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Tea House Embers
墨書 Inktalez
Heavy rain pounded against the Qing Stone Slab, splashing tea-colored droplets everywhere as I crashed through the cedar door of the tea house. The Zhao Brothers were busy pouring the Wuyi Narcissus left by Grandfather into the grinder. A mountain of teabag materials buried the Zisha Teapot display cabinet, and the ink on the supply order signed by Father was still wet. I grabbed a steaming bundle of tea stems from the bamboo basket and hurled it forward, causing the conveyor belt to emit a screech of burning agony. At fifteen, my left hand could still fan Grandfather to control the temperature; now, it was lodged against Zhao Er's collar like a rusty tea needle.
Water dripped from my raincoat, pooling into a thin stream at the threshold. I stared at the reflective rain stains on the Lu Yu Legacy plaque. Beneath the four gilded characters was a moldy spot, a deliberate flaw left by Father last year during the plum rain season when he claimed to be repairing the roof.
"Brother Xing, your timing is impeccable," Zhao Da said as he emerged from behind the counter with a leather ledger in hand, his work clothes smeared with tea dust. "The new equipment will be trial-produced tomorrow; you really shouldn't…," his gaze swept over my curled left hand, and he swallowed hard, changing his tone. "You shouldn’t dirty your precious hands."
I kicked a bamboo dustpan toward the grinder, and the floral aroma of Aged Tieguanyin mixed with the smell of burnt plastic. The conveyor belt creaked like it was dying, and Zhao Er rushed out from the packaging workshop, still holding a replaced cast-iron tea grinder.
"Are you crazy? That machine costs more than half this shabby tea house!"
As my mangled limb pressed against his throat, I felt his carotid pulse thumping wildly. The burns from five years ago had left my arm shriveled and claw-like, perfectly suited for embedding into flesh. "On the day you removed me from the family tree, did you ever inquire how the Chen Family dealt with traitors?"
Suddenly, there was a crash of porcelain from the kitchen. I shoved Zhao Er aside and burst through the grille door to see my mother, Zhou Yuer, smashing tea jars. A Northern Song Jian Zhan that had appeared on CCTV's antique appraisal show shattered on the blue brick floor, and her qipao hem was stained with tea paste.
"Oh, learned to use a dog to find your way?" I slammed Zhao Er into a pile of tea cakes and grabbed a copper pot used for steaming green tea. Last year, she had used this to brew Chen Pi water laced with diuretics for Grandfather.
Her fingers trembled as they brushed against her jade hairpin at her temple—a gift from Uncle Zhang before he jumped into the river after thirty years as a tea taster. "The cash flow in this tea house isn’t enough for expenses; introducing modern product lines is what the board unanimously…"
The copper pot struck the granite Tea Table with a shower of sparks. I interrupted her recitation: "The seventh brick." In her suddenly dilated pupils, I crouched down to pry up the seventh living brick from the ground. The voice recorder buried here last year was still blinking red.
"Want me to let Old Tea Drinker listen in on how you used urine lye water to pass off as spring water?" I pinched some tea stains from between the bricks and rubbed them into powder. "Or perhaps discuss that batch from Wuyi Mountain that was substandard…"
"Enough!" Father burst out from his office, his Tang Suit front still smeared with ink. I knew he had just been imitating Cha Fang's Secret Manuscript, just as he had skillfully forged Grandfather's signature on stock transfer documents last month. "This tea house needs to transform sooner or later; clinging to this broken copper and iron…"
I snatched up a tea knife and flicked open his jacket lapel to reveal hotel receipts tucked inside an inner pocket. "Suzhou Pingjiangfu Road Home Inn?!" The knife tip poked at a printed date as I laughed out loud. "Last month during that week of tea appraisal meetings, you were busy trying new teas with different women every day."
Three burly men in work uniforms came around from the backyard, and I retreated to stand in front of this season’s new tea display rack. Zhao Da wiped blood from his mouth with a sinister grin: "We've been wanting to freshen up this old tea house."
As the first steel pipe swung toward the Azure Blue Vase, I twisted open the fire hydrant behind me. A high-pressure jet of water sent them crashing into the iron tea frying pan. During last year's renovations, I had specifically replaced the firewater with chili water. Amid their pig-like screams, I stepped on Zhao Da's right hand and pulled out the USB drive from his pocket.
