Yan Zhi teapot, 220cc

The plum rain in the south of the Yangtze River is always lingering. Su Qing was walking briskly through the alley, holding a rattan box filled with tea sets. 

The greyish-blue stone slabs were glistening with water, and her newly bought embroidered shoes trampled the reflections in the pool. When turning the corner of the alley, the copper bell at the eaves suddenly rang, and behind the rain curtain, a blackwood plaque appeared - "Yan Zhi Tao She".

The door was half-open, revealing wisps of agarwood fragrance. Su Qing hesitated for a moment, but still pushed open the wooden door carved with lotus branches. Under the warm yellow light, the man was bending over and kneading a ball of purple clay. The cuffs of his dark blue robe rolled up to his elbows, revealing the vigorous veins of his forearms. The rotating windlass hummed, and the dark red mass in his palm gradually revealed the outline of the teapot.

Excuse me. Can I borrow a place to shelter from the rain? Su Qing asked softly. The ice-cracked Jian Zhan in the rattan box made a clear sound.

When the man looked up, she saw a shallow scar on his brow bone, like the crackling pattern of Jun kiln. The moment their eyes met, the windlass suddenly stopped turning, and the unformed teapot body slightly collapsed. But he wasn't annoyed. With his fingers smeared with purple mud, he pushed up his glasses and said, "There's an old tree narcissus in the third compartment of the cabinet."

When the aroma of tea filled the air, Su Qing noticed a broken teapot placed on the top layer of the bookcase. The red clay coating is warm and smooth. The body of the teapot is engraved with silk tree patterns, but unfortunately, half of the spout is missing. That was the work of Mr. Gu in the Republic of China era. 

The man stood behind her at some point. The smell of pine smoke and ink mingled with the aroma of kiln fire. "It was collected ten years ago. I can never find a matching clay to repair it.

The raindrops grew denser and denser, pattering on the banana leaves in the courtyard. Su Qing held a plain white tea cup and watched him dig out the bottom trough clear that had been aged for three years from the earthenware jar. As the purple clay was taking shape in the palm of her hand, she caught a glimpse of the faint ring mark on the base of his ring finger, like the tea stains that had been rubbed over the years on the teapot body.

Zhou Yanzhi. He suddenly spoke up, carving out a double lotus bud at the knob of the teapot with a chiseled knife. "It's time to change your tea whisk, young lady. 

Xiangfei bamboo is more suitable for Jian ware than white copper."

When the dusk seeped through the window lattice, Su Qing noticed that there was a small purple clay pot in the rattan box. The body of the teapot is still warm, engraved with half a line of poetry: "Pine breeze, bamboo stove, holding the teapot and calling out to each other." She turned around and looked. The kiln fire was flickering on the man's glasses, gilding the porcelain pattern between his eyebrows with a warm golden color.