Chapter 6
Six
Yunnan Tea
Once we are alone, an apprentice arrives carrying a large tray full of tea paraphenelia and snacks.
She arranges everything on the low table: the familiar teacups and teapots, the black porcelain tea tray carved to resemble eddying waves, and the usual array of small dishes containing my favourite snacks.
There are fried dough knots sprinkled with powdered sugar, braised five spice peanuts, roasted melon seeds, grilled squid, some dragon beard candies, sesame crackers, and Tootsie rolls, a recent favourite, brought over specially from mortal Shanghai.
As a child, having tea with Big Wang was a weekly treat.
While Big Wang made tea, I would talk, about anything and everything.
It was Big Wang’s way of keeping tabs on my education and well-being, since he was a man of few words and I, as a child, had no filter.
It was also one of the few times I could sit without fidgeting.
Watching the ritual of pouring hot water from pot to pot, cup to cup, along with the fragrance the different teas produced, had an incredibly calming effect.
I could be sobbing about some snotty kid being mean to me, or about getting scolded yet again by Horsey for some pointless breach of decorum like showing my knees, but after the first brew, I never failed to find my balance restored.
Big Wang fiddles with the eggshell porcelain vessels, moving them around the tray as if dissatisfied with their position.
The tall cylindrical wenxiang cups are cleverly made to look like lotus buds, while the short wide pinmin cups resemble lotuses in full bloom.
The hue of the flower petals, normally a blue-tinged white, changes colour depending on the tea.
Marvelling at the artistry was as enjoyable as drinking the tea.
As I grew older though, tea with Big Wang became synonymous with serious discussions.
Usually uncomfortable topics or bad news.
I learned about the birds and the bees – one of the most cringe-inducing conversations I’ve ever had to have – over a smoky oolong from the Wuyi mountains.
And over a sweet silver needle tea from Yunnan, I learned about my mother’s death.
Big Wang begins heating the vessels. He pours hot water into the teapot. As he swirls it around, he says with feigned nonchalance, ‘How is Tony?’
He empties the hot water into the gongdao cup next, his movements slow and deliberate. I have a bad feeling about this.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Busy. I haven’t seen him for a few months.’ Because I’m an idiot and broke my dragon pearl. But I keep that to myself.
‘Mmmgh,’ he says as he pours the water from the gongdao cup into the long narrow wenxiang cups, steam rising from the delicate lotus bud. ‘The civil war is no doubt taking up much of his time.’
‘Why the sudden questions about Tony?’
Big Wang doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes each wenxiang cup in turn and pours the water into the two low pinmin cups.
‘Choose a tea, Little Jing.’
He discards the liquid onto the tray, where it runs in rivulets through the waves into hidden drain holes. I frown, but do as he asks.
My favourite part of making tea is getting to choose the tea.
The different flavour profiles are always exciting to experience.
Sometimes I can smell where the tea was harvested – whether in high foggy mountains, or near a swampy lake, the scents of the flora and fauna and the soil influence the fragrance of the tea.
But what I love most are the tea jars. Each is a cloisonné masterpiece, depicting the tea bush on the front, framed by an intricate border.
Some have floral designs, with curling vines and vibrant blooms, others have wildlife, deer and birds, sometimes butterflies.
The selection of jars is rarely repeated.
Even now, their beauty pinches my heart. I pick one with a border of purple flowers. A pu-erh from Yunnan.
‘He writes to you often, though,’ Big Wang says.
I nod, trying to anticipate where this is going.
Big Wang scoops leaves into the teapot, rinses the leaves with more hot water, then pours the rinse into the gongdao cup, then the two narrow wenxiang cups, and finally the two pinmin cups before discarding again onto the tray.
Next he pours water into the teapot until it overflows, puts the lid on and pours more hot water over the teapot. Then he sighs, a long, weary, exhale.
My whole body tenses. When he told me about my mom, he danced around the subject for a long time before finally getting to the point. I can’t bear the suspense, so I blurt, ‘Is he dead?’
Big Wang almost drops the teapot. ‘No, no, Little Jing, Tony Lee is fine.’
‘Then what? Spit it out, you’re scaring me.’
He closes his eyes and sighs again before nodding. All these tells, but I still don’t know what he’s trying to say.
‘Let’s serve the tea, then I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.’
It’s my turn to huff as he drains the teapot into the gongdao cup, slow and infuriating.
From there he pours the tea evenly between the wenxiang cups.
He places a pinmin cup over each of the narrow ones.
