There’s no need to rush to the crowded areas. The tea aroma wafting from the old alleys is enough to turn the afternoon into a gentle moment. At the cobblestone alley entrance set at one o’clock in the afternoon, he was holding a bamboo-woven tea basket in his hand. Seeing you arrive, he took out a small green porcelain cup from inside: “You said you liked light green last time, so I specially picked this one.”
First, enter the old teahouse at the end of the alley. Green vines are climbing on the wooden window frames, and on the eight-armed table are crude ceramic tea sets. The owner greets you familiarly: “It’s still the same?” He nods and turns to smile at you: “The Biluochun tea in this place is extremely fresh.” Hot water is poured into the teapot, and the tea leaves slowly unfold in the water. He pours out the first cup and hands it to you. The steam carries the fragrance of orchids, and you take a sip. The taste is pure and sweet on your tongue.
After finishing the tea, he walked along the wall base of the alley. The mottled brick wall was covered with triangle lilies, and the pink and purple petals scattered all over the ground. Suddenly, he stopped and pointed at the small daisies emerging from the wall crevice: “Look, they are even more beautiful than those bought from the flower shop.” You crouched down to take a photo, while he stood beside you to shield you from the glaring sunlight. The shadow of his fingertips fell on your mobile screen, like a tiny guardian symbol.
He walked to the pastry shop at the end of the alley and bought two pieces of osmanthus cake. Sitting on the stone bench outside, they shared the treats. The cake was soft and chewy, and the osmanthus honey was sweet but not overly so. He took a bite of your piece and frowned, saying, “Your piece is sweeter.” You smiled and handed the remaining one to him. Watching him, you could see a bit of osmanthus dust on the corner of his mouth. You reached out to wipe it off with your finger, which grazed his cheek. It was even warmer than the cake.
As the sun began to set, the alley was dyed orange-red by the rays. You and your companions were carrying the remaining tea leaves and pastries as you headed back. He handed you the bamboo tea basket: “Next time, I’ll make tea for you to drink.” You nodded, and the tea basket in your hand still held his warmth. Suddenly, you felt that spending time in the old alley with the right person, drinking light tea, made even time itself move more slowly. Every second was a sweetness hidden within the hustle and bustle.