The judges stood between the two stalls, each holding a cup from the rival and a cup from Lin Xun. The market square had gone strangely quiet. Even the vendors who usually shouted to be heard above the din had stilled their voices, leaning forward to catch every movement.
The first judge, an older man with silver-threaded hair, raised the rival's cup to his lips. He took a measured sip, closed his eyes, and breathed out slowly. Then he set the cup down with care and lifted Lin Xun's. The pale liquid caught the sunlight as he drank, and for a moment, his shoulders seemed to ease, the tightness around his brow loosening.
The second judge, a woman in dark blue robes, sipped the rival's tea quickly, nodding once before tasting Lin Xun's. Her gaze shifted as she swallowed, as though she had heard something only she could understand.
The third judge, a younger man with sharp eyes, tried Lin Xun's first. He lingered over the sip, holding the tea on his tongue before swallowing. Then he moved to the rival's cup, drinking with the air of one testing for faults.
---
The crowd murmured. Shen Lan's gaze stayed fixed on the judges, her hand never leaving her sword hilt. Beside Lin Xun, the kettle's steam curled into the air in soft spirals, carrying the faint, clean scent of Longcloud Spring.
The rival spoke, his tone still warm but edged with urgency. "My friends, tea is not only flavour, it is energy. Feel how it moves through you, how it sharpens the mind and stirs the spirit. This is the mark of a true master."
Several in the crowd nodded, though more than a few kept glancing toward Lin Xun's quiet stall.
The silver-haired judge cleared his throat. "Both cups hold skill," he began, his voice carrying easily over the square. "But they speak in different ways."
He gestured toward the rival's cup. "This tea is bold. It rushes forward, bright and immediate, filling the senses in the first breath." Then he lifted Lin Xun's cup. "This one begins softly, but it lingers. The more you listen, the more it tells you. There is depth here that unfolds with time."
---
The woman in blue spoke next. "The rival's tea strikes like the sun at midday, full of heat and light. But it leaves the throat dry. Lin Xun's tea is like the first rain of spring, gentle, but it sinks deep. It refreshes even after the cup is empty."
The younger judge said nothing for a long moment. Then he held up Lin Xun's cup. "This one makes me want another sip."
A ripple of laughter and murmurs spread through the crowd.
The rival's smile tightened. "Preference can be swayed by many things," he said smoothly. "Familiarity, novelty, even the mood of the moment."
Shen Lan stepped forward slightly, her eyes meeting his. "Or by the tea itself."
---
The judges conferred briefly, their heads bent together. When they straightened, the silver-haired man spoke for them all. "By the agreement of the trade hall, the winner of this contest is Lin Xun of the Emerald Leaf."
Applause broke out, first in scattered claps, then in a wave that rolled through the square. Some in the crowd called Lin Xun's name, others simply smiled as they drifted toward his stall, eager for another taste.
Lin Xun bowed to the judges, then to the rival. "Your tea was well made," he said quietly.
The rival's eyes narrowed for a heartbeat before his expression smoothed again. "And yours… was unexpected. The market is long, Lin Xun. We will see whose name lasts."
With that, he gathered his banners, his attendants moving quickly to pack the ornate kettles and jars. The crimson and gold of his stall faded from the square, leaving behind only the warm scent of Lin Xun's brewing.
---
The rest of the morning passed in a steady flow of customers. Some were curious passersby drawn by the contest, others were old patrons who had heard of the win. Lin Xun poured cup after cup, never rushing, always watching the way each person held their first sip.
One man, a traveling cultivator with a sword across his back, drank in silence before bowing low. "This tea cleared the fog in my meridians. If you ever brew for a sect tournament, send word to the Blackwood Gate."
Another, a merchant woman, asked for a packet to take with her. "Not for me," she said, "for my father. He has not smiled in years. I think this will help."
By midday, the leaves in Lin Xun's pouch were nearly gone. He refilled the kettle one last time, the water hissing softly as it met the bronze. Shen Lan sat nearby, her sword resting across her knees, watching the ebb and flow of the crowd.
"You gave them more than flavour today," she said.
"Tea is meant to be more than flavour," Lin Xun replied. "It is a way of speaking without words."
---
As the market began to thin, a shadow fell across the stall. A man in plain grey robes stood there, his hair bound low, his face unremarkable except for his eyes... clear and watchful, like water over deep stone.
"You brew with patience," he said. "And patience is rare here."
Lin Xun inclined his head. "Patience serves the leaf as much as the brewer."
The man studied him for a long moment before sliding a small folded slip of paper across the table. "If you wish to learn of leaves that grow where the sun never reaches, come to the southern gate at dusk in three days' time."
Without another word, he turned and vanished into the crowd.
Shen Lan picked up the slip, reading the single line of calligraphy before setting it down again. "You are already being drawn into something."
"Perhaps," Lin Xun said, pouring the last cup of the day. "Or perhaps it is simply another path for the tea to travel."
---
That evening, back at the Emerald Leaf, the quiet felt deeper after the noise of the market. Lin Xun cleaned the kettles, brushed out the leaves, and set the stools in place for the next day. Shen Lan remained at the window, watching the street lamps flicker to life.
"Do you regret entering the contest?" she asked.
"No," Lin Xun said. "The market knows my name now. And so does the rival. That will be enough for a time."
He poured two small cups, one for her and one for himself. They drank in silence, the taste of Longcloud Spring still carrying the memory of the square, the judges, and the quiet satisfaction of a cup that had spoken louder than any boast.
---