Chapter Text
1: Can't We Just Get Oolong?
Lan Zhan walks down the familiar street, keeping an eye on the gathering clouds above him. Ominously grey and getting darker, they bring a chillness to the wind. He is glad when he reaches the shop, Mountain Clouds, the traditional tea house of the Lan family, brewing the perfect cup of tea for generations before him.
He unlocks the dark mahogany door engraved with clouds, the Lan family emblem since it was first established, hundreds of years ago. The trusty thick and well-oiled lock clicks smoothly into place and allows him entry.
Lan Zhan loves these first few moments of peaceful solitude.
It's as if the tea house has spent the night hours accumulating and concentrating the scent of fermented leaves so that when Lan Zhan walks in every morning, at this hour, he is greeted by a rich, malty aroma. He closes his eyes and pictures their tea plantation high up in the mountains of Gusu, and their first ever home in the Cloud Recesses. Vivid cerulean skies above, rich brown earth below and rolling hills of a verdant, ever-green carpet, tea leaves spreading out as far as the eye can see. All of them go back whenever they can, when Lan Qiren, Lan XiChen and himself take separate days off from running the shop.
He breathes it in quietly, long and deep lungfuls of tradition, a practice of making tea that has been perfected by those who came before him. When Lan Zhan opens his eyes, he sees the old wooden tables and benches able to seat six patrons at a time, carved by grandfathers of old. He runs his fingertips over the aged wooden grains, pathways created by nature and preserved by this family. There are twelve such seating stations, six on either side of the shop floor and perfectly placed. He walks slowly now, feeling proud of his heritage, of seeing the fruits of his family's hard work in this material form. He has grown up here, tasted his first cup of tea in this place, brewed by his own grandfather. Summer holidays that were spent learning the difference between white, green, and dark tea. Then passing the Lan family challenge of being blindfolded and having to taste twelve cups of tea and accurately define them. Lan Zhan has been the only one to get all twelve tastes right, beating XiChen who faltered between the jasmine and silver needle teas because he hadn't rinsed his palette properly. (Lan Zhan is still quietly smug about it to this day.)
Lan Zhan has a daily routine that he adheres to, without fail.
He goes behind the dark wooden counter and washes his hands first. Then he lights three sticks of sandalwood incense and bows three times to the statue of the Buddha. His pose is one of serenity, of the spiritual man sitting in a lotus position experiencing a space of infinite calm.
Then Lan Zhan brews two cups of silver needle tea; one to make an offering to his silent companion, and the second one for himself.
These leaves are distinct from other types of tea leaves, frosted whitish hue with a touch of green as opposed to the darker, greener kinds. Lan Zhan sets the water to boil while he measures out two teaspoons of the tea into the clay Gaiwan. He uses the time to centre himself, breathing deeply in and out until he hears the water begin to bubble. For this first brewing, Lan Zhan prefers to use the stove instead of the electric kettle and now he switches it off, leaving the pan open. Once the water temperature reaches eighty to eighty-five degrees, then it will be ready to add to the leaves.
This process is slightly longer than making other types of tea, but Lan Zhan loves the simplicity of it and finds it highly rewarding. He no longer needs a thermometer to check the temperature after so many years of practice. The first brewing is thrown away because when the hot water meets the leaves, it does two things: it removes the dust and other particles, and makes the long slim leaves unfurl thus readying them to release their light and floral taste. With expert, gentle hands, Lan Zhan swiftly removes the first water before infusing the second batch. Silver needle tea buds can be used multiple times, and he will make this tea many times today.
Then Lan Zhan waits for it to steep, patiently centering himself.
"Good morning!" A bright, far too loud voice shatters the peacefulness of the morning.
Lan Zhan's hand jerks hard, disturbed by the unexpected noise. It is an unwelcome, unwanted interruption of his routine, and he does not like surprises. He takes a deep breath, annoyed with himself because he must have forgotten to lock the door behind him. He turns to face the stranger and promptly forgets what he was about to say.
