Outside, the sky had already darkened, but the banquet hall was still ablaze with light and splendor.
As for the eldest son’s filial piety, a brief mention sufficed.
Qiuyun smoothly took the bamboo tube of tea leaves. “The leaves are thick and tough, the veins bold and clear—a dark bluish-black tinged with silvery red. These are all hallmarks of tea trees grown on high cliffs facing the sun. Truly, only a tree over a hundred years old could produce such a presence.”
With those words, she drew everyone’s attention back to the main stage.
She pinched a few leaves and held them near her nose to sniff. “This tea has a wild, deep aroma—pure woodland freshness, with a hint of rocky mineral and medicinal notes. It is indeed a rare and fine batch of tea.”
She paused, then looked at Old Master Jiang. “Just now, the Seventh Miss mentioned that the old Daoist casually dried it in the sun. I venture to guess, respectfully, that what Daoist Qingxuan meant by ‘drying’ was not exposure to direct sunlight, but rather ‘shade-drying’—placing it in a ventilated spot and letting the mountain breeze wilt it naturally, thereby preserving its wild nature and medicinal fragrance.”
A true expert reveals themselves at a glance.
If everyone earlier had merely tolerated this little interlude out of respect for Young Master Pei, Qiuyun’s words now stirred genuine curiosity about her tea artistry.
Qiuyun continued. “In the classical methods, there is a saying: ‘Old tea demands intense roasting; new tea, gentle simmering.’ This tea has an exceptionally rich inner quality. Though young in age, it possesses the charm of aged leaves—so it requires intense roasting and slow brewing.”
She looked at Butler Lin. “Please fetch a small piece of ripe charcoal from pear or date wood, along with a pot of mountain spring water.”
The tea utensils had been prepared as soon as Young Master Pei selected the tea. The extra charcoal Qiuyun requested arrived quickly.
Standing before the tea table, Qiuyun washed her hands and steadied her mind.
She picked up a slender silver fire-tong, took a red-hot coal from the stove, but instead of roasting the tea directly, she held the coal three inches above the leaves.
“In ancient times, tea leaves had to be roasted to release their fragrance before grinding. This tea is wild and deep in character; it needs live flame to awaken its nature.” Her wrist was incredibly steady, moving the coal slowly above the leaves. As heat rose, the tea leaves began to curl slightly.
Instantly, an unusual aroma spread through the air. It was no longer the clear woody scent from before, but a complex fragrance, notes of burnt caramel and deep, mellow sweetness—activated and fully unleashed.
Among the crowd, the older gentlemen who knew tea leaned forward unconsciously. Only Jiang Linzhi had been frowning ever since Qiuyun started speaking.
When did Old Pei get to know her?
If she was so capable, did she really just want to stay by her sister’s side as an unknown little assistant?
After roasting for about two or three minutes, until the edges of the leaves were slightly scorched and the peculiar fragrance had fully dispersed, Qiuyun placed the roasted leaves into the grinding trough.
Then, with her right hand turning the wheel and her left hand lightly pressing the edge of the trough, she rolled it—her wrist suspended, her upper arm still, relying entirely on the subtle power of her fingers and palm.
She soon stopped grinding. The tea dust gradually took shape, and she picked up the tea sieve.
The silk mesh at the bottom was as fine as a cicada’s wing. She poured the tea dust in, held the sieve frame with both hands, using her wrists as an axis to gently sift. A fine, dusty emerald powder drifted like mist, pattering down into the crystal bowl below.
Every movement was measured, graceful, unhurried. This was no longer mere tea-making—it was an art worthy of stage performance!
Moments later, four bowls of tea liquid were arrayed before the guests. Everyone watched the color shift from an extremely pale yellowish-green, to an amber hue, settling now on a golden-rimmed orange-red.
Qiuyun placed the four bowls before the birthday celebrant, the two guests of honor, and Director Wang, lowering her eyes slightly. “I humbly present my humble effort.”
As the host, Old Master Jiang was the first to lift the bowl. The warmth seeped into his hands. The tea inside was clear and bright as amber, with a snow-white foam delicate and pure. The aroma struck his nose.
He took a sip.
The wild, medicinal notes of the tea leaves were wrapped in a soft, moist smoothness, leaving a cool, lingering sweetness and a moist tongue.