"Tea Master Qualification Exam Questions?" I shook the metal plate in front of the screaming man. "Let me guess, you plan to have Zhao Er replace me in next month's Tea Competition?"
Father coughed violently while supporting himself against the Tea Table, and Mother’s Jade Hairpin slipped to the ground. I unplugged the computer's Monitoring Power and retrieved the real Shou Chao Mi Ben from behind the shrine. Rainwater dripped through the roof tiles onto the cover of Chen's Seventy-Ninth Style, mixing with the bloodstains from Grandfather’s final cough into a dark brown hue.
"From today on, the teahouse will open at dawn every day." I slammed the Secret Manuscript onto the Incense Table that held Lu Yu's statue, my injured hand gripping my parents' necks and pressing them down in front of the Pillow. "I kindly ask you both to come every day to offer the first incense to the Tea God—using the lighter you’ve hidden in your socks."
In Tian Jing, twenty-three Long Benches were arranged in a dragon trap formation, and Old Tea Drinkers clutched their Jujube Wood Spoons, tapping them against their cups. The clinking sound was like a death knell, as seven elders of the council sat in grand chairs, with a copy of The Tea Classic hanging behind them, riddled with wormholes.
"It’s from shopkeeper Chen." Li Lao struck his cane against the Qing Stone Slab. He had been drinking this tea for thirty years longer than I had lived. "The Ming Qian Long Jing we pooled money to buy—why does it taste moldy?"
I stared at the dark green leaves floating in his teacup while my injured hand caressed the Blood Pact Tea Agreement on the table. The vermilion fingerprints on the sheepskin scroll grew increasingly vivid, like the blood that Grandfather coughed into my palm before he passed away.
"You’re drinking the third infusion, aren’t you?" I lifted Bronze Jug and poured it over a Tea Pet. The boiling water hit the cold porcelain, erupting into white mist. "The first infusion cleanses, and the second awakens; this third infusion…" Suddenly, I overturned Li Lao’s Tea Sea, splashing brown-yellow tea onto the Shadow Wall and staining it with large patches of grayish-white mold.
Amidst the uproar, I grabbed a tea needle and pried open his tea cake's packaging: "Oh, this Zhongcha Company seal is quite fresh." The needle tip pulled out half of an unpeeled anti-counterfeiting code, its electronic fluorescence flickering like ghostly fire in the morning light.
aunt Wang suddenly dropped her Ru Kiln Cup, shards flying beneath the shrine: "How did my five-year-old Bai Hao Yin Zhen turn into tree leaves?" She trembled as she held up a sealed jar; what should have been snow-white tea buds now bore a corpse-like grayish hue.
"Because the cold storage Transformer burned for three days." I sliced open the jar's wax seal with my tea knife; the musty smell made Old Sun in the front row cough violently. "Your son manages distribution boxes at the power company, right? Last month, our teahouse's electricity bill suddenly tripled..."
"Enough!" Li Lao swept his cane across the tea set; a Qianlong-era Doucai covered bowl shattered at my feet. "We have jointly invited Madam Zhou back to take charge!"
My mother emerged from behind a Camphor Wood Screen, her hair adorned with a new Hetian Jade Hairpin and her wrist wrapped with Hainan Huanghuali Prayer Beads gifted by Zhao Da. Eight assistants carried Veiled in Red Silk ’s Object inside; its Nanmu scent pierced through to my temples.
"Thank you for your kindness." My mother’s nails scraped across red silk, revealing an Imperial Plaque that read World's Best Tea beneath it. "Back then, my Late Husband was momentarily confused…" She suddenly choked up, pressing a Silk Handkerchief to her eye for nonexistent tears.
I kicked over the Tea Table to interrupt her performance and yanked down the dust cover from Shadow Wall. Twenty-seven Cowhide Paper Bags tumbled to the ground with a clatter, each stamped with different tea houses' wax seals. "Top-grade Dong Ding Oolong mixed with Wuyi Huang Dan; special-grade Jin Jun Mei blended with Zhenghe Gongfu—would anyone care to taste some 'good tea' from our own stock?"
