Afternoon Tea at the Coffin Home

"This smells disgusting," the Little Blind complains, wrinkling her nose theatrically at the steam rising from the cup in front of her. "Ugh! Why would I want to drink anything that you made?"

"A-Qing, our friend has gone out of his way to prepare this for us," remonstrates Xiao Xingchen in his habitual serene tones. "Even if you don't like it, you shouldn't reject it so rudely." He turns his face towards Xue Yang's approximate position and smiles, hands skimming the table as he reaches out for his own cup.

"Yeah, listen to the Daozhang," Xue Yang says. With all three cups and the kettle of hot water set on the rough wooden table, he seats himself next to the other man, legs splayed across the bench so that he can face him from as close up as possible. It's the first really chilly day of autumn and the lumpy grey clouds above the coffin home's yard press down on him, promising months of the kind of monotony he's only ever experienced here in Yi City.

In short, it's the perfect time for a warming pick-me-up.

A-Qing humphs, but she takes hold of her tea. The surface of the water sways irregularly as she lifts it to her nose, unsettled by the soft matter in the bottom of the cup. For his part, Xiao Xingchen looks like an illustration from a manual of etiquette, his back straight, elbows bent just so, the cup held in equilibrium between the fingers of both hands. Xue Yang's eyes darts between those fingers and the lips that part softly to inhale the tea's aroma. A burning anticipation is building in his chest, throwing off sparks. He can barely sit still.

Despite his elegant posture, Xiao Xingchen's forehead creases when he smells the brew from up close. "I don't mean to doubt you, my friend," he says slowly, "but… are you sure this tea is not made from meat?"

Unseen by his companions as he is, Xue Yang permits himself a wide and tooth-filled grin. Xiao Xingchen will eat meat if he has to, if one of the other two has begged or stolen some and there are no vegetables to make up the rest of their meal, but he strongly prefers to avoid it. That's when he's not fasting—or pretending to be fasting, so that A-Qing and Xue Yang can eat their fill of their limited supplies. That's going to make this all the more delicious.

"It's got a very special flavour, I know," he says, voice steady and not filled with teeth at all. "Don't worry, Daozhang! I told you, it's the fungus that makes it smell that way. Just try it. I promise you'll like it."

"Of course." Xiao Xingchen smiles again, apologetically this time. Xue Yang wonders what it looks like, now, when his smiles reach the empty sockets of his eyes. Does the skin crease the same way, underneath his white bandages, or does it do something new? He'll find out one day. There's no need to rush.

Finally, finally, Xue Yang's pristine Daozhang lowers his mouth, raises the teacup the last hair's breadth to meet it, and sips deeply from Xue Yang's specialty tea.

Xue Yang watches every motion, from the press of Xiao Xingchen's lips against the ceramic rim to the ripple of his pale throat as he swallows. He's leaned forwards, well into Xiao Xingchen's personal space, and he'll have to remember to move back again before he speaks and gives himself away, but he just couldn't help himself. (Far away across the table, A-Qing has taken a much louder first slurp of her own tea. Xue Yang suppresses the urge to growl at her to shut up.)

Xiao Xingchen pauses, savouring the aftertaste. The next thing he does has to be to speak, to deliver a verdict with his now-sullied tongue, and whether it's a polite nothing or genuine enthusiasm, Xue Yang will know, will be ready to parse his real thoughts out of out each tone of his voice and store them for his own future enjoyment.

Xiao Xingchen does not say a word. Instead, he bends down again and takes another sip, longer this time—and then a third.

"My friend," he says at last, "this tea is exceptional."

Xue Yang's hands, braced against his thighs, form claws of their own accord in his rush of triumph. He can feel his teeth baring themselves once more. Drink again, Daozhang! he wants to yell, Finish the cup! Drink yourself sillier than you already are, you fool!

He restrains himself to replying, "I'm gratified that you like it, Daozhang." Then he swings himself up and prowls a circle around the little table: this is too good, he has to move.

