The canteen is actually just an ordinary canteen, but it faces the river. This alone is incredible, the vast river is like an accompaniment band, waiting outside the window. What is even more awe-inspiring is that this river is called the Fuchun River. It was painted by Huang Gongwang in the Yuan Dynasty, where Yan Ziling fished with a rod on the rocky beach in the Han Dynasty, and is the secluded dreamland that Chinese scholars have longed for for two thousand years. The dishes are also fresh and sweet. After the meal, the women in the cafeteria brought tea. The tea taste is mellow and positive. "What's the name of this tea?" I asked the woman. "This is tea!" She also answered seriously, her voice soft and neat. This place is close to Hangzhou, I just ordered a pound of "before the rain" in Hangzhou city, but the tea here is obviously more compatible with me, the taste is like a bag of seeds and thick. "I know it's tea, but tea also has a name, such as 'Longjing', 'Baihao', what's the name of this tea?" "Ah, you said it was in the city, we don't have any tea here. Name, tea is tea." I gave up, I had to agree with her, this tea has no name, it's simple, it's tea. I am not a tea fairy, but I have tasted many kinds of teas: like durian tea from northern Thailand, apple tea that the British love to drink, lychee red that Cantonese people prefer, and six kinds of tea packed in bamboo baskets. An tea, the Tieguanyin of Fujian people, the "Oriental Beauty" that takes the moderation, and the "Port Tea" of Hengchun with a slight sea breeze... I even named the new tea at the request of a tea shop in Wulai, called "Yi Mo" green".

However, in Fuyang County, Zhejiang Province, in this beautiful little place, the rural woman said that the tea was "just tea". I like the Zen in her words, as if the universe was flooded and the earth first woke up, then men were called men. , a woman is called a woman, and tea is tea. Among all the teas in the world, I will often remember that I once drank a cup of tea, that cup without a name "is tea".

There was a flower pot on the window sill. It was originally a stone, the center was hollowed out, and six human heads were carved around it. Chang Cui's leaves were raised in the pot. He, my mountain friend, walked into my house and saw the flower pot at a glance. "Ah!" he said calmly, "this was carved by my master!" I was startled! "I bought this from the big boss. The boss is your master?" "Yes! I learned from him when I did carving!" "How did you recognize it?" "I know it at a glance!" He It was easy to say, as if this flower pot was his younger brother, of course, he should have recognized it at a glance. "When I saw this pot, there were flowers in the pot," I said. "I asked the boss to sell me, but he refused. But I couldn't bear to go, and kept squatting on the ground to look at the flower pot. Later, his heart softened. I planted the flowers in other pots and sold this pot to me." He smiled, faintly, and it could be seen that he was happy - but I couldn't help but feel strange that when I was four or four away from home If it were me, I would definitely cry, I would scream, or, at least, I would sigh and feel sad for the past and future life of this flower pot.

However, he is different. He is a healthy mountain man. He uses his healthy emotions to see the master's works. As for the "sorrow of the present and the past" at every turn, I am afraid it is out of the unique historical feelings of the Han nation! When I think about it, I think his reaction is actually good, and when I think about it again, my own reaction may not be bad. After that, I seem to cherish the flower pot even more, because it is not only the work of the boss, but also "the work of my friend's master", which means that it is a bit of "kiss and kiss". So, every now and then, I spray the stone pots moist with a sprayer. I wanted to deceive the stone into thinking that it was still living on the mountain, still eating and drinking dew every day, and still a stone with smoke and rain.

The canteen is actually just an ordinary canteen, but it faces the river. This alone is incredible, the vast river is like an accompaniment band, waiting outside the window. What is even more awe-inspiring is that this river is called the Fuchun River. It was painted by Huang Gongwang in the Yuan Dynasty, where Yan Ziling fished with a rod on the rocky beach in the Han Dynasty, and is the secluded dreamland that Chinese scholars have longed for for two thousand years. The dishes are also fresh and sweet. After the meal, the women in the cafeteria brought tea. The tea taste is mellow and positive. "What's the name of this tea?" I asked the woman. "This is tea!" She also answered seriously, her voice soft and neat. This place is close to Hangzhou, I just ordered a pound of "before the rain" in Hangzhou city, but the tea here is obviously more compatible with me, the taste is like a bag of seeds and thick. "I know it's tea, but tea also has a name, such as 'Longjing', 'Baihao', what's the name of this tea?" "Ah, you said it was in the city, we don't have any tea here. Name, tea is tea." I gave up, I had to agree with her, this tea has no name, it's simple, it's tea. I am not a tea fairy, but I have tasted many kinds of teas: like durian tea from northern Thailand, apple tea that the British love to drink, lychee red that Cantonese people prefer, and six kinds of tea packed in bamboo baskets. An tea, the Tieguanyin of Fujian people, the "Oriental Beauty" that takes the moderation, and the "Port Tea" of Hengchun with a slight sea breeze... I even named the new tea at the request of a tea shop in Wulai, called "Yi Mo" green".

However, in Fuyang County, Zhejiang Province, in this beautiful little place, the rural woman said that the tea was "just tea". I like the Zen in her words, as if the universe was flooded and the earth first woke up, then men were called men. , a woman is called a woman, and tea is tea. Among all the teas in the world, I will often remember that I once drank a cup of tea, that cup without a name "is tea".

There was a flower pot on the window sill. It was originally a stone, the center was hollowed out, and six human heads were carved around it. Chang Cui's leaves were raised in the pot. He, my mountain friend, walked into my house and saw the flower pot at a glance. "Ah!" he said calmly, "this was carved by my master!" I was startled! "I bought this from the big boss. The boss is your master?" "Yes! I learned from him when I did carving!" "How did you recognize it?" "I know it at a glance!" He It was easy to say, as if this flower pot was his younger brother, of course, he should have recognized it at a glance. "When I saw this pot, there were flowers in the pot," I said. "I asked the boss to sell me, but he refused. But I couldn't bear to go, and kept squatting on the ground to look at the flower pot. Later, his heart softened. I planted the flowers in other pots and sold this pot to me." He smiled, faintly, and it could be seen that he was happy - but I couldn't help but feel strange that when I was four or four away from home If it were me, I would definitely cry, I would scream, or, at least, I would sigh and feel sad for the past and future life of this flower pot.

However, he is different. He is a healthy mountain man. He uses his healthy emotions to see the master's works. As for the "sorrow of the present and the past" at every turn, I am afraid it is out of the unique historical feelings of the Han nation! When I think about it, I think his reaction is actually good, and when I think about it again, my own reaction may not be bad. After that, I seem to cherish the flower pot even more, because it is not only the work of the boss, but also "the work of my friend's master", which means that it is a bit of "kiss and kiss". So, every now and then, I spray the stone pots moist with a sprayer. I wanted to deceive the stone into thinking that it was still living on the mountain, still eating and drinking dew every day, and still a stone with smoke and rain.