“I don’t remember you being this chatty,” she says under her breath.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
I shrug a shoulder. “Do you know the legend behind Longjing tea?”
“I have a feeling you’ll tell me, whether I request it or not.”
“Once upon a time, there was a severe drought,” I start with a grin. “The lands were so parched that the ground would crack underfoot, and all the plants and trees had long since withered away. Desperate for a solution, a young man climbed the highest peak of the tallest mountain, where they said a well sat at the very top, a benevolent dragon sleeping just inside.
“It took the man three days and three nights to make the journey. When he arrived, he prayed to the dragon to bring the rains. So moved was the dragon by the young man’s determination that he blessed the lands with a storm. The rain was so pure that thetea trees drank up every drop and took on a sweet and gentle taste. From then on, the tea was known as Dragon Well to honor the creature and his kindness.”
I turn to study Jyn’s expression. She clearly does not share my fondness for the tale.
Floundering, I say, “If a story isn’t what you are after, perhaps I can attempt another riddle?”
“No.”
“A song?”
“Absolutely not.”
I cross my arms. “I take it you don’t have many guests.”
“Prefer it that way.” Jyn works her jaw before letting out a frustrated sigh. “Your story was fine, though incorrect.”
“Please, enlighten me.”
“It was not a young man, but a little girl who climbed the mountain to beseech the dragon for the gift of rain.”
“And you know this how, exactly?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “I was there.”
My mouth suddenly goes dry. “But this tale is said to be nearly seven thousand years old. It predates the written word. If you were there, then that means you’d be…”
Jyn glares. “Yes. Your point?”
“You look, um… well, very good for someone so…”
“Old?”
“I would never call you such a thing.”
She snorts. “Must be the tea. Keeps me looking youthful.”
The corners of my lips tug up into a small grin. “Was that a jest? And here I thought the effort would kill you.”
“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to brew us some tea?”
My heart skips excitedly. “How would you like it, my lady?”
“Strong.”
“A woman after my own heart. Er, dragon after my own heart? You’ll have to forgive me, I’m unsure how this works.”
Jyn grows silent again as she rummages through her small collection of things. She doesn’t have much—a few chipped plates, a couple of cracked cups. It’s hardly a dragon’s fabled treasure hoard, but I’m pleasantly surprised when she retrieves an old teapot made of brownish-red clay. She quietly collects fresh water from the pond before setting it near the fire, but not over it. I’m glad she knows we need hot water and not a rolling boil, lest we oversteep the leaves and ruin the flavor.
