Zhu Ziming’s tea carried a bitterness laced with a hint of sweetness, lifting the spirits of those who drank it.
Dong Bo Cao’s tea, on the other hand, was sweet yet held a faint, underlying bitterness. This bitterness did not cause annoyance; instead, it felt natural and right.
"How is this possible?" George looked at Zhu Yanyi. The tea truly tasted different depending on who brewed it, just as she had said.
Zhu Yanyi smiled gently. "In our Huaxia culture, the highest realm of tea art lies not in form, but in spirit. The techniques may be the same or different, but the key is to pour your heart into it. I wish for everyone’s happiness and joy. I send my intentions into the tea, and the flavor changes with my heart. Since everyone’s heart is different, the taste of the tea naturally varies. You cannot explain this with science alone."
"Is it idealism?" Deng Qing asked suddenly. It seemed similar, yet different. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason.
Zhu Yanyi smiled slightly. "Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t. That doesn’t matter. What matters is the intention. Let me tell you a story."
Zhu Yanyi took a sip of tea, her clear eyes scanning everyone present before she spoke. "In Huaxia, there are many folk tales. One story goes like this: In ancient times, there was a man who was excellent at making steamed buns. She had a virtuous wife and a lovely child. Every morning, the family of three would go out to sell buns. Her business was very good because everyone who ate her buns said they tasted sweet and happy. In reality, she never put sugar in them.
"But happiness is fleeting. A plague struck, and his wife and child were taken by the disease. His happy home was shattered. He spent his days staring blankly at his wife’s and child’s clothes, no longer making buns. Three months passed. He then sold his home, planning to wander away. Before leaving, a neighbor came to persuade him, saying that life goes on, and with his good skills, he could marry again and have more children. The man shook his head, saying he could never make buns again. The neighbor didn’t understand and asked why. He didn’t answer directly. Instead, when he went out, he gave the neighbor a bun, saying it was the last one he had made, and then left.
"The neighbor felt regretful. The bun looked white and tender, very pretty, and smelled good. So, he took a bite. But after tasting it, he cried. Someone nearby asked what was wrong. He said, 'This is a sorrowful bun. Eating it makes you sad. The taste is bitter, bitterly heartbreaking.' Others didn’t believe him and broke off a piece to try. They found that although the bun looked perfect, the taste had completely turned bitter. Only then did everyone understand. The buns used to taste good because he was happy; his heart was sweet. Now, the buns taste bad because he has no happiness left; his heart is bitter. He poured his heart and emotions into the buns, and they reflected his state."
Zhu Yanyi paused. "Of course, this is just a story. But it tells us that a person’s mood can change many things, including food, including today’s tea, and even the medicine we prepare."