In the suffocating silence of the room, I crushed the imitation Cha Fang Secret Manuscript created by Father. The real handwritten scroll had been hidden under the Altar Table for half a month, now charred yellow from the oil lamp's smoke. "Li Lao, you’ve kept this Liu Bao Tea for thirteen years…" I unfolded the rice paper soaked in medicinal liquid, and the ink revealed itself with heat: "2009 Nanning Tea Factory Inventory List."
The elderly Old Tea Drinkers suddenly curled up on the Long Bench like shrimp scalded by boiling water, trembling. My mother's fingertips pressed into the gold-painted Plaque, and I caught a whiff of the musk that seeped from her sleeves—just like that night when it was mixed into Grandfather's calming tea.
"The tea house rules," I spread out the Blood Pact Tea Agreement on the table, its sheepskin edges still dusted with incense ash from the ancestral hall. "Those who deceive customers will have their tongues burned."
Father suddenly burst out from the back room, holding a gilded tea stove. "Uncles, try this new ten-year aged Pu'er..." The ceramic pot on the stove bubbled and gurgled, but his hand trembled as he ladled out the tea soup. I recognized this stove; he had pawned it last month for gambling funds.
As my hand gripped Father’s wrist and pressed it against the stove wall, I felt the painkillers hidden in his sleeve. A scream mingled with the smell of charred flesh spread through the air, and twenty-three Old Tea Drinkers' Jujube Wood Spoons clattered to the ground.
"Can we discuss serious matters now?" I slammed the Blood Pact Tea Agreement down in front of my mother, the vermilion handprint aligned with her brow. "Either follow ancestral teachings and come to pay respects at Yin hour every day, or…" My injured hand pointed towards the large iron pot used for brewing tea in Tian Jing. "Try out the Chen Family's Tea Punishment."
It was at this moment that Lin Xiaoman entered, holding a pipa. Her light blue qipao swept over the tea leaves scattered outside the door, and her singing was softer than Wu Nong's sweet words: "Everyone, enjoy your tea—" The last note curled like a poisoned silver needle, and I noticed her heels were stained with the unique red clay from the outskirts' tea estates.
Lin Xiaoman's pipa music seeped through like rainwater into brick crevices, its three-string notes dancing between beams and pillars. I focused on the trembling green hairpin in her hair; its faint blue reflection fell perfectly into a hidden compartment beneath the Altar Table—where the real Cha Fang Secret Manuscript was concealed.
"Shopkeeper Chen’s here; would you like a cup of tea to soothe your throat?" Her nails glided over the silver strings, her tone laced with hooks. I grabbed last night's tea soup and splashed it at her; she blocked it mid-air with her paulownia pipa, causing a layer of oil to surface as wood met water.
Suddenly, Zhao Da toppled off the Long Bench, his snoring vibrating through the tea cabinet. I kicked over his Zisha Teapot rack; twenty-seven replicas of Gu Jingzhou shattered on the blue bricks without him even flinching.
"Swapping wake-up incense for calming herbs—what a clever tactic." I crushed the grayish-white remnants in the incense burner; last year my mother had used this trick to take down three Old Tea Drinkers. Lin Xiaoman’s embroidered shoe was pressing against a shard of broken porcelain, crimson seeping through her moon-white satin.
She abruptly shifted her tune to Ambush from All Sides; Gang Xian produced an ear-piercing noise. I snatched a tea needle and aimed it at Zhao Da’s midsection; just half an inch from his skin, he seized my wrist. This act of feigned sleep was more clumsy than his father's habit of mixing leaves into Pu'er tea.
"Brother Xing has quite a temper," Zhao Da’s knuckles were bruised with corpse-like purples, and I caught a whiff of mandrake wafting from his sleeve. This fool must have touched poisonous plants without washing his hands; no wonder he was twitching even while pretending to sleep.
The pipa music suddenly soared; Lin Xiaoman's hairpin shot towards the shrine. Lu Yu's clay eyes shattered, revealing a miniature camera hidden inside. I flipped my tea needle towards the beam above; sparks ignited as they cut through electrical wires, setting ablaze hanging Tea Plaque tassels.
