Meditation, Reading, Tea, and Daydreaming

Falling asleep to the mountain breeze. The creaking of old wooden window frames gently breaks the silence, opening a corner of the ancient city—Guiyuan Courtyard. The courtyard is tranquil, with only the sound of rain pattering softly, fine and delicate like a sieve. On the tea table, the faint aroma of Pu'er tea quietly permeates the misty rain, swirling and lingering. A deep inhale, then another, and the warm fragrance seeps into the depths of the soul. Looking up, rainwater hangs like a curtain before the eaves of gray tiles, connecting the hazy silhouette of distant mountains. Holding a coarse ceramic cup, the warmth spreads like spring sunshine, soothing the palm and gradually sinking into the skin. Amid the swirling tea steam, I sit still as a stone, merging with the sound of rain, feeling as though time has paused, slowly settling into the bottom of the cup. The rain patters, its lines weaving diagonally, its mood stretching endlessly, its droplets dancing—rain is the tea falling from the sky, brewing the eternal slowness of the ancient city.