloth was a light blue bird—a magpie, Xier’s namesake. He hesitated, then tucked it into his pocket, packed up the teaware into a basket, moved the small stove into the grass hut, and carried the basket over.

When An Yi saw him with the basket, she locked the garden gate and took two armfuls of pear blossoms home, forgetting her handkerchief on the railing.

At home, An Yi washed the pear blossoms in a wooden basin, cut the pork tenderloin into thin strips, and prepared to cook. But the ingredients for the sauce were lacking: no MSG, cooking wine, chicken broth, or starch. She improvised, using rice wine instead of cooking wine, duck broth instead of chicken broth, and flour instead of starch.

Though the pear blossom tenderloin was not quite as intended, its flavor was unchanged, and everyone ate with relish. Han Songyan watched An Yi with a smile, full of admiration.

Han Songyan stayed at the An family for two days, helping An Yi clear the weeds from the garden before returning to the city to visit the Cheng family and find Cheng Shuangshuang.

Three days later, Han Songyan, Cheng Zhilin, Cheng Shuangshuang, and the ever-inquisitive Lady Li Wu arrived in two carriages.

An Yi was not at home; she had gone to Baicao Garden. An Kang was reading at home. He trusted Han Songyan, but not Cheng Shuangshuang, worried his sister might suffer, so he followed them to Baicao Garden.

Before they reached the garden, they heard An Yi’s clear voice, “Second Brother, push higher!”

“No, any higher and you’ll fall.” An Jian objected.

“I won’t. I’m holding tight. Push higher, push higher!” An Yi pleaded.

“No way. If you fall, Big Brother will kill me.”

“Big Brother can’t beat you now.”

Wei Yang had taught An Jian practical moves. Though An Jian lagged behind An Kang in academics, he was gifted in martial arts. As he grew older, his strength increased, and when the brothers arm-wrestled, An Kang could no longer best An Jian.

“He’s Big Brother. If he beats me, I can’t hit back.”

An Yi fell silent.

An Kang’s lips curled into a satisfied smile—the dignity of being the eldest. He opened the garden gate and called, “Second Brother, Sister, we have guests.”

An Jian steadied the swing so An Yi could get off.

An Yi saw the group behind An Kang and frowned slightly—trouble had arrived.

The group settled in the grass pavilion. An Yi made no effort to serve tea, sitting quietly beside An Kang, eyes down, pretending to be meek.

“Is this garden managed by Miss An?” Cheng Shuangshuang asked.

“Yes.”

Cheng Shuangshuang looked around. “Miss An, your garden is well tended. What herbs have you planted?”

“Just common medicinal herbs.”

“If you’re making a living selling herbs, you should grow valuable ones, like ginseng and lingzhi. That’s how you get good prices.” Li Jiayao glanced at An Yi. “If you can’t get seeds, just ask me. I can help.”

Han Songyan frowned and cleared his throat.

Cheng Zhilin glared fiercely at Li Jiayao, who glared back defiantly.

“Jiayao,” Cheng Shuangshuang called softly, tugging at her sleeve. Li Jiayao pouted and looked away, no longer locking eyes with Cheng Zhilin.

“Miss An, about last time, I’m very sorry. Please forgive me.” Cheng Shuangshuang bowed.

“It was a small matter. I didn’t take it to heart.” An Yi smiled faintly, no longer cold toward this girl who bowed out of love.

“A gentleman befriends through literature, a scholar through tea, a knight through martial arts, and a physician through medicine.” Cheng Shuangshuang’s voice was soft as early spring wind, yet still carried a hint of winter’s chill.

Listen carefully, and you’ll hear the challenge—her true aim was a contest.

An Yi smiled. “I am not friends with Miss Cheng.”

Cheng Shuangshuang’s elegant smile froze. No one had ever been so blunt with her.

“Miss Cheng, I said before—I won’t compete with you, and I meant it. Please leave.” An Yi issued her guest’s farewell.

Li Jiayao couldn’t hold back. She jumped up. “Hey, An Yi, what’s so special about you? You’re just a crude country girl, know a few herbs, and act all—”

“Quiet.” The An brothers spoke in unison.

An Jian’s booming voice startled Li Jiayao, making her shudder and stare.

An Kang stood up, coldly saying, “Our humble home cannot entertain such distinguished guests. Please leave.”

Han Songyan had hoped Cheng Shuangshuang would explain herself so An Yi could let go of her resentment and continue selling medicine to Ji Huai Hall. But Cheng Shuangshuang had other motives, and with Li Jiayao causing trouble, the situation worsened, not only failing to ease An Yi’s anger but also provoking An Kang.

Han Songyan, usually gentle, was angered but restrained himself from reprimanding Cheng Shuangshuang and Li Jiayao in front of everyone. He stood and cupped his hands. “My apologies.”

With those words, he turned and left.

“Fourth Cousin, wait for me!” Cheng Shuangshuang chased after him.

Cheng Zhilin followed Han Songyan’s example, stood and cupped his hands. “An Kang, Little Sister An, apologies, apologies.”

“Fatty Cheng, Fatty Cheng, stop right there!” Li Jiayao shouted as she ran after him.

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These past two days, relatives came for their monthly visit and I haven’t been feeling well. I’m working to adjust and hope to update during the day tomorrow so you won’t have to wait until evening. Thank you all for your understanding!