"Water leak!" Zhao Er rushed in holding a fire extinguisher, spraying foam onto the burning Shu brocade tea flag. In the thick smoke, I felt Lin Xiaoman's icy wrist; resting in her palm was a poisonous mushroom earring: "At three quarters past You hour, Tea Pet will cry."
A sudden gust of wind swept through the back window, extinguishing the fire foam that had coated the burn scar on my injured hand. As the white mist dissipated, only a trail of wet footprints, stained with red mud, remained, winding their way to the large tea pot in Tian Jing—last night, I had clearly locked the lid, yet now it was emitting wisps of steam.
When the fragrance of Lao Jun Mei's orchids wafted in for the third time, I realized something was off with the patina on the spout of the Zisha Teapot. My injured hand crushed the head of the Tea Pet Pixiu, and the fragrant ash hidden within the clay fell into the Tea Sea—what should have been a silver-gray hue from rhinoceros horn powder now shimmered with an eerie indigo.
"Brother Xing looks terrible," my mother said as she entered with a gilded tea tray. On it sat a jade cup filled with amber-colored tea. "Drink some calming tea." A new string of Bodhi beads adorned her wrist, each bead engraved with Zhao Da's birth date.
I stared at the rainbow-colored oil film floating on the surface of the tea. Last year, Grandfather had taught me to identify poisons and mentioned that Mandrake Seed would emit a rainbow sheen when heated. Suddenly, my injured hand spasmed and knocked over the teacup, scalding tea splashing onto her embroidered shoes adorned with intertwined lotus flowers.
"Beast!" Father shouted from the accounting room, his head poking out while clutching a half-burned page from Cha Fang. I caught a whiff of burnt scent mixed with the sickly sweetness of mandrake leaves, and a chill ran down my spine—every incense burner in the teahouse was emitting green smoke.
Lin Xiaoman's pipa music seeped in from the backyard, playing "Meng Jiangnu Weeping for the Great Wall." I kicked over the tea table and pushed open the back window; cold air rushed in, mingling with the residual warmth from the iron frying pan. The boiling tea pot in Tian Jing was bubbling furiously, its surface dotted with over twenty white mandrake flowers.
My injured hand gripped the crack in the window frame; even as wood splinters embedded themselves under my nails, I felt no pain. The aroma of tea twisted into countless small snakes that slithered into my ears. I saw Grandfather crawling out from deep within the tea cabinet, his charred fingers clutching half a blood jade tea tray.
"Wake up, boy..." he rasped, his voice carrying a draft; it was my trachea that I couldn't pull back from the fire when I was fifteen. "The Tea Pet is about to cry..."
I bit my tongue and spat blood at the Tea Pet Pixiu. The sharp pain caused illusions to crack open; in reality, my mother was approaching me with a copper teaspoon engraved with the Zhao Family Tea Factory logo. My injured hand grabbed a pair of tongs from the charcoal stove and swung them wildly; her silver hairpin grazed past my temple.
Suddenly, the tea cabinet toppled over, twenty-seven jars of aged tea crashing down like waves. I rolled to the side of the iron frying pan and scooped up boiling water to splash at Zhao Er, who was chasing after me. His screams mingled with sizzling flesh sounded just like what Grandfather taught me about killing green tea during roasting.
Lin Xiaoman's embroidered shoes suddenly stepped on my back hem; her pale blue qipao brushed against the edge of the frying pan. "It's a quarter past rooster hour." She flicked her fingertip to drop an oiled paper bag containing dried heartbreak grass. "The Tea Pet needs a new core."
I pushed past her toward the altar; a hidden compartment beneath the Altar Table had been pried open slightly. The real Cha Fang Secret Manuscript was still there, but Grandfather's blood fingerprint on its cover had turned into my mother's lipstick shade. My injured hand tore open Pixiu's belly; what I pulled out wasn't aged tea stems but half a pack of unburned Mandrake Seeds.
Suddenly, there was a sound of shattering porcelain from the kitchen as I stumbled through the lattice door. Father was pouring an entire basket of Mandala Flowers into the boiling tea pot; steam made his eyes bulge like those of a goldfish. I swung a jujube wood tea tray at him; thirty years' worth of hard wood burst open into blood flowers on his forehead.