The young beautiful man in front of him looks tired, but this in no way detracts from his handsomeness. His messy curls are trapped in a fragile bun, enthusiastically determined to escape from confinement. Two or three strands frame his delicate face, and now Lan Zhan is in deep waters. Two bright and shining silver orbs stare back at him full of fascination, twin mercurial moons reflected on the surface of a midnight lake. Eagerly, Lan Zhan's traitorous eyes track downwards, unable to withstand his curious gaze. The young man is wearing a black sleeveless tank top and a pair of black skinny jeans ripped at the knees, with a black and red checkered flannel shirt barely fastened by a few buttons and falling off his golden sculpted shoulders. A red ribbon bravely does its best to hold his unruly hair together, and a silver diamond winks in each earlobe. His bracelets jangle on both wrists as he puts his elbows on Lan Zhan's pristine counter. They are a mix of red-and-black thickly woven strings, a leather thong with a silver cat charm that catches the light, and a fragile looking bracelet strung-together by crystal beads, again in red and black and held intact with a silver chain. Weirdly, they suit him well.
"What's your name?" the beautiful young man says, jumping up to sit on one of the six barstools uninvited, and then he makes himself comfortable by wiggling on his seat.
"We are not open yet," Lan Zhan replies, watching him shiver. If he is cold, then people should wear the appropriate attire for the season.
"Well, hello we-are-not-open-yet, I'm Wei Ying!" He laughs at himself, holding out his hand and expecting Lan Zhan to shake it. Or something.
Lan Zhan stares at it as if it was a particularly reprehensible cockroach.
"Er...I'm hoping for a cup of your strongest coffee," Wei Ying says, retracting his hand and his demeanor going slightly dimmer.
Lan Zhan doesn't like that at all. This person is confusing to him. "We are a tea house," he explains slowly, in case the man has trouble understanding him. After all, beauty and intelligence do not always go hand in hand. He must not assume that the man in front of him has more than two brain cells to rub together.
"Well, yeah. I saw the sign out front." Wei Ying grins at him.
Why? There is no need to smile. Lan Zhan cannot fathom it. It is against the rules to smile for no reason. At least he can read.
Wei Ying throws back his head and laughs, a joyful sound. The act of producing it means revealing his neck and the tight ball of muscles moving up and down. Lan Zhan wants to bite him there.
"Well, you sure don't hold back," Wei Ying says, still grinning at him.
Wait...did Lan Zhan say that out loud? About reading? Oh, no.
"It was an observation," he says quickly. "I did not mean to offend you."
"Nah, don't worry about it. I've been called worse things than illiterate. Anyway," he waves a hand in the air dismissively. "If you don't have any coffee, what's your strongest tea? I'll have whatever it is in a large cup to go."
Lan Zhan gestures towards the tidy racks of perfectly displayed cups and saucers of varying sizes. "We do not have to-go cups. Our teahouse believes in zero waste so no plastics here." He hopes that will deter this troglodyte.
"Oh...wow. That's real noble of you. But impractical. People don't always have the time to sit and enjoy a cup of your beverages."
Oh, the cheek of this guy! "Our tea is made to be savoured." Lan Zhan can't help sounding a little snooty. How dare this uncouth savage imply that whatever is offered by this teahouse to its patrons is anything less than perfection in a cup? And part of that experience is drinking from real porcelain chinaware, lovingly handcrafted by pottery experts, not meant to be consumed in fake plastic crappy containers without heritage or meaning.
"Oh, is it?" Wei Ying smirks back at him as if he finds this whole ridiculous exchange entertaining.
A waste of Lan Zhan's time is what this is.
"Then, if you want me to sit here and enjoy it, you better make it worth my while. Do your best! See if you can impress me!" He lets his chin fall into his hands while he watches Lan Zhan through his dark lashes, simultaneously cute and deadly.
Lan Zhan passes him a menu of the types of tea available here. "You may pick your preference."
Wei Ying glances at the drinks list and immediately discards it by pushing it back towards him. "I don't usually drink tea. So I want you to sell it to me. Prove to me that your tea is better than any cup of coffee I've ever had."
