The happiness that comes with white tea
Author:
Liu Guiyun
Release date:
2012-07-05
I usually drink green tea regularly, but recently, after reading Pan Xiangli’s book—which mentioned the idea that tea, Zen, and taste are one—I’ve developed a strong desire to try white tea instead.
Before drinking white tea, I always assumed the leaves were white and the tea liquor resembled milk. But when I happened to get my hands on a small package of white tea, I instantly felt a deep sense of appreciation. So, I grabbed a glass cup, carefully opened the tiny tea bag—and already, the delicate aroma of the tea was teasing my senses. I gently lifted a few tea leaves into the palm of my hand; their silvery-white tips shimmered softly, while the delicate leaves themselves were as fine and slender as needles. Indeed, white tea is often called the "noble of teas." As Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty wrote in his *Da Guan Cha Ji*: "White tea stands apart from all others—it’s entirely unique. Its leaves unfurl gracefully, thin and translucent, growing naturally amidst forests and cliffs—though such beauty defies human effort entirely… Its inner and outer surfaces gleam with clarity, pure and radiant like jade nestled within its unpolished shell. No other tea can compare." Tea arrives straight from the mountains, and there’s an innate joy in holding it close. To describe it as "jade in its raw form" feels utterly fitting—white tea truly lives up to its regal reputation. When this mountain-born treasure meets water in the cup, its serene, pristine essence comes alive, inviting us once again to embrace the simple, authentic beauty of nature.
Drinking tea requires patience. As you wait for the tea leaves to unfurl and fully embrace their natural companionship, you find a sense of calm and serenity, gently releasing the weariness from your mind and brushing away the dust of everyday chaos. All it takes is a pure, open heart—just one with the tea—and in that moment, you’ll already feel a deep connection to Zen-like tranquility. At first, when white tea is steeped in water, it seems almost still, almost motionless. But after about ten minutes, the delicate leaves slowly begin to unfurl, revealing a pale yellow hue. Surprisingly, the aroma isn’t as bold as it was when the tea was freshly opened—it’s subtle, almost ethereal. My thoughts drift effortlessly to the rolling hills where tea trees thrive, their lush greenery swaying gently with the mountain contours. There, bathed in rain-soaked dew and enveloped by misty clouds, these tender buds are nurtured into life. When I first pour in the water and take my first sip, the flavor is incredibly light, with a fragrance so faint it’s almost imperceptible. Yet I know that true appreciation of white tea’s essence demands patience. By the second infusion, the leaves gracefully float on the surface, creating a visual delight that brings joy to the soul. The charm of white tea lies in its ability to evoke the serene stillness of a mountain fresh after a gentle rain—a perfect embodiment of autumn’s quiet elegance. And indeed, as Pan Xiangli once wisely noted, summer is the ideal season to savor this delicate brew.
As Ming Dynasty scholar Tian Yiheng wrote in his "Zhu Quan Xiaopin": "Among teas, those processed with fire rank second; the highest quality, however, is achieved through sun-drying—this method aligns most closely with nature and effectively eliminates any 'smoky' or 'man-made' flavors." I still recall accompanying my father to the tea market when new harvests first hit the shelves. As he carefully selected a few leaves to taste, he remarked with a hint of skepticism that they carried a faint "smoky" note—and promptly tossed them aside, opting instead for another variety. In contrast, white tea is crafted using the gentle method of sun-drying, making it truly "untouched by the fires of human intervention." The process is remarkably simple: fresh buds and tender leaves are simply allowed to wither naturally under the sun, without being roasted or rolled. Instead, they’re dried directly in the open air. It’s no coincidence that white tea bears the character "white"—a name that perfectly captures its understated, almost ethereal elegance.
When referring to white tea, Che Qianzi described it as evoking a deeper sense of heartfelt emotion. Someone once compared Che Qianzi’s writing to white tea—its delicate fragrance lingers long and pure, its pale, jade-like color settles gracefully at the bottom of the cup, and its taste is crisp, fresh, and invigorating. And indeed, the essence of white tea also resonates with the timeless charm of Feng Zikai’s comic sketches, especially his iconic work titled "After People Leave, a New Moon Hangs Like Water Across the Sky." That piece captures vast expanses of serene, empty white space: the building stands deserted, the bamboo curtain lies casually rolled up, while a single crescent moon gently illuminates the scene. Meanwhile, on the wooden table, the tea slowly cools, its warmth gradually giving way to cool tranquility.
Life isn’t just about the lively moments of gathering with friends—it’s also about patiently savoring the serene, understated happiness of enjoying white tea.
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