"Brother Xing is possessed!" Mother screamed as she rang a copper bell, and eight attendants rushed over wielding Tea Forks. I ripped off the red cloth covering the altar to wrap around my injured hand; fabric soaked in Black Dog Blood became hot upon contact with heat—Grandfather had used it to extinguish flames on my left hand years ago.
Lin Xiaoman's pipa string suddenly snapped; Gang Xian howled as he sliced off half of Zhao Da's ear. In a shower of blood droplets, I knocked over the Incense Table; Grandfather's memorial tablet crashed into the boiling tea pot, sending toxic flowers floating in water that poured onto Qing Stone Slab and released plumes of white smoke.
When the thunder struck the Old Huai Tree, I was kneeling in the ancestral hall, polishing Grandfather's tablet. The smell of burnt wood mixed with the musty scent of old tea wafted in as Zhao Er, holding an oiled paper umbrella, shouted through the rain, "The storeroom has been struck by lightning! Water is rushing in!"
As I rushed into the backyard, the eighteen jars of sealed tea had turned into a sea of flames. Rainwater poured over the surface of the ceramic jars, creating plumes of white smoke. I kicked open the fireproof lid—what should have been filled with fine sand was instead half-filled with rainwater, and the soaked mugwort floated like dark green duckweed.
"Brother Xing, don’t!" Lin Xiaoman suddenly lunged at me from the Moon Gate, her pale blue qipao singed by the Fire Tongue. I shook her off and dashed toward the fire, grabbing a copper tea wash and smashing it against the window. Amidst the sound of shattering glass, a fire dragon leapt out.
The flames licked at the plaque that read "Tea and the World," and the cracks that Grandfather had repaired three times with gold paint were melting away. I burst through a side door and felt for the iron wok used for frying tea; an underground channel buried during last year's renovations was spraying water—yet instead of a powerful jet, it sputtered like an old man urinating.
"The water pipe valve was just replaced last week!" Zhao Da pretended to fight the fire with a fire axe, but instead swung it at the bamboo water pipe. I swung the iron wok and struck his knee; he fell into a burning pile of tea, and I caught a glimpse of a half-exposed Magnesium Strip package from his pocket.
Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from the fire scene as twenty-seven sealed jars simultaneously shot out blue flames. As Lin Xiaoman pulled me out of the storeroom, I clutched a piece of unburnt Magnesium Strip—it was precisely from Zhao Family Tea Factory's custom packaging.
When the torrential rain extinguished the last ember, council elders rushed in over wet tea leaves. Li Lao poked at the charred ground with his cane: "According to Article Eight of the Blood Pact Tea Agreement, those responsible for burning ancestral property must..."
"Offer a severed finger as penance." My mother interjected, holding a deformed copper teaspoon, her Jade Bracelet reflecting the chaos around us. "Please forgive us with our ancestral artifacts."
As I was pressed against the threshold of the ancestral hall, I saw Father adjusting the newly installed surveillance camera. The Azure Wind Antelope lay submerged in rainwater, its blade glinting with a deep blue hue soaked in medicinal liquid. Lin Xiaoman suddenly struck her pipa, while Gang Xian sliced through the rain curtain: "The Tea Pet is crying!"
In that moment of distraction among everyone present, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a fragment of Magnesium Strip: "The mugwort in the fireproof jar has been replaced with phosphorus powder, and the valve core of the water pipe has been coated with a flame retardant—would you all like to taste tea brewed with modern technology?"
Zhao Da recoiled, clutching his burned arm. I stepped on his pant leg and yanked out an entire box of Magnesium Strips. The downpour washed away the steel stamp on the packaging marked Tea Factory; Father’s bank statement from Swiss Bank hidden beneath his Tang Suit got soaked, smudging ink into claw-like accusations.
Eighteen Azure Porcelain Tea Bowls lined up on a long table for judgment as I held onto my worm-eaten Shui Xian Tea with a cold smile. Father had specifically chosen an auspicious day; even the torrential rain paused precisely at fifteen minutes past noon, allowing sunlight to pierce through puddles on Tian Jing and blind everyone at the judging table.
