Chapter 49: Life Is But Two Words

Zhuang Chen took the box and glanced at it—Mother Tree Da Hong Pao from Wuyi Mountain?

"Its yield is so limited, and with all the artificial hype, Da Hong Pao has always felt out of reach. But with the market adjusting and the unique protection of its geographic origin, the price has finally returned to normal."

"At the seventh Wuyi Mountain Da Hong Pao Festival, twenty grams of Mother Tree Da Hong Pao fetched an astronomical price of 208,000. The three trees with six main branches have stood for over 360 years."

"The genuine leaves from the mother trees aren’t available no matter how much money one has. They go straight to the imperial court—priceless treasures. What I have here is purebred: propagated from cuttings of the mother tree lineage, cultivated and processed separately—an exceptional grade."

Opening the box, there was no more than thirty grams inside, costing 160,000.

"The second box is Yunnan Golden Melon Tribute Tea. The Jinxiu King of Tea from Xiangzhuqing, one hundred grams, sold for 350,000, making it the most expensive Pu'er in history—the equivalent of 3.5 million per kilo."

"It's especially suitable for collecting. Without doubt, it's one of the rarest aged Pu'er teas in existence. In the tea circles of Hong Kong and Taiwan, it's known as the Pu'er Supreme Emperor. Only two authentic pieces exist—one at the West Lake Tea Research Institute, the other in the Palace Museum."

"Since you’re not sure whether the elder prefers black or green tea, I suggest choosing these two. Even if he doesn’t drink them, their value as collectibles will appreciate."

A true proprietor indeed, his recommendations were excellent. Thirty thousand for two boxes—if Hao Baoli couldn't bear to drink them, just having them was a treasure in itself.

One must respect one’s seniors in the same trade. Food has been his lifelong pursuit, and this expense was well worth it.

He heard that the birthday celebration would start at the restaurant at noon tomorrow. As the executive head chef at the state guesthouse, it would surely be a grand event. In the evening, the Mei Mansion would host a private banquet for close friends and family. He’d go along with Hu Hai.

Before leaving, he packed up several pounds of Shifeng Longjing, three master-crafted Jingdezhen teapots, and a set of golden nanmu wood tea trays to take home, something to savor when idle.

That evening he picked up Hu Hai at home, cooked himself, and after a hearty meal, they sipped tea and chatted, exchanging many amusing stories from the capital—a rewarding night.

By day, he never missed swimming and working out. As his idol Mr. Chua Lam once said, true gastronomy always begins with a small sacrifice of health.

At dusk, he picked up Hu Hai and headed to the Mei Mansion Banquet at Houhai. Walking east from Liuyin Street along the water’s edge of Shichahai, they entered a narrow alley just wide enough for one car, where an imposing courtyard residence appeared.

It was said to have been the rear garden of a prince’s mansion, now reserved exclusively for tonight’s gathering to honor Hao Baoli’s relatives and friends.

Two large red lanterns, each bearing the character "Mei," hung at the entrance. The kindly old housekeeper, smiling, greeted them. He chatted amiably with Hu Hai—they were clearly old acquaintances—and let them make themselves at home.

Inside the courtyard, the ground was paved with gently lustrous pale green stones. Hu Hai remarked that the paving was all Xiuyan jade—this was true grandeur.

The greatest hallmark of a private banquet lies in its deeply personal nature, reflecting not only the host’s lifestyle but also a unique art of hospitality. Since opening its doors in 2003, the Mei Mansion had specialized in the private cuisine of Peking Opera master Mei Lanfang, with his personal chefs’ disciples at the helm.

Within the courtyard, slender bamboos cast elegant shadows against a charming landscape. It was said that one ancient jujube tree was nearly three centuries old, beneath which rested two vintage cars—props from the film "Rickshaw Boy."

At the end of a narrow corridor, a glass waterfall glistened. In a display case stood the very costume Mei Lanfang had worn over seventy years ago when performing "The Drunken Concubine," steeped in antique grace and delicate allure.

Further in, the courtyard opened up, where a Ming-era hitching stone stood as if waiting for a martial role to appear...

The compound consisted of three connected courtyards, named Mei Hall, Lan Hall, and Fang Hall. An ingenious touch was the seasonal signboard hung on the bluestone wall of the Mei Mansion, updated regularly to reflect the climate and temperature, and hint at the current menu offerings.

Each hall was small, holding only four square tables apiece. On every wall hung old photographs of Mei Lanfang, either in daily life or on stage. There were said to be even more private rooms at the rear.

