White Peony’s Tea Legends Vol.1

The Mist That Knew Everything

Dongting Lake, Tang Dynasty

Dongting Lake had always been a strange place. The mist here didn’t just obscure the horizons; it seemed to erase the very concept of time. The locals said that if you stared at the water long enough, you could see your past, your present, and even the future that would never come. But most of the time, you just saw the mist and wondered why everything felt so meaningless. On Junshan Island, in the middle of this lake, a rare tea grew—Junshan Yinzhen, the “Silver Needle.” Its leaves shimmered like rays of light piercing through the morning mist, and the brewed infusion was something between liquid amber and a question that had no answer. It was here that Xiang Jun lived, a poetess whose verses were so obscure that even the most intellectual snobs of the Tang Dynasty could only nod with a wise look and silently finish their wine. “Why are your poems so strange?” a government official once asked her, trying to determine whether he was truly stupid or just out of touch with current trends. “Why is reality so boring?” Xiang Jun replied. She knew that in a world where everything had already been invented, the only thing left was to watch how the mist over the lake constantly changed shape and try to find some meaning in it.

First Brewing: The Whisper of Water

Xiang Jun was not the kind of person who sought the way to nature. People exhausted her. Especially those who came seeking “spiritual enlightenment,” believing that tea was a shortcut to nirvana. To her, tea was not about enlightenment but something more honest—it simply showed you everything you had been desperately trying to ignore. One day, sitting on a rock by the water, she brewed freshly picked Silver Needle leaves. Taking the first sip, she heard a voice: “You ran away too?”She looked up, but there was only mist around. “From whom?” she asked, deciding that talking to mist was just the next level of her tea meditation. “From yourself, of course. Who else do people run from?” The voice was calm, even a little weary. She smirked. “Oh right, I’m the typical representative of humanity. Next, you’ll tell me I’m just a social unit.” “You drink this tea because you’re trying to remember something you’ve never known.” “And what is that?” “You already know. You’re just afraid to admit it.” The mist dissolved. And Xiang Jun realized that she had never felt so sober.

Tea and Power: The Emperor Who Feared Tomorrow

Meanwhile, in Chang’an, Emperor Xuanzong was trying to find a way to slow down time. He had already realized that power was essentially just an expensive hobby that required constant nerves and an endless stream of signed decrees. “I need a tea that will make me stop fearing tomorrow,” he told his advisors, trying to decide what scared him more—political intrigues or the realization that eternal life was impossible. “There is one tea, Your Majesty,” a servant spoke cautiously, knowing well that foolish suggestions led quickly to the executioner’s block. “It grows on Junshan Island. They say it makes time softer.” “And why am I only hearing about this now?” the emperor sighed, realizing once again that he was out of the loop.

The Memory of Water: What the Mist Sees

Xiang Jun had always felt that her life wasn’t just a series of events but something like a rough draft that someone was constantly writing and then forgetting to complete. Every day was like the previous one, only with slight variations, as if the author was simply copying the text, too lazy to come up with a new plot. She brewed tea again. This time, looking into the cup, she saw her own reflection. But it wasn’t her. “Who are you?” she asked. “Who are you?” the reflection responded. “Great. Now I’m talking to myself. Maybe it’s time to try wine?” “You are just the memory of water.” “Water remembers everything?” “Of course. Especially the lies you tell yourself.”

The Emperor and Tea: When Time Surrenders

When the emperor’s envoys finally reached Junshan and brought the tea back to Chang’an, Xuanzong was ready for a miracle. He brewed the Silver Needle tea. Took a sip. “And now what?” he asked, expecting time to freeze and himself to become immortal. But nothing happened. “Perhaps another cup of luxury tea My lord?” suggested the eunuch, sensing that his career was hanging by a thread. After the fifth cup of this tea, Xuanzong understood the most important thing: “Tea does not change time. It just shows how foolish it is to try.”

The Last Sip: A Snail on the Shore

Xiang Jun brewed tea one last time and looked at the lake. “What now?” she asked the mist.“Now you know that a snail always returns home.” She smiled. And dissolved into the mist. Today, Junshan Yinzhen is considered one of the rarest and most expensive teas. But everyone who drinks it feels a faint unease—as if something has been forgotten but cannot be recalled. And if you listen closely, you can hear a whisper: “It has already happened. But you can choose how to remember it.”