"This round will be judged based on new brewing methods." Li Lao struck a copper gong as three influencer judges raised their cups filled with cream tea. "Shopkeeper Chen's tea variety... wow!" Just as his fingertip brushed against my prepared tea jar, it was instantly stained by mold.
The string on Lin Xiaoman's pipa suddenly snapped half a note; I caught sight of silver needles slipping from her sleeve. Father's hand pressed down from behind the judging table—that was our childhood agreement for cheating signals; now he used it to pronounce my death sentence.
"Wait." I overturned the tea table with my damaged hand, the blue porcelain bowl shattering into sharp crescent shards. "Since it's a new rule, let me fetch some fresh water." I kicked aside Zhao Er, and the creaking of the wheel echoed as the judges craned their necks, straining against their nooses.
Water from the well splashed onto the Qing Stone Slab, leaving a fan-shaped mark. I scooped up half a ladle and poured it over Father’s shoes. "Would you care to taste this 'Old Well Sweet Spring'?" The hem of his Tang Suit immediately showed white stains from urine residue; it was time to settle last year's account for dumping chemical waste into the well.
As the tea kettle boiled under the judges' watchful eyes, I deliberately let some tea leaves fall into the fire pit. The genetically modified tea variety cultivated by Father emitted a fluorescent glow when heated, casting a blue-green light that spread through the well water, reminiscent of those invisible transaction records on his computer.
"This tea soup..." The internet celebrity judge began to speak but was drowned out by Lin Xiaoman's off-key pipa performance. She sang "Mu Lian Saves His Mother," but her rendition of "Eighteen Layers" was particularly haunting. I lifted the Bronze Jug high and poured low, causing the urine residue to agitate the inferior tea leaves violently.
As the tea soup entered the cup, a honeycomb-shaped vortex formed on the surface. When the judges leaned in for a closer look, twenty-seven bubbles suddenly burst, and the water patterns spelled out "Parricide." Father attempted to overturn the Tea Sea in anger, but I clamped my damaged hand around his wrist and pressed it against the scalding kettle wall.
"Do you know where this well water comes from?" I pulled back his sleeve to reveal scars burned by Magnesium Strips. "On this day last year, during a stormy night, someone dumped two tons of industrial alkali into the well." The tea soup splashed onto the blue bricks, sending up white smoke and corroding honeycomb-shaped holes.
Lin Xiaoman's broken-string pipa suddenly erupted with "Ambush from All Sides." Seizing the moment, I flipped open Father's collar, allowing the judges to clearly see the Zhao Family Tea Factory logo tattooed on his neck. Li Lao jabbed his cane into Father's Tang Suit. "So that's how you earn your judging fees!"
Suddenly, Tian Jing unleashed a torrential downpour. The fluorescent tea variety cultivated by Father transformed into phosphorescent fire amidst the rain. I retrieved a fragment of Magnesium Strip and struck it against the bluestone, igniting sparks that set ablaze all the spilled tea soup, illuminating his fraudulent ledgers in stark clarity.
"The Doucha Eighth Rule." I stepped on Father's back, his face pressed against the well water's etched "Parricide" indentation. "Those who disrupt tea with sorcery..." Lin Xiaoman's silver needle pressed against his Adam's apple continued, "Should be subjected to Tea Punishment."
The third tea stain from soot ink spread across rice paper finally revealed the exact time when the manuscript was tampered with. I stared at the sundial light spots leaking from the beams of the tea room; with my damaged hand, I crushed half a block of aged ink—exactly what was offered as tribute on my mother's birthday.
"Brother Xing has a nose sharper than a Tea Dog." Lin Xiaoman leaned against the tea cabinet adjusting her strings while Gang Xian drew blood from her fingertip. "The smell of ink mixed with corpse oil reminds me of your mother’s osmanthus oil for her hair."
When I kicked open the hidden room door, twenty-seven camphor wood boxes had already been pried open halfway. Father's hidden teaware lay scattered across the floor; that square Xu inkstone had a missing corner directly aligned with marks indicating three quarters past yin—exactly when the Secret Manuscript was swapped.
"Looking for this, good nephew?" Zhao Da swung down half a scroll of manuscript from above, its edges stained with my mother's signature rouge. I threw out a tea needle that pinned his pant leg; as he fell, the soot ink stick in his arms rolled into the charcoal basin, and rising blue smoke formed an outline resembling my mother’s handprint.
