A Magic Steeped in Poison (The Book of Tea #1) (17)
A young shénnóng-tú named Chen Shao goes first, and I recognize him as the one who uttered the slur at us before the gates. With the arrogant confidence of a man who has known his station all his life, he flips his robe behind him with flair before kneeling. When you’re told since you came out of the womb that you can do anything, why would you ever hesitate? If you were told at birth that the world is supposed to bow down to you, you would think it natural that you are destined to climb.
The mood from the crowd is expectant, watching his every move.
“What dish do you have for us today?” Elder Guo asks.
Shao bows in a courtly manner before answering. “I am from the Western District of Jia, renowned for our arts, culture, and famous teahouses. My dish for you today is an appetizer of crystal shrimp and chives.”
He lifts up a piece with his chopsticks—pink shrimp speckled with green and encased in a thin, translucent skin made of rice. He bites into it, chews and tastes, before proceeding.
Even though Shao seems incredibly arrogant, I have to admit it is indeed magical to watch him prepare a cup of tea. The water reaches a gentle boil, then he uses it to rinse all his vessels. In his tradition, each of the steps of serving tea has a name, following an ancient story of one of the old gods. A story Mother taught to me from the time I could hold a teacup.
As the water flows down the side of the pots, it forms beads that shimmer like silver scales. Dragon Shakes Off the Morning Dew After Sleeping.
He carefully scoops a set amount of tea leaves into the first pot, then swishes the water inside, each movement exaggerated for his audience to see. Dragon Encircles His Royal Residence.
With a quick turn of the wrist, he swirls the water three times, then pours it out into the tray from a great height, causing the people to gasp. It trickles into the basin below, not a drop wasted. Rolling Waves Announce His Displeasure.
He fills the first pot again with hot water, this time allowing the tea to steep.
Head bowed, he waits, and this is when the servants enter, presenting each of the judges with a dish of crystal shrimp.
When the time is up, he rinses the second pot again, and while it’s still steaming, he fills it with the steeped tea. Then the tea is carefully poured into each of the five teacups without spilling. The Dragon Enters the Palace, and the Usurper Is Cast Aside.
I admire the precision of his movements, and the way the golden tea obeys him.
“Look, look!” Those closest to the stage jostle, calling out as they gaze up at the performance. The steam from all five cups joins to form the brief, rippling outline of a dragon, before dissipating, demonstrating Shao’s competence in illusion magic.
Servants quickly step forward to ferry one of the small cups to each of the judges.
The results are unanimous. Each judge throws down a wooden tile on the floor below, to be picked up by an attendant and hung on a hook for all to see. Four purple tiles proclaim him Excellent.
“I would expect nothing less from one who apprenticed to the Esteemed Qian.” The princess smiles her approval, and I suppress an eye roll. Of course Shao is legacy. Already a front-runner, expected to win because he follows in the footsteps of a renowned mentor. “Tell me, is it true you had to pass tests, each more grueling than the last, in order to gain a spot as his apprentice?”
“I hope the princess will not ask me to divulge my teacher’s secrets,” Shao says with an edge of flirtation. The audience titters, then gives thunderous applause, scandalized and intrigued by this haughty and good-looking young man.
The competition continues, and I am so dazzled by the sheer variety of teas and techniques that I could almost forget the nausea roiling inside me.
Palate-cleansing white tea to accompany the sweets typical of Yún province, the high mountain streams feeding into tender leaves that provide notes of peppermint. Able to coax droplets of rain from the sky.
Roasted black tea with a rich and earthy flavor to counteract the spice of the broths favored by the people of Huá prefecture, a district to the west of Jia.
The heaviness of a fried taro dumpling is lightened by green tea mildly scented with flowers. Both specialties of a southern city nicknamed the City of Jasmine.
All the different cuisines and people celebrated are given their turn. Each time a region is announced, their people in the audience cheer. I can see then the cleverness of the competition. If the princess is looking to uplift the spirits of the people, as Bo implied, she has surely succeeded, dazzling their eyes and ensuring that every corner of Dàxī is seen and recognized. The public is intent, their reactions pure. They boo those they dislike, and cheer their favored competitors.
When Lian is called, I try to give her an encouraging smile, but her eyes are focused on the task ahead. She has lost her cheerful demeanor. She reaches the table and, head down, begins the ritual. But her hands shake so hard, the dish she lifts out of the tray slips and clatters against the teapots. I wince.
“Clumsy!” a faceless stranger jeers from within the crowd.
Lian jumps to her feet and bows. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Your Excellencies.”
“I’m only a minister and not worthy of such a title,” Minister Song says dryly, but not unkindly, and the spectators chuckle. “What is your name, child?”
“I’m Lian,” she says. “Of the Kallah plateau.” She names herself in her people’s way, no family name, and the marquis’s face twitches in response.