The Tale of Tea

Long, long ago, high in the mountains, there was a small, secluded village called Dragon’s Well. It had only about ten houses, scattered across the slopes of the surrounding mountains. In the distant mountains, the peasants grew bamboo, while in the closer ones, they cultivated grains. They worked from dawn till dusk, yet they were never well-fed. At the very edge of the village stood a dilapidated, thatched hut where an old woman lived. She had no children, no husband, and spent her final years all alone. She could no longer climb the mountains to till the land. Her strength was barely enough to tend to a dozen old tea bushes in her yard. The bushes aged along with their mistress, and once a year, she harvested no more than a few jin of coarse, dark-green leaves from them.

This woman had endured much sorrow in her life, but she had preserved her kindness despite all the hardships. Now, she did her best to bring some comfort to those around her. Every day, she would take a few leaves, brew tea, and place it by the door of her hut so that the villagers, descending from the mountains after work, could quench their thirst.

One day, on the eve of the New Year, as heavy snow fell in the mountains, the village was preparing for the holiday. The old woman’s supplies had run out, except for a few tea leaves. Nevertheless, she decided not to break her usual routine. Rising early, she dropped the leaves into a pot, poured boiling water over them, and set it near the hearth to steep. Suddenly, there was a noise outside. The door swung open, and on the threshold appeared an old man covered in snow. The old woman hurried over to him: "Honorable sir, the snow is heavy in the mountains. Stay awhile in my home." The stranger shook off the snow, stepped inside, and his curious gaze fell on the hearth:

"Hostess, what’s in the pot?"
"I’m steeping tea," replied the old woman. The guest was very surprised:
"The New Year is almost here. Tomorrow is a great holiday, and every family will slaughter an ox, a sheep, or a pig to honor their ancestors, yet you’re only brewing tea!"
"I am too poor," the woman sighed bitterly. "I have nothing to offer to my ancestors, but every day I prepare tea and share it with my fellow villagers."

Unexpectedly, the stranger laughed: "Why do you complain of poverty when a treasure is hidden in your yard?"

Hearing this, the old woman went out to the yard to search for the place where the treasure might be hidden. But everything was as usual: near the shed, covered with pine branches, stood two benches, and in the corner was a cracked stone mortar, filled with rotting debris from the previous year. Nothing new had appeared in the yard. The stranger followed the old woman and pointed to the mortar:

"That’s your treasure!"
"How can a mortar be a treasure?" the old woman exclaimed in amazement. He must be mocking me, she thought, and added:
"If you like it, you can take it!"
"How can I take such a precious thing from you for free?" he exclaimed. "Sell me this mortar. If you agree, I’ll fetch some men to help me carry it away."

The stranger, pleased with the deal, left. The old woman examined the mortar for a long time but couldn’t understand why the guest had taken a liking to it. She decided it wasn’t right to sell such a dirty thing. She removed the debris from the mortar and buried it under the tea bushes. Then she poured water into the mortar, washed it, and splashed the dirty water under the same bushes. She had just finished her work and was admiring the clean mortar when the stranger returned with some village lads. At the sight of the washed mortar, he let out a desperate cry:

"What have you done? Where is the treasure?"

The old woman hadn’t expected her efforts to provoke such anger and was utterly bewildered:
"But I only washed it!"
"Where did you put everything that was in the mortar?" the stranger demanded, even stamping his foot in impatience.
"Over there, I buried it under the tea bushes."
"What a pity!" the stranger exclaimed in a trembling voice. "That debris was the real treasure. Now it has passed into the tea bushes." He waved his hand and told the lads to go home.

The New Year’s celebration ended, and soon spring arrived. Suddenly, unexpectedly, all the tea bushes in the yard were covered with countless emerald leaves. But when the old woman began to gather them, the villagers were even more amazed: the tea leaves were extraordinarily tender, juicy, and fragrant. The villagers began to ask the old woman for cuttings from these miraculous bushes, and from then on, instead of bamboo, they cultivated tea plantations in the mountains. Years later, the tea with its extraordinary taste and aroma, made from the leaves harvested in these parts, came to be known as "Dragon’s Well Tea."

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The Tale of Tea

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