Lin Xiaoman suddenly played "Guangling San," causing Gang Xian to rattle against the cabinet doors. I overturned an entire row of cabinets; from an empty compartment eaten away by insects floated a piece of yellowed rice paper—my mother’s draft imitating Grandfather’s handwriting, with tea stains leaving an osmanthus fingerprint at "Seven Infusions Method."
"This manuscript should have gone into the stove." Clutching onto the impersonated Secret Manuscript with my damaged hand, as flames licked at its corner, my mother's scream pierced through window paper. When she burst through the wooden door of the tea room, her jade earrings snagged on a soot ink stick that originated from within the charcoal basin.
"I'm afraid it will end up in the pig cage." I threw out the Copy of the Original, and the rice paper unfurled in mid-air, transforming into a soul-calling banner. My mother, her hair disheveled, lunged toward the charcoal basin. As the Fire Tongue swept away half of her sleeve, I caught a glimpse of the hidden code tattooed on her inner wrist, marking her connection to the Zhao Family Tea Factory.
Lin Xiaoman's pipa suddenly played "Dou E Yuan," while Gang Xian swept away the dust from the beams above. I stepped on my mother's neck, and as she struggled, her Jade Hairpin pierced Zhao Da's foot, dark green blood dripping onto the pine soot ink stick, forming a string of Swiss Bank account numbers.
"Last year during the Ghost Festival, the ancestral hall flooded..." I pinched a charred page from a Secret Manuscript, "What you added to the eternal lamp was not Tung Oil." My hand gripped her chin tightly, and the mixture of soot ink and charcoal dust smeared across her lip lines matched perfectly with the fingerprints on the Cha Fang's title page.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash from outside the tea house as twenty-three Old Tea Drinkers surrounded us with torches. Li Lao raised his cane, pointing at the Blood Pact Tea Agreement; the firelight illuminated my mother's shoulder where she bore the secret mark of the Tea Factory. In front of everyone, I burned the forged Secret Manuscript. The watermark that appeared in the ashes was exactly what Zhao Da had stolen from last year's auction—the Forgery Seal.
As the Thousand-Jin Tea Cask cracked open for the third time, I caught a whiff of the corpse oil hidden within my father's Gongmei Tea Brick. Lin Xiaoman's silver needle pressed against my lower back; her muscles beneath her pale blue qipao were taut like a high-quality tea bowstring.
"Brother Xing should seal the jar now." Zhao Er pushed over a Tea Cart, its wheels creaking ominously. My injured hand brushed against the sandalwood sealing pestle; new steel spikes welded at its base glimmered with a peacock blue—this was the same poison found under the fingernails of last month's missing Tea Appraiser.
The Tea Altar suddenly sank half an inch as cracks appeared in the Qing Stone Slab floor. My father's tea offering tray tilted slightly, aged Pu'er flowing through a hidden channel into a crevice. I kicked over the Tea Cart, crashing it into the Mechanism Hub; twenty-seven gears snagged Zhao Er's pant leg.
"Unfilial child!" My mother hurled a Tea Towel around my neck; the fabric woven with gold threads and Peacock Feathers tightened around me. I hooked my injured hand onto an iron chain beneath the Altar Table; my grandfather's lock for securing his Tea Dog fit perfectly around her ankle.
The stench from the Cellar erupted, toppling the altar. I felt claw marks on the wall—five deep grooves embedded with my grandfather's Jade Ring. Lin Xiaoman's pipa suddenly emitted an ominous sound; Gang Xian severed a poison needle shot from the shadows, its tip embedding itself into the surface of the Tea Altar, forming a blue pattern that spelled "Patricide."
"Listen to this." I pressed down on a Recording Button hidden within Lu Yu's statue; my father's drunken voice erupted in the cellar: "The old man discovered Tung Oil mixed in Pu'er... he can only be sent away..." My mother's scream mingled with the roar of restarting gears. As Zhao Da swung his Tea Axe toward me, I threw out an iron chain to ensnare his neck.