Each photograph and ornament had a history and story, as if inviting guests into the opera master’s life, much like watching an old film reel or a richly evocative Peking Opera, recounting the bygone glories of a legendary performer.

The air was faintly suffused with Mei Lanfang’s gentle, lingering singing, lending the atmosphere a sense of being lost in time—enchanting and dreamlike.

"Mei cuisine emphasizes beauty, clarity of voice, health, and weight control. There’s no menu, and regardless of party size, all are served the set banquet at a fixed table price, with dinner service only."

Standing before the photo wall, Hu Hai explained, "Here, the owner is called 'the Master,' the manager is 'the Steward,' and all menus are handwritten by the Steward. The dishes come from six hundred family recipes passed down from Mei Lanfang. All four chefs are disciples of Mr. Wang Shoushan, Mei’s personal chef."

"Because of Mr. Mei’s profession, the specialty is light, delicate cooking. You’ll find no pungent or spicy seasonings here, but light does not mean bland—there’s a unique depth of flavor."

Arriving at the private room in Mei Hall, they found the table already set with gold-flecked red paper, on which the dish names were elegantly brushed in calligraphy. The servers, all around forty, warm and kindly, were known as Mei Aunties—dignified and poised, simply yet elegantly dressed, full of grace.

Before the other guests arrived, the two sipped tea and chatted. Hu Hai said the attendees tonight were all close friends, many of them seasoned veterans in the culinary world—a prospect that greatly excited Zhuang Chen.

"Purebred Mother Tree Da Hong Pao?"

"And Golden Melon Tribute Tea..."

Hao Baoli, eyeing Zhuang Chen’s gifts, hurriedly refused, "These are far too precious—I can’t accept them!"

After some back-and-forth, he finally accepted the Da Hong Pao only under Zhuang Chen’s insistent urging. Zhuang Chen relented, saying, "Alright, then. I’ll keep the Golden Melon for you—next year, on this day, it’ll still be yours."

The old gentleman was delighted. Though they had only met once before, he had taken a strong liking to the young man. Pulling Zhuang Chen to a seat, he said affectionately, "I know you have a discerning palate. Be sure to carefully savor the Mei family dishes tonight and give the kitchen your thoughts."

Seeing Zhuang Chen nod with a smile, the old man seemed to remember something. "By the way, there are lots of friends tonight, and I’ll be busy greeting everyone. In a bit, I’ll have Chen Xiaoqing join your table to keep you company."

"Chen Xiaoqing?" Zhuang Chen’s eyes lit up with delight. "Wonderful! I’m a big fan of Mr. Chen—I’ve watched every episode of 'A Bite of China.'"

Hao Baoli laughed heartily, exchanged a few words, and went out to arrange things. In Zhuang Chen’s mind appeared the image of that swarthy, plump, middle-aged man who, when speaking of food, became as bashful as a maiden.

Soon, Hao Baoli returned with a guest, laughing, "Only three at your table tonight. Xiaoqing, there’s a young fan here—do take good care of him!"

Zhuang Chen stood to shake hands with Chen Xiaoqing and greet him. Guests arrived one after another. After a few words, Hao Baoli excused himself to attend to others, leaving the three to converse.

With Hu Hai present, the atmosphere quickly grew friendly. Zhuang Chen raised his cup to Chen Xiaoqing and said, "Whenever I can’t resist the lure of good food, I always recall your famous words, Mr. Chen..."

"Why is there always saliva in my mouth?"

"Because my love for this land runs deep!"

Everyone burst out laughing. Chen Xiaoqing gave his signature smile and explained, "My motto is: Life is nothing but eating and drinking. Don’t bother with poetry and far-off dreams—cherish the simple pleasure of every meal."

Zhuang Chen grinned from ear to ear and reminisced, "The first two seasons of 'A Bite of China' were simply masterpieces. What a pity about the third... I heard you’ve already left CCTV?"

Chen Xiaoqing waved it off indifferently, "After working for others half my life, I finally gathered enough resources to want to do something of my own."

"In the past decade, China’s dining scene has developed at breakneck speed, and food shows have sprung up one after another. Many restaurants have even opened abroad. Unfortunately, many people now believe traditional food is a closed system—a Great Wall of cuisine."

"All these years, what I’ve wanted to show is that this place has never been a culinary island. There are always countless threads linking one food to another."

"In the very first episode of 'A Bite of China,' you can see how different natural conditions give rise to diverse food landscapes, and at the same time, how places far apart can arrive at similar ways of handling the same ingredient. That’s the core message we hoped to convey."