Rain in Hangzhou always falls differently than it does in big cities like Shanghai. If the rain in Shanghai comes like a hurried person, slamming against the glass of skyscrapers with harshness and noise, here it descends gently, as if whispering, wrapping the West Lake and the green hills in a thin, intoxicating mist.
Lin Meiying lifted her head, gazing at the shop's front window, which had begun to fog up due to the temperature difference between inside and out. Outside, the wet cobblestone street reflected the glow of the streetlights as they flickered to life, creating a beautiful yet lonely pattern of colors. Not many people were passing by this afternoon.
Meiying let out a long sigh, then lowered her gaze to arrange a row of ceramic jars on the old wooden table. The wood had turned a deep brown, its surface smooth and polished by the touch of thousands of hands over decades. This was the very same table where her grandfather used to sit, brewing tea while telling stories about the history of every leaf he picked.
"A teahouse is not merely a place to sell drinks, Meiying," her grandfather used to say, his voice raspy yet warm, his eyes squinting behind his gold-rimmed glasses. "It is a place where people come to rest, to soothe their hearts, and to find themselves again. Tea is the bridge between humans and peace."
Meiying touched the table's surface with her palm, feeling the lingering warmth of the wood. It had been a year since Grandpa passed away, and since then, the burden of maintaining this small place, called Green Tea House, had rested entirely on her shoulders. Yet, reality was far more bitter than the taste of the darkest aged tea.
The small bell hanging above the door chimed softly, breaking the silence. Meiying quickly put on her best smile—the one she had practiced so that she would not look weary in front of customers.
"Welcome," she greeted gently.
The door opened, and the cold wind, along with fine droplets of rain, entered along with the figure of a man. Meiying paused for a moment. He looked so different from the usual customers who came here. If her regular patrons were usually elderly people searching for nostalgia, or relaxed tourists, this man exuded an aura that was... sharp and impatient.
He wore a dark business suit that looked expensive, though the hem was slightly damp from the rain. His black hair was neatly combed, but a few strands were messy from the wind, giving the impression that he had been moving quickly. He was handsome, with a firm jawline and sharp eyes, yet a dark cloud seemed to hang over that gaze—a mix of exhaustion and suppressed frustration.
The man did not sit down immediately. He stood in the doorway, sweeping his gaze across the room with a critical eye, as if assessing something that did not meet his standards. His eyes paused briefly on the slightly worn wooden window frame, then shifted to the neatly arranged porcelain shelves, and finally landed on Meiying.
"Is this the address at West Lake Road, number 45?" His voice was deep, cold, and sounded impatient.
"Yes, that is correct," Meiying answered, keeping her tone soft. "Please come in and warm yourself, Sir. It looks like the rain won't stop anytime soon."
The man did not reply. He stepped inside and closed the door rather roughly, causing the bell above to vibrate loudly. He placed his thick black leather briefcase on a table near the window, then began to take off his suit jacket and hung it carelessly over the back of a chair. His movements were stiff, filled with pent-up energy.
Meiying approached slowly, carrying a small tray with a teapot and empty cups. "May I take your jacket, Sir, and dry it for a moment in the back? It will not feel damp when you wear it later."
"No need," he cut her off quickly, without looking at her. He pulled out a chair and sat down, then immediately took out a slim tablet computer from his bag. His fingers tapped rapidly against the screen, his brows furrowing deeply.
"Menu."
Meiying smiled faintly, not taking offense. She was used to dealing with all types of people. Some came happy, some came with the weight of the world on their shoulders. This man clearly belonged to the latter.
"We do not have a printed menu, Sir," she answered softly. She placed the tray on the corner of the table, keeping her distance so as not to disturb him. "Every day, we brew the best tea available. Today, we have fresh Longjing leaves picked just last week from the nearby mountains. The aroma is incredibly fresh, perfect for warming the body on a rainy day like this. Or, if you prefer something sweeter and floral, we have Osmanthus Tea mixed with a bit of local honey."
The man finally stopped tapping his screen. He looked up, staring at Meiying for the first time. His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing, as if he were inspecting the quality of construction materials.
"That's all?" he asked gruffly. "No coffee? Or bottled drinks?"
Meiying let out a soft laugh, a light and soothing sound. "I apologize, Sir. At Green Tea House, we only serve tea. Real tea, brewed with spring water and the proper method. My grandfather always said that if people want coffee or factory-made sweet drinks, they can buy them anywhere. But to find a cup of tea that can truly soothe the soul, this is the only place."
There was a brief silence. The man looked as if he was about to protest, but perhaps seeing the gentle determination in Meiying's eyes, or perhaps because he was truly too tired to argue about something as trivial as a drink, he let out a rough huff.
"Fine. Give me that Longjing. And make it quick," he ordered, then lowered his head back to his tablet, his frown deepening as he read something on the screen.
"Yes, it will be ready shortly."
Meiying returned to the brewing station in the corner of the room. This place was her sacred territory. There, a set of delicate white porcelain utensils sat ready, a small stove with water gently boiling, and a bamboo container filled with bright green tea leaves.
She took a measure of leaves with a bamboo spoon and placed them into a clear glass teapot. She did not rush. Every movement was fluid and measured, as if she were performing a sacred dance. She poured the hot water—at just the right temperature, not boiling enough to scald the tender leaves—into the pot.
Instantly, a fresh aroma drifted through the air. It was not merely the smell of leaves, but a blend of fresh-cut grass, roasted chestnuts, and a hint of sweetness like ripe fruit. The scent slowly spread, filling the small room, eventually reaching even the nose of the man who was still busy with his tablet.
Meiying watched from a distance. She saw his shoulders, which had been tense and raised high, slowly begin to drop and relax. His fingers, which had paused mid-air, now moved more slowly across the screen.
After waiting the precise amount of time—no less, no more—Meiying poured the tea into a white porcelain cup. The liquid was a clear, yellowish-green, beautiful and luminous. She brought the cup back to his table, placing it carefully right beside his tablet.
"Your tea is ready, Sir. Please enjoy it while it is warm."
The man did not touch it immediately. He stared at the cup, then looked up at Meiying. "How much?"
"Ten yuan," she replied.
His brow furrowed, as if he could not believe the price sounded so reasonable for a shop in such a strategic location. He pulled out his wallet, took out a fifty-yuan note, and placed it on the table without waiting for change.
"Keep the change. But please, keep the noise down. I have work to finish."
Meiying smiled, picking up the money but not putting it in the cash register yet. She set it aside on the edge of the counter. "Thank you. But I will return the change to you later."
She retreated to the counter, leaving him to his work and his tea. The room fell silent again, save for the soft patter of rain against the glass and the faint sound of his fingers tapping on the screen. Occasionally, Meiying would glance over, noticing that he had finally stopped looking at his device and was now holding the warm cup in his hands.
He took a small sip. His eyes widened slightly, just a fraction, and the rigid line of his jaw seemed to soften just a little. He looked at the tea, then out the window at the falling rain, and for the first time since he entered, the look of urgency in his eyes seemed to dim, replaced by a momentary calm.
Meiying smiled to herself. It seemed that even the busiest heart could be tamed by the magic of a good cup of tea