At that moment when the Tea Altar completely sank into the Cellar, I leaped onto a beam using my mother's back as leverage. The knot my grandfather had taught me to tie when identifying tea two decades ago came in handy; it secured my father upside down above a trap of poison needles. Lin Xiaoman's silver needle accurately pierced into the Mechanism Hub; sparks ignited as gears jammed together, setting fire to Tung Oil.
"Does this Fire Control look familiar?" I waved my recording pen close to my father's bloodshot face. "You also used Tung Oil to burn Grandfather." As Fire Tongue licked at his Tang Suit hem, I smelled that same burnt odor reminiscent of the ancestral hall fire.
When Zhao Brothers' Chopper struck against a Plaque joint, I found myself dangling from a broken eave. The agony of my limb wedged in between roof tiles jolted me awake; blood flowed down along the gilded strokes of "Lu," as if adding a new annotation to our ancestral teachings.
"Brother Xing, hold on!" Lin Xiaoman's Gang Xian shimmered like silver nets in the rain curtain as Zhao Er raised his Tea Fork to stab at my waist. I shattered a tile from the eave; when sharp porcelain shards embedded into his eyeball, blood mixed with rainwater wrote out a verdict on Qing Stone Slab.
In the moment of tilting, I bit down on the hanging tea flag rope and swung towards the opposite side. The remnants of broken limbs severed the knot, and the century-old plaque grazed Zhao Daitou's scalp before crashing down. His hand, still embedded in the mortise and tenon, was frozen in place. Lin Xiaoman's pipa case suddenly sprang open, and the spare Gang Xian wrapped around my waist.
The iron tea pan glowed red in the pouring rain as I dragged Zhao Er by his collar and threw him towards the surface of the pan. The smell of charred flesh mixed with cries for mercy, reminiscent of the commotion when Grandfather taught me to roast tea. "The first rule of Chen Family Tea Punishment..." I scooped up boiling water and poured it over his severed wrist, "Those who betray their master shall be scorched."
Suddenly, my mother rushed out from the corridor, gripping a tea needle aimed at my back. I spun to avoid her strike, and as the steel needle pierced Zhao Da's throat, her jade bracelet reflected the horrific scene of Father in the cellar fire. Lin Xiaoman's Gang Xian wrapped around her neck three times, binding her like a zongzi for the Dragon Boat Festival.
"It's time to wrap this up." I kicked open the hidden door of the ancestral hall, revealing twenty-three Old Tea Drinkers huddled beneath the Altar Table, trembling. Li Lao's cane tip hung with the Blood Pact Tea Agreement, and the sheepskin scroll had been soaked in blood, transforming into a spirit-summoning banner. I grabbed the Zhao Brothers and pressed them against the Tea Plaque; their backs were seared with marks that perfectly completed the characters for "Legacy."
As morning mist rolled over ninety-nine stone steps, I ascended to the altar holding a tea residue testing cup. Twenty-seven Azure Blue Vases lined up on a long table like instruments of accusation, each filled with decades' worth of tea residue from those involved.
"The first brew washes away sins." I scooped boiling water over Aunt Wang's Tea Pet; after ten years of accumulated tea residue met heat, green crystals emerged—just like the industrial alkali she had poured into the well. As the old woman slumped to the ground, I caught sight of a Swiss Bank key hidden in her hair.
Lin Xiaoman's broken-string pipa played "Yangguan Sandie," while Gang Xian swept across the rim of a tea jar. As my mother was forced to swallow her own jar of tea residue, I recognized among it Mandrake Seeds—identical to those mixed into her calming tea that night. The bulging veins on her neck mirrored Father's tragic state in the cellar fire.
The last half pot of boiling water was poured three times over the Secret Manuscript; the ink twisted into Grandfather's face in the steam. "Seventy-Ninth Tea Recipe..." I raised my hand and tossed the burning remnants into the Tea Sea, "Perhaps it’s better to rewrite it."
In the flames, Lin Xiaoman's silver needle inscribed new rules onto the Qing Stone Slab. The sunlight leaking through Tian Jing perfectly dried out the final stroke; ashes from the charred Secret Manuscript were swept up by the wind and fell upon the Wild Tea Tree that had grown atop Father's grave.
(End of text)
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