I am a Chaozhou native.

There are certain labels associated with this region, some positive and others not so much. But upon self-reflection, I find that I don't fit most of these labels. There is one thing, however, that I excel in as a Chaozhou native: Drinking Tea.

There have been images circulating online about the extent of Chaozhou people's love for tea, such as offering Gongfu tea to marathon runners as they pass by or setting up a cozy gongfu tea corner in their cars during traffic jams. With a set of gongfu tea ware always at hand, we can face any change in the world without fear of growing old.

Portable gongfu tea set of Chaozhou people

These images and anecdotes are not exaggerated; they depict me personally.

I start my day by brewing tea. Drinking tea on an empty stomach has led to acid reflux, but I still can't live without it. Plain water is something I find hard to tolerate. When traveling, I bring along a portable gongfu tea set. Sometimes, when I'm in rural areas and see villagers idly chatting in the village square, I feel like something is missing. Upon closer observation, I realize what's lacking: a set of tea ware. I want to take out my simple tea set from my bag and offer them a cup of tea. I want to tell them that gatherings without tea lack soul, and life without tea feels temporary.

Drinking tea was ingrained in me from childhood. My grandmother would Brew gongfu tea every morning. After tidying up the kitchen and buying groceries, she would take her time with her tea, marking a pause in her daily routine.

Nowadays, I'm around the same age as my grandmother was back then, and I've taken it even further. Before starting work, I must first lay out my tea set and boil water. The moment I transfer the tea leaves from the jar into the Teapot, even before tasting the tea, I already feel contentment and stability.

My grandmother had another habit that I found puzzling at the time: after brewing the tea, she would specially carry a cup over to our neighbor's house and invite the elderly aunt next door to have a sip.

As you know, Chaozhou gongfu tea is served in very small cups, so small that even holding them can be challenging, let alone carrying them around. And with just one sip per cup, wouldn't it seem excessive to make a special trip?

Gongfu tea set at home

Of course, it wasn't excessive. When my grandmother or the elderly aunt offered the cup of tea, the other might have just brewed their own tea as well. The tea itself wasn't important; what mattered was the sentiment behind it, akin to saying, “Even though there's nothing to talk about, I often think of you when I don't visit.”

Even now, elders will frequently ask children to deliver a cup of tea to a family member who is busy elsewhere in the house. This is a custom in our hometown, where the children act on behalf of their elders. When reading Du Fu's poetry, such as “Pleasantly respecting my father's friends, they ask me where I come from. Our conversation has not yet ended, but they send their children to fetch wine,” I always wondered what kind of gesture the children were making. In our hometown, it must be the act of serving a cup of tea.

In many warm family relationships, you'll notice this detail: if someone is busy in the kitchen, another family member will surely bring them a cup of tea.

The tea my grandmother drank was quite inexpensive, typical of the era when high-quality tea was unaffordable. However, due to frequent consumption, she developed a preference for strong tea. I share this trait, drinking strong tea even though I know it's unhealthy. To me, weak tea seems diluted and unsatisfying. Friends from other regions describe my tea as having the color of soy sauce and the taste of Chinese medicine.

This type of tea is known in Chaozhou dialect as “steamed tea rice,” which means the leaves should fill the teapot almost to the brim, similar to how rice is steamed. Another vivid expression is that only a trickle of water can enter.

Only gongfu tea sets can achieve this. You can see the form of gongfu tea sets in the pictures: typically a teapot and three or four small cups. These sets are unique to Chaozhou, characterized by their extremely small cups.

The small size of the cups means constant brewing and rinsing, significantly lengthening the tea-drinking process and increasing the frequency of sips.

This artificially increases the difficulty of the tea-brewing process.

However, this difficulty naturally becomes a source of cohesion. People sitting together focus on the act of drinking tea, allowing even strangers to draw closer because they share a common activity.

Conversely, the tea can also create distance. With the presence of the tea, we can discuss the tea at hand, avoiding deeper conversations that might be uncomfortable.

Consider this: how do you invite someone to your home?

We often hear:

Come over when you're free. — This sounds vague, what exactly will you do?

Come over for dinner when you're free. — This sounds too formal and grand.

In the TV series “Covert Warfare,” Cui Ping says, “Come over and sit on the bed when you're free.” — This is perhaps overly casual and intimate.

The invitation in our hometown is both appropriate and relaxed: “Come over for tea when you're free.” It's casual yet specific, allowing for flexibility. It avoids awkwardness and excessive effort.

I've visited the grasslands several times in different seasons, staying with various herders. Gradually, I came to understand that tea plays an essential role in their culture as well.

I once got lost while driving to the Aiyitake Glacier in Xinjiang's Kashgar and had to ask for directions at a Uyghur family's home. I was surprised to find the hospitable Uyghur elder sitting on his worn carpet, sipping tea and listening to the radio, looking incredibly relaxed and content.

At that moment, I realized that people who love tea can be found in every corner of our country.

And in the city where I currently reside, Guangzhou, people also love tea. The novel “Three Families” tells stories set in Guangzhou, including sayings related to tea. For example, to describe someone who is happy and in good spirits, people might say “as if they've drunk the tea of the gate official.” Ba Jin wrote, “Guangzhou residents spend a large part of their day in teahouses. Many people go to the teahouse three times a day. During designated tea-drinking hours, every teahouse is full.”

In Cantonese, people don't say “drink morning tea,” but rather “enjoy morning tea,” emphasizing enjoyment. People use “enjoy the world” to express living a comfortable life and being blessed, and they might say, “You're lucky, you have a pension and can enjoy morning tea every day.”

I have a good friend named Old Wang, who works in the old city. She told me about a remarkable sight: ten years ago, she used to start work at six or seven in the morning, passing by teahouses that hadn't opened yet but already had elderly patrons waiting outside. These seniors wake up early and head straight to the teahouse for their morning tea.

Some elderly people prefer to enjoy morning tea alone, picking up a newspaper on the way. They sit at their regular table, order “one pot and two dim sum dishes,” read the newspaper, and savor their tea and snacks until they've finished every last ad. By then, it's usually noon, and they leave.

These days, teahouses open later, and fewer elderly people wait outside early in the morning. Newspapers are less common, so it's rare to see seniors reading them in teahouses. Nevertheless, teahouses remain bustling with elderly patrons.

But in Guangzhou, enjoying morning tea isn't really about the tea; it's mainly about the dim sum, like rice noodle rolls, shrimp