"Why should I?" Lan Zhan is shocked at himself. He is never this rude. And certainly not to any customer. But inexplicably, something about this fellow just riles him up and Lan Zhan is done being nice. His routine has gone out the window and he's not at all happy about it.
"I imagine your usual customers are generally older, preferring routine, tastes that they're already used to. That's great for you, business-wise, to have a loyal following. But say you had to win over new customers, then what are you going to do about that? Having a pretty face is only half the deal."
In that split second, Lan Zhan experiences a sharp tingle up his spine. Goosebumps spring up on his exposed arms, and outside, thunder claps loud and mighty. Immediately after that, heavy rain begins to pummel the roof of the teahouse so loudly, Lan Zhan can hardly hear himself think.
"It looks like I'm staying," the cocksure overconfident coffee drinker says winking, his wicked grin lighting up his whole face.
Lan Zhan's heart sinks faster than the Titanic. Any hope of reviving the peace of his morning dies a swift and melancholic death as he tries to figure out how to win against this devil.
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"What do you mean, I can't mix flavours?" Wei Ying sounds genuinely bewildered.
"Randomly adding cinnamon or nutmeg to a brew can ruin the subtlety of its pure taste."
"Who says so?" Wei Ying demands, affronted. "I'm the customer, and as you should know, the customer is always right!" He wriggles triumphantly in his seat.
"The correct, complete saying is, "the customer is always right, EXCEPT in matters of taste," thereby proving my point." Now it is Lan Zhan who sounds like the winner.
"Alright, Fiiiinnnneee! You choose for me. What kind of fancy tea do you have that will suit me?" Wei Ying pouts and stares up at him, impossibly cute.
Lan Zhan is horrified at himself. What kind of a scoundrel is this, working his charms to melt Lan Zhan's icy heart? He won't have any of it! While he's going through this internal crisis, Wei Ying smiles at him.
Lan Zhan steps back cautiously, already on edge.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Mn." Lan Zhan pretends to stare at the drinks menu as if he's deciding what to make for Wei Ying.
"Great, what's your name?"
"Lan Zhan." A list of colourful expletives race through his thoughts. Wei Ying had just caught him off guard. That's all. It's the only explanation that he can come up with, for so easily giving up his birth name. "Lan WangJi," he tacks on at the end, hoping Wei Ying will choose that one to address him by.
"Lan Zhan," the minx says, like he's rolling the sound of it around his tongue, getting the feel of it. "Lan Zhan," he grins sharp with all his teeth, "I like it."
The rain ups its momentum and beats down on the ancient roof keeping up a steady rhythm and showing no signs of relenting. Lan Zhan glances at the tea he had put to steep earlier, and sighs deeply. It is utterly ruined by now, oversteeped and probably too bitter to drink. He throws away the water and begins to brew three new cups of tea, this time choosing a different variety. He is conscious of a heavy silver gaze watching his every move, and Lan Zhan tries to remain neutral about it but he's never had this much concentrated attention on him since he earned his unofficial tea-making license. It is slightly unnerving. Yet he rallies, focusing on the job at hand.
He thinks about what kind of a person Wei Ying is. There is no point making anything he won't like because the rogue might just spit it right back out again - Lan Zhan wouldn't put it past him. And since he's already mentioned spices, perhaps Lan Zhan ought to indulge him. He believes that the first customer of the day usually dictates a pattern of the kind of clientele he will serve for the rest of the day - so he must get this right.
Wei Ying might not be the type of person who appreciates the hints of flavour in anything he consumes. Therefore, Lan Zhan must go over-the-top with this one.
So he pulls out a rarely opened blend of dark teas from Darjeeling and Assam, a fragrant, strong and deeply malty tea. Lan Zhan wasn't kidding when he had balked at adding spices; to the light and floral jasmine and white teas, even the delicate green teas they regularly make here, they would be overwhelmed by anything too strong. No, the kind of tea Lan Zhan intends on making for this firecracker of a young man must be robust to begin with, able to hold its own despite the extra ingredients Lan Zhan is going to add. And the naturally stronger caffeine content should satisfy even the most inept tea drinker.
Case in point.