I usually love this part, taking the time to flip the pair over, then rolling the empty wenxiang cup between my palms to savour the perfume of the brewed tea.
But I have no patience right now. I flip it over, lift the cup and set it back on the tray. The aroma of camphor and wood smoke, with an underlying plummy sweetness, fills the room.
I wait, but Big Wang keeps his nose in the wenxiang cup, eyes closed. I can tell he’s not really paying attention to the tea. He’s stalling.
‘The tea has been served. Spill.’
He sets the cup on the tray with a soft tink. ‘I’d like the North Wind Division to accompany you to Paris.’
This is not what I expected. ‘The elite guards? Why?’
Big Wang clears his throat as if he’s got a burr stuck in there. ‘Well, you’ve never been outside the Middle Kingdom. I worry for your safety.’
Since I was six years old, I’ve been allowed to run loose in the city: fighting and brawling with gobby yaojing; streaking joyfully through the streets as the North Wind Guards gave chase; staying out all night playing cards, one gambling den after another.
At no point did Big Wang ever express worry for my safety.
That was saved for the turd-brains I fleeced or beat to a pulp, or the guards I routinely tormented for fun.
I feel a tiny bit bad about that, now. They were only following orders, trying to make unruly me put on clothes.
‘Why don’t the elite guards take Lord Aengus to Paris? Then I won’t have to go.’
Big Wang’s expression pinches. Another long sigh.
‘Failing to follow through a promise made as a Minister of Hell is tantamount to admitting you have lost your ministerial authority. It would allow Niang Niang to demand that the Jade Emperor return you to the Hulijing Court as her subject.’ He shakes his head, his focus far away. ‘We cannot allow that.’
‘Ah. That, I don’t want either. But fifty guards? Come on, Big Wang. That’s too much.’
The King of Hell rolls the wenxiang cup between his fingers, the furrow between his two bushy black eyebrows deepening. ‘How about Lord Nioh and Lord Ma then?’
‘Lord Nioh and Lord Ma are needed here in yin Shanghai,’ I say, trying to invoke reason.
‘They guard the entire city! It’s ridiculous to make them babysit me.
The North Wind Division won’t appreciate being forced to nanny me either.
We have too much history. Besides, I doubt they’ve forgiven me for all the times I’ve kneed them in their virtuous peaches. ’
His jaw sets. ‘You will not go alone. You can choose which, but either the North Wind Division or Lord Ma and Lord Nioh will escort you.’
This insistence is very unlike Big Wang.
My guardian has always been a hands-off kind of parent, more akin to benign neglect, trusting me to handle things and know when to ask for help.
Only if I’m committing a breach of decorum or causing physical damage to persons or property does he step in.
Even when my grandmother’s subordinates were actively trying to hurt me, Big Wang simply told me to avoid the hulijing. I narrow my eyes as suspicion sets in.
‘Is there something dangerous in Paris?’
Big Wang juts his chin. ‘Stop changing the subject.’
‘You let me and Tony go to mortal Shanghai on our own.’
‘And look what happened!’ Big Wang’s eyes blaze red. He’s really keyed up.
‘Gigi and Ah Lang joined us, too,’ I remind him, which gives me an idea. ‘What if I ask them? If they’re willing, can we forget about the North Wind Division and Lord Nioh and Lord Ma coming with me?’
Big Wang doesn’t seem to hear me. The wenxiang cup rolls back and forth, back and forth as he chews on the inside of his cheek, like he’s working up to saying something.
Finally, he says, ‘When raising a child, sometimes decisions are made, and it’s not always clear whether those decisions are the right ones. Dong, ma?’
Huh? ‘I have no intention of having a child in the immediate future, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Oh, no, that’s not—’ Big Wang clears his throat, cheeks red. ‘I mean, sometimes even with the best intentions, when making decisions to protect someone, it’s not always clear if the path is the right one. You can only hope for the best. Dong, ma?’
‘If you mean my duty as Special Liaison, I’m really sorry I didn’t keep a closer eye on the hulijing courtiers, but I tried to tell the envoy. And it’s not like the courtiers listen to me—’
Shaking his head, he huffs a frustrated, ‘Ai.’
I’m at a loss. ‘I really don’t understand what you mean.’
He puts the wenxiang cup on the table. Frowns at it. Picks it up again. ‘Well, you see, I know . . . I mean, I knew . . .’ Big Wang blinks at his hand, as if surprised to find a cup in it. He puts it down again. ‘You see . . .’ His voice fades.