Time passed differently within the walls of Green Tea House. Outside, the rain continued to fall, blurring the world into a painting of muted grays and greens, but inside, the atmosphere remained steady and warm, wrapped in the lingering fragrance of Longjing tea.
Meiying busied herself in the corner, wiping the ceramic jars one by one with a soft cloth. She worked slowly, her movements rhythmic and soothing. Every now and then, she would glance discreetly toward the man by the window.
He had not left yet.
Initially, she had assumed he would finish his business and leave as soon as the rain lightened. But nearly an hour had gone by, and he was still there. His tablet lay face-up on the table, the screen dark now. His hands were wrapped around the porcelain cup, which had long since emptied, yet he made no move to call for more or to pack his things.
He was just... sitting. Staring out the window.
It was a strange sight. This was a man who had walked in carrying the entire weight of the world on his shoulders, radiating an urgency that seemed to demand everything around him to move faster. And yet, here he was, moving at the pace of the old teahouse.
Meiying decided to approach him again. She picked up the small change she had set aside earlier, along with a fresh, warm cloth.
"Excuse me, Sir," she said softly, stopping at a respectful distance.
The man turned his head, his eyes clearing as if returning from a distant place. He looked at her, blinking slowly. "Yes?"
"Here is your change," Meiying said, placing the coins gently on the table. "And I brought a warm cloth. You can wipe your hands or your face with it. It helps with the cold."
The man looked at the money, then at the cloth, and finally at Meiying. There was a moment of hesitation in his eyes, as if he was not used to such small, thoughtful gestures. He reached out and took the cloth, its warmth seeping into his palms.
"Thank you," he murmured. It was the first time his voice did not carry that sharp edge of impatience. It sounded quieter, more human. He wiped his hands, then his face, and let out a long, deep breath—a sound that seemed to release a tension he had been holding for days.
"My grandfather used to say," Meiying began gently, deciding that the atmosphere was calm enough for a conversation, "that rain in Hangzhou is nature's way of telling people to slow down. It seems you have been running for quite a long time, Sir."
The man let out a dry, short laugh. He leaned back against the wooden chair, which creaked softly under his weight. "You could say that. In the world I come from, stopping means falling behind. Everyone is running, and if you don't run with them, you get left in the dust."
"And is that what you want?" Meiying asked, her head tilted slightly to the side. "To keep running?"
He paused. The question seemed simple, but it hung in the air, heavy and significant. He looked around the room—at the wooden beams, the old teapot, the soft light. "I... I don't know. I haven't really thought about what I want. I only know what I have to do."
Meiying smiled, a warm and understanding expression. "Sometimes, we need to stop to figure out which direction we are actually going. Would you like another cup of tea? On the house. It seems you might need a little more time to rest before you go back to running."
The man looked at her, really looked at her, studying her face. He saw the sincerity in her eyes, the lack of any hidden agenda. She wasn't trying to sell him anything else; she was simply offering him peace.
For the first time since entering, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his lips. "You are a very persuasive host. Very well. One more cup. But this time, tell me—what is your name?"
"I am Meiying. Lin Meiying."
"Meiying," he repeated, testing the sound of the name. It rolled off his tongue smoothly. "I am Zeyu. Gu Zeyu."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gu. I will prepare that tea for you right away."
Meiying returned to her brewing station, her heart feeling a little lighter. She had broken through the icy wall that surrounded this man, if only just a little. She decided this time to brew something slightly different. She took a few leaves of the Longjing she had served earlier, and added a single dried osmanthus flower from a small jar.
She heated the water again, poured it, and watched as the leaves danced and the flower unfurled, releasing a scent that was fresh yet subtly sweet.
When she brought the new cup to him, Gu Zeyu was watching her approach. He watched her hands, the careful way she held the cup, the grace in every movement.
"This one has a little extra," Meiying explained. "A touch of osmanthus. To add a little sweetness to the day."
Zeyu picked up the cup. The warmth traveled from the porcelain to his fingers, then up his arms, spreading through his body. He took a sip. The flavor was complex—initially the crisp, clean taste of the tea, followed by a lingering, gentle floral sweetness that settled comfortably in his throat.
"It's... good," he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "It tastes... peaceful."
"That is the magic of it," Meiying said softly. "Now, please, take all the time you need."
She left him alone again, returning to her work, but this time, the silence between them felt comfortable, companionable, rather than empty. Zeyu sat there, sipping his tea, watching the rain, and for the first time in years, his mind was not racing with numbers, deadlines, or the demands of his family's company. For a brief moment, he was just a man sitting in a quiet room, holding a warm cup, existing in the now.
He wondered when the last time was that he had felt this way. He couldn't remember.
Outside, the rain began to slow, turning from a steady downpour into a light drizzle. The sky was still gray, but the air felt cleaner, fresher. Zeyu finished his tea and set the cup down. He stood up, putting his jacket back on. It was dry now, thanks to Meiying's offer earlier.
He walked to the door, but before opening it, he turned back. Meiying was standing by the counter, looking at him with that same gentle smile.
"Thank you, Meiying," Zeyu said, his voice steady. "For the tea. And for the rest."
"You are welcome, Mr. Gu. Please come back again whenever you need a break."
"I think... I might," he replied, and there was a hint of truth in his words.
He opened the door, and the bell chimed again, but this time, he did not close it with a bang. He pulled it shut gently, looking at her one last time through the glass before stepping out into the damp street.
Meiying watched him go, watching his figure blend into the misty street. She picked up the cup he had used, running her finger along the smooth porcelain. A strange feeling settled in her chest. She had a feeling that this encounter in the rain was not just a one-time event.
Something told her that Gu Zeyu would be back. And somehow, she knew that when he did, things would never be quite the same again for either of them.