The morning after Zhou Ren's visit arrived with a crisp stillness, the kind that carried every sound a little farther. Lin Xun lit the brazier before dawn, coaxing the flame into a steady glow. The first pot of water steamed before the street outside had even begun to stir.
He moved between the shelves in silence, fingertips grazing the worn labels on the jars. Some had been with him for years, others acquired only weeks ago. Each leaf had its own weight in his mind. Today he was not searching for his strongest. Strength alone would not win the East Market tasting.
This challenge would be decided by what lingered after the last sip, the memory of it clinging like the echo of a song.
Three jars came down from the shelf. The first held the pale green of Spring Rain, leaves plucked before sunrise in a distant valley. It was gentle, fresh, and easy to drink, but it risked fading too quickly. The second was Golden Hearth, roasted until it carried the warmth of late autumn evenings. It settled in the bones, comforting but without surprise. The third jar was different. It contained leaves he had aged quietly in the dark for years, turning them now and then to let the air breathe life into them. It was not rare by origin, but patient care had given it a depth few would expect.
He brewed each in turn. The pale steam rose and curled toward the rafters, catching the first light through the front window. Spring Rain was soft, bright, almost like water from a mountain stream. Golden Hearth filled the mouth with warmth, lingering a moment before slipping away. The aged leaf was slower to open, but when it did, the taste settled deep, leaving a shadow of sweetness on the tongue.
Lin Xun set that cup aside, letting it rest. Tea often revealed its truest self only after time.
By midmorning, the bell above the door chimed more often. The old herb seller shuffled in, leaning on his cane, eyes narrowing as he inhaled. "Trying something new, are you?"
"Always," Lin Xun replied, pouring him his usual cup.
Two travelers followed, their cloaks dusty from the road. They ordered whatever the shop recommended, drinking in silence as they watched the street through the open door. A pair of young disciples arrived soon after, leaning against the counter with the restless energy of those with more free time than sense.
"Three days until the tasting," one said loudly, glancing at the other.
His friend grinned. "We will see if Eastern Cloud's gold is worth anything against skill. My bet is on the tea master here."
Lin Xun smiled politely but let the words pass without reply. Crowds were fickle, and he had no interest in being swept up by their tides.
When the bell rang again, Shen Lan stepped in from the street, the faint scent of woodsmoke in her robes. She carried a small paper parcel tied with plain string. Without a word, she set it on the counter and waited until the other customers had gone.
"I spoke with someone in the trade hall," she said in a low voice. "Eastern Cloud will use a high-mountain black leaf, said to be gifted by a sect elder. Strong, bold, and meant to make an impression fast."
Lin Xun untied the string. Inside were a few twisted black leaves, their sharp scent cutting through the warmth of the shop.
He studied them briefly before setting them aside. "They will aim to win the first sip," he murmured. "That is their way."
"And yours?" she asked.
"To leave them wanting more."
He spent the rest of the morning brewing and testing, adjusting the balance between the aged leaf and its companions. A touch of Spring Rain softened the opening notes, easing the drinker in. A pinch of Golden Hearth added a quiet weight at the end. He repeated the process again and again, watching the steam as if it might reveal some hidden truth.
The shop's regular rhythm carried on around him. The herb seller lingered over his tea, a merchant came in to collect his usual order, and a few curious faces appeared at the door only to leave when they saw no Sunless Tea on the menu.
By the afternoon, the air was thick with a mixture of brewing scents and the faint tension that came from too many unspoken questions.
Shen Lan stayed after the last customer left, wiping the tables as Lin Xun poured her a cup of the latest blend.
"You are holding back," she said after a sip.
"Yes," he admitted. "The Sunless Tea would dazzle them, but it would also put me under a spotlight too bright to stand in. There is more to win here than a contest."
"You think Zhou Ren will accept losing without knowing your best?"
"I think he will suspect. But suspicion is not proof. In our trade, proof is in the taste."
The following morning, Lin Xun walked through the market before opening the shop. The narrow lanes were already alive with chatter, vendors calling out their wares, baskets of fruit, and bolts of dyed cloth catching the sun. Near the spice seller's stall, he overheard two women speaking in low tones.
"They say the new tea master brews so well even a single cup can change your mood."
"Then why is Eastern Cloud so eager to face him?"
"Pride, maybe. Or fear."
Lin Xun moved on without comment, but the words stayed with him.
When he returned, customers were already waiting. The first few hours passed quickly, filled with orders and the subtle weight of expectation. Every smile, every polite nod seemed touched by the unspoken question of what he would bring to the tasting.
By the second day, the whispers had grown. Even the street outside his door seemed to hum with them. Market boys carrying trays of bread called to him with teasing wagers on his victory. A pair of merchants argued in the doorway over whether refinement or spectacle would win.
He kept his answers polite and vague, letting the tension build.
That evening, with the chairs stacked and the brazier banked low, he brewed the final version of his chosen tea. The steam rose in slow spirals, carrying the scent of rain on stone, the faint sweetness of ripe fruit, and a quiet, steady warmth that lingered without clinging.
Shen Lan sipped, her eyes closed for a long moment. When she opened them, there was no smile, only a small nod. "It will not dazzle them. It will settle in their thoughts until they seek it again."
"That is the plan," Lin Xun said.
He poured himself the last cup, holding it for a breath before drinking. It was clean, patient, and honest, a tea that asked nothing in the moment but promised to return in memory.
Three days from now, the East Market would taste it. And when they did, Lin Xun would be ready.
---