Lan Zhan grabs a deeper saucepan and fills it with about an inch deep of water. Then he has a thought, and berates himself for neglecting the interests of his customer, no matter how annoying he is.
"Do you have any allergies? Lactose intolerance? Then I will swap out the milk for a plant-based alternative."
"Cast-iron stomach, Pal. Do your worst!" Wei Ying pats his stomach and it gurgles loudly as if answering him.
Lan Zhan pulls out a plate of mooncakes from the fridge and silently pushes it towards him. It's the decent thing to do, he tells himself, hoping he will believe it.
"Lan Zhan! For me??" Wei Ying crows, absolutely delighted. "You do like me! Thank you!"
"Shameless!" Lan Zhan mutters without heat, feeling his ears getting warmer. Must be the hot stove.
"Nothing shameless about showing appreciation for kindness!" Wei Ying exclaims around a mouthful of bean paste and pastry.
"No talking while eating," Lan Zhan tells him primly, hoping for a break. He wasn't being kind. He wasn't!
He turns his attention back to tea-making. Lan Zhan pours three generous cups of milk into the saucepan, fully aware that he must make one extra to replace his ruined first cup offering for Buddha. Buddha will just have to make do, today. It will certainly wake him up, Lan Zhan thinks pettily, a karmic retribution for sending him such a spicy customer first thing in the morning. His sharp ears catch every sound Wei Ying makes while he eats, and even against his will, it makes his heart warm. Focus, he reprimands himself harshly, otherwise more tea will be wasted.
Lan Zhan adds a generous tablespoon of dried ginger. If Wei Ying wants spicy, then spicy is what he will get. The petty part of him laughs a villain's laugh internally. His kitchen fills with the scent of it, and Wei Ying sniffs loudly, appreciating it. He remains silent though, and Lan Zhan appreciates THAT.
Next, Lan Zhan adds two teaspoons of fermented tea for each cup, that immediately makes the milk-and-water combination a pale browny gold colour. By the time it's ready, the colour of this particular tea will be a dark golden bronze, hot, sweet and spicy.
Like Wei Ying.
Ugh. Lan Zhan wishes that he never has to see him again, and that's immediately followed by sad songs playing in the background of his thoughts. He wishes he could stop thinking. All of this is because his morning routine got spoiled. He tries not to glare at the culprit.
The saucepan's contents sizzle as they heat up, bringing Lan Zhan's attention back to the task at hand. He quickly adds sugar, again, two teaspoons for each cup and then, as an afterthought, puts the sugar canister right next to Wei Ying, who is still avidly watching him. Lan Zhan hurries back to the stove, adding in the remaining spices to make Masala Chai. Half a teaspoon of black pepper powder, one teaspoon of cardamom, half a teaspoon of fragrant nutmeg (He dispels the notion to add more and knock Wei Ying out because of its sedative qualities.) (That would surely solve the blabbermouth problem, though.) And lastly, a quarter teaspoon of clove powder. Then he waits for the mixture to come to a boil. Now, he must not take his eyes off the saucepan because Masala Chai is notorious for boiling over, and Lan Zhan has had quite enough interruptions today, thank you very much.
As soon as the liquid threatens to do just that, Lan Zhan lowers the flame and begins stirring it rapidly, long in-the-air movements to bring air into the mix. He waits for approximately four minutes, watching the colour transformation of the tea. The kitchen smells wonderfully of all the spices combined with the strong flavourful tea, and Lan Zhan is suddenly reminded of his mother. She, too, made Masala Chai, first thing in the morning. He must remember to give her a call later.
Lan Zhan lines up three cups on the granite counter. He readies the sieve and then pours the boiling liquid equally into all three. Putting everything he used into the sink, he washes his hands and presents the first cup to Buddha. He bows again and then gives the second cup to Wei Ying and puts the third cup aside for himself. It's not his favourite but he will try to salvage whatever he can of his usual routine. Next, Lan Zhan strains the remaining tea leaves and sets them aside. These cannot be re-brewed so they will be transferred to the organic compost machine out the back. When he turns around, Wei Ying has his hands wrapped around the warm cup as though he was cold and hadn't realised that.