“Excellent tea—and not unworthy of his master’s hand,” Old Master Jiang praised generously, especially when he saw Mayor Pei and Minister Ruan showing equal admiration. “I didn’t know the little Seventh had such a capable person by her side.”
With a smile, Qiuyun steered the topic toward Wang Dehua. “All credit goes to Director Wang, for giving me the perfect excuse to showcase my skill before you.”
Old Master Jiang looked at Wang Dehua jovially. “True. If not for your desire to make amends, we wouldn’t have been lucky enough to drink such a fine cup of tea.”
Jiang Yihua took the opportunity to step closer, standing beside Wang Dehua to ease the mood. “Without your little incident here, this can of Laofushan tea would probably be sitting forgotten somewhere, collecting dust in Old Master’s storeroom.”
Old Master Jiang laughed heartily. “Indeed, indeed.”
After all, without Qiuyun’s apology, Young Master Pei’s selection, and Jiang Chuling’s explanation, who would have known that such a plain-looking package of tea came from the Laofushan mountain, from a single century-old tea tree?
Wang Dehua, the only one besides the birthday celebrant and guests of honor to taste the tea, felt his vanity fully gratified. “A twist of fate. A blessing in disguise.”
The surrounding onlookers quickly played along. “Who could argue? It’s no wonder the old abbot’s cliffside Fu-tea is never sold—only given to fate’s chosen. Without Director Wang being tricked, Master Jiang wouldn’t have had this cup for his birthday today!”
This turn of events perfectly matched Old Master Jiang’s mercantile philosophy. Chuckling, he said, “We must also thank Young Master Pei for his sharp eyes in recognizing the flaw in Old Wang’s purple clay pot.”
“Exactly. Young Master Pei had an affinity with the Fu-tea—he picked it out the moment he saw it.”
“Mayor Pei and Minister Ruan have raised a fine son. They will be blessed indeed.”
Socialites of such caliber were well-versed in smooth talk. With just a few words, they flattered both the host and the guests of honor.
Qiuyun let out a quiet breath. She felt she had finally passed this trial.
At the main table, beside the pudgy, flattering middle-aged man and the wrinkled old gentleman laughing obsequiously, one figure stood out—a tall, lean youth with a clean, handsome face, languid and uninterested as he rested his chin on his hand and glanced over. His presence was remarkably jarring—and very hard to miss.
For some reason, Qiuyun felt his gaze had been fixed on her the entire time.
Indeed, Pei Cizhou had been watching her all along.
When she brewed tea, her demeanor was like the tea in her hands: composed, calm, clear—leaving a lingering aftertaste.
Really, though.
After using him, she didn’t even pour him a bowl to taste. After all, it was he who had chosen the tea.
His gaze was intense. Unable to avoid it any longer, Qiuyun looked up.
Their eyes met. He raised his eyebrow slightly, and she had a vague sense of something troublesome coming.
“Assistant Miss—”
“Cizhou, go fetch the gift I picked out for Master Jiang,” Mayor Pei finally interjected, unwilling to let him cause more trouble.
Can’t stand to keep him around any longer, can they?
Pei Cizhou let out a light scoff, shrugged, and got up to inform his father’s secretary.
Qiuyun let out a long sigh.
Such a young master—she couldn’t let things continue like this.
The minor episode passed. The evening’s main events had to carry on.
After delivering the message to the secretary, Pei Cizhou turned and headed for the small garden outside, unwilling to deal with all the hypocrisy inside.
In the little garden, only the nightlights shone through the bushes. The night was deep, and there was no one around. Pei Cizhou lay sprawled carelessly on a wooden garden chair, his mind already on business matters with his company.
The company’s initial investment was still burning through cash too quickly, especially since his target audience consisted of otaku who sought nothing but perfection. Building a grand world view, exquisite character models, rich character designs, engaging interactions—especially AR devices, 3D modeling, and AI technology—all required enormous financial backing to succeed.
He massaged his temples. It would take at least another seven or eight months before the game could be launched. The money Jiang Linzhi had invested could last, at best, only half a year. As the company’s lead planner and lead programmer, the pressure he bore was unimaginable—how could he not be anxious?
“Young Master Pei.” Qiuyun stood beside the wooden chair like a ghost, speaking in a hushed tone.