"What about you?" he asks A-Qing, too loudly, when he's right behind her. She startles and crashes her cup against her teeth with a satisfying noise. "What do you think of the tea, now you've tried it?"

"It's not bad," she says, after a moment. There's a sulkiness to her voice that tells him she's angry at how delicious she finds something prepared by him, the hated intruder into her idyll with her beloved friend in white.

"Great!" Xue Yang says cheerfully. "A-Qing, this tea will really do you good. I'll make it regularly, now, for both of you."

"You said the fungus grows in the woods north of here?" Xiao Xingchen turns his head from side to side, trying to work out where he should be addressing his words. He tilts the cup up to drain the last drops into his mouth.

"Yes, nearby—ah, Daozhang, don't eat it." Xue Yang grabs Xiao Xingchen by the wrist, stopping him from probing the solid remnants of his tea with one slender finger. "It's not good to eat after it's been brewed up. All the yang energy has already flowed out into the water, and that's what makes this fungus so valuable. But I can top it up for you once. You just need to let it steep for a few minutes."

He's already dancing towards the kettle, spinning around so he can pick it up with his good hand.

Xiao Xingchen says, "I thought I knew almost everything about medicinal plants, and yet you still find things to teach me." He shakes his head, a wondering smile on his delicate lips. "If only we weren't so busy with our night-hunting responsibilities here. I should like to collect this sort of folk knowledge from the villagers we visit… there must be so much that even cultivators don't know."

"Indeed, Daozhang, this is not the sort of remedy the gentry favour." Xue Yang perches on the edge of the table, his foot propped up on the bench where he was sitting earlier. He lets his tone grow nostalgic; neither of these two will know what he's talking about. "I used to make this tea a lot with the… people I worked with, back—before." Xiao Xingchen nods solemnly, his face an inane mask of understanding. He will never press his friend for more details than Xue Yang offers up. "I'd always offer a cup to my supervisor, but he never accepted my hospitality."

"If it's so good, why aren't you drinking yours?" A-Qing interrupts sharply, before the Daozhang can reply. "You've been talking so much and walking all around us, but I haven't heard you take one mouthful of your tea!"

Scowling, Xue Yang snatches up the third cup from the table. "This humble one just wanted to make sure it was to your and the Daozhang's tastes before serving himself," he tells her, with an exaggerated politeness that even Xiao Xingchen must be able to tell is fake. Never mind. "I'm drinking it now, listen."

Even if he's sitting outside, surrounded by coffins and tattered funeral decorations, and being pestered by a little blind chatterbox, this tea is still his favourite. It's cooled enough by now that Xue Yang can take a large swig, filling his mouth with the salty, musty, metallic taste. He swills it around his cheeks, swallows and drains the cup with his second gulp. The bloated purple tongue slides up to the rim, bumping against his lips. Xue Yang sticks out his own tongue and gives it a firm lick.

Then he lets out a satisfied breath, ahhh , to make his point to A-Qing. "Delicious!"

The girl huffs and frowns and announces, "I'm going out to play!" before stomping away, banging her bamboo stick on the ground with more force than usual.

By sheer coincidence, Xiao Xingchen is closer to looking him directly in the face than he usually manages. He makes a patient little sigh; Xue Yang snorts, and for just a heartbeat, it's as if the two of them are really sharing a moment together, truly communicating without words. So it's about the Little Blind—so what? Xiao Xingchen makes a perfect picture like this, his robes shining in the fading light, his lips and cheeks pink from the hot drink. His cold fingers are wrapped around the cup of what Xue Yang brewed up for him, the tea that would be poison if only he knew where it came from.

"Has this steeped for long enough now?" he asks, and Xue Yang nods at him, smiling foolishly, before remembering he needs to reply out loud.

"Yeah. Yeah, you can drink it up, Daozhang," he says. He leans back on his hands and watches Xiao Xingchen do just that. "Don't worry about being greedy," he tells him. "I've harvested enough that I can make you tea all winter long."