"What's your favourite tea, Lan Zhan?" Wei Ying murmurs, watching the fragrant steam curling upwards from his cup.
"Any of the white teas. Silver Needle tea would be high on that list."
"I'm sorry," Wei Ying suddenly says, glancing at him and then away. "I know I can be a bit much for some people, and I kind of ruined your first cups, didn't I?" He nods to himself.
His apology sits heavily in the air between them until Lan Zhan can't stand it any more.
"No need to apologise. Wei Ying is Wei Ying." And then, because Wei Ying has lost his smile, and Lan Zhan wants to bring it back, quite desperately, he adds, "Silver Needle tea may be re-brewed multiple times. All is not lost."
"Thanks." A small twitch of his lovely pink lips.
No.
Not lovely lips. They're just lips. Everyone has them. Nothing special. No.
"I know you're just trying to make me feel better," Wei Ying insists.
"Not at all. I don't know you," Lan Zhan replies curtly, not sure if he's telling Wei Ying that or if the words were for himself.
"Riiiggghhhttt," Wei Ying scoffs, gesturing at the empty plate in front of him. "That's what you normally do for people you don't know."
"The moon cakes were left overs. We don't usually sell pastries. They would have gone bad if Wei Ying hadn't helped to finish them," Lan Zhan insists.
"Oh, because you're a zero waste business," Wei Ying chuckles.
"Precisely."
Lan Zhan takes a sip of his tea. Oh! That's rather good. Even though he made it himself, he can be proud of that.
"I tell you what," Wei Ying begins to say, but then he's distracted by the tastes flooding into his mouth. "Oh. My. Fucking. God. I think I just died and went to Heaven. Or close enough! Lan Zhan! You have magic hands!! I've never tasted anything like this before! It's Magic Tea!"
"Masala Chai," Lan Zhan corrects him, dryly.
"Magic Chai," Wei Ying emphatically disagrees, chugging the whole cup down. He stands up dramatically and stretches, proclaiming, "Now that's what I call a win! And to make up for my intrusion today, I'm inviting you across the road, to my place." His smile comes back in full force, brighter than ever.
He's so beautiful, with his sparkling silver eyes, that sharp chin and high cheekbones, his messy hair and rumpled look, like a diamond yet to be polished but magnificent nonetheless. That enticing mole just under his lovely pink lips.
Stop that, Lan Zhan. Behave.
"Across the road?" He finally has the brain capacity to ask.
"Yeah...or haven't you heard?" Wei Ying sounds uncertain. His hand reaches around to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. "Come and have a look." He waits impatiently for Lan Zhan to join him.
Lan Zhan wonders at the absence of sound and registers that the rain has stopped falling outside. That's all he CAN think because then, Wei Ying takes his wrist and pulls him outside.
Wei Ying is touching him. His lovely golden fingers are wrapped tightly right over Lan Zhan's pulse point.
Exactly then, the mysterious black tarpaulin covering the newly sold building directly opposite the Mountain Clouds Teahouse, falls to the ground revealing a colourfully painted, bright and eye-hurting monstrosity. Huge purple lotuses garishly dance on a yellow and pink background with vivid green leaves, and the sign above the door says, "The Purple Lotus Coffee Hut."
"WEI WUXIAN! GET YOUR FAT ASS OVER HERE AND SORT OUT THE BLENDER, OR SO HELP ME-" yells an angry looking man wearing a purple uniform that says "Jiang Cheng" on it like a warning tag.
"Oh, uh, that's my brother! Gotta go! Thank you for the breakfast and the tea, Lan Zhan!" Wei Ying gives him a wave with all of his wiggling fingers before he scampers off to pacify the other reprobate.
The sun blasts its way through the clouds and right then through the light drizzle, a rainbow appears just over the roof of the building Lan Zhan is staring at. Whatever the universe is trying to tell him, Lan Zhan thinks it can't be anything good.
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A/N
Dear Beautiful Readers,
Welcome to another "short" story! With problems galore for our tea saga rivals, but I promise, no angst, are you as excited as I am? I hope so! No idea about the size, or content, yet!😄
All my love,
Charlie
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