Build grass into a city

Author: Wang Xufeng
Publisher:
Publish Date: 1995-12-01
Features: One of the "Tea Farmer Trilogy." Wang Xufeng, female, born in Pinghu, Zhejiang in 1955, with ancestral roots in Xuzhou, Jiangsu. Graduated from the History Department of Hangzhou University in 1982, worked at the China National Tea Museum, and is currently the Deputy Director of the Zhejiang Literature College under the Zhejiang Writers' Association, a First-Class Writer, a member of the Zhejiang People's Political Consultative Conference, and a member of the China International Tea Culture Research Association. Excerpt:
"A swallow carries away the spring colors; through sheer curtains, several gusts of yellow plum rain." Last night, a heavy rain fell, but today the sun shines brightly. However, Wang Caihua, the granddaughter of the old revolutionary and poor peasant Xiao Zuo, still sits by the window, feeling melancholic. The light streams through the window, illuminating her glossy Liu hair—un-oiled, yet radiant. Her eyes, refined over three generations, no longer bulge as once before. Though a trace of her grandfather’s dullness lingers as she gazes at the spring, her honest smile and sturdy white teeth make her completely break free from her ancestors’ shells. She will soar like a vibrant new tea outside the window, splashing vitality everywhere. Moreover, she is neither a newly sprouted grain of tea nor an old leaf with lush branches—she is a fine Longjing tea with one bud and one leaf, resembling a sparrow’s beak, exuding a rich aroma when inhaled.
Xiao Zuo, hiding behind the door in the corner of the hall, is busy preparing for the tea-harvesting ahead, clutching a bag of lime. He grumbles at her: “Why are you daydreaming? Can’t you help me?” Caihua rests her hand under the square forehead, disrespectfully replying: “You should know yourself!” Xiao Zuo pushes the large, belly-shaped Longjing jar with a frown, glaring at his granddaughter. At that moment, the expressions of the old man and his granddaughter strangely resemble each other due to their bloodline. Caihua was raised alongside him, and recently, she started working as a boiler attendant and water boiler in the lakefront hotel in the city. Her household registration is still in the countryside, yet she already carries herself with an air of superiority. Xiao Zuo is deeply displeased. He coughs sternly and says: “You’re grown up now, yet your mind isn’t set yet.”
“And what are they doing? Look what time it is!” The granddaughter turns her head to glance at the self-playing clock on the Eight Immortals table. Since the land reform, the table clock gifted by the Hang family to Xiao Zuo has struck 12:00 p.m. However, the Hang family promised to arrive at 10:00 a.m. Xiao Zuo looks annoyed at the cold dishes on the table and fixes his gaze on his granddaughter. He can no longer argue with her, though he knows it’s a matchmaking meeting and the Hang family shouldn’t be late.
“Why didn’t you leave yourself some time? Come help me with the lime bag!” Xiao Zuo can’t think of a reasonable explanation for the Hang family’s significant delay, so he shifts the topic. Caihua lazily walks to her grandfather’s side and starts helping. The task isn’t heavy—the Longjing jar is no taller than half a meter, with a sturdy belly storing thirteen pounds of tea, plus an additional four pounds of lime. Xiao Zuo’s family hasn’t had that much tea in years. How much could be harvested from their own land? This year, after some careful scraping, they managed to collect five or six pounds, but they didn’t dare let the production team know. The state regulations are strict: no more than one pound to be mailed, no more than two pounds to be given away, and each person is limited to half a pound to a pound of private tea.
Xiao Zuo, though an old revolutionary, has left the party; though a poor peasant, he has connections with urban capitalists. Therefore, he hides behind the door, not wanting the production team to discover his Longjing jar, which can hold thirteen pounds of tea—the rare tea he’d worked so hard to obtain. Yet it can only be filled halfway. Even his neighbors can’t fill their jars halfway, some simply discard their tea jars in the courtyard corner. You see, if there’s no tea, why bother with a jar? This particular jar, Xiao Zuo had picked up from the backyard, so he needs to dry it properly. He has been working at the Wuyou Tea Shop for decades, honing his skills. After returning to civilian life, he worked for the production team, muddled by the communal meals, his craftsmanship dulled. But today, he feels his skills stirring, determined to restore them to their former "refinement."