The tea grows in the gap.
Rock on both sides, a few hours of direct light, roots in gravel that came off the cliff face. 正岩 — true rock — describes where a bush stands, not a grade awarded to it afterwards. Standing in it, the word explains itself.
The floor of the ravine is in shade by early afternoon. That slowness is the point, not a compromise: the leaf takes its time, and the cliff feeds it whatever the rain carries down.
Nothing about this ground is convenient. No machine reaches it. Every basket walks out the way it walked in. That is the whole argument for the tea, and it is not an argument anyone makes on the label — you either stand in the gap or you don't.
New tea for aroma; old tea for the water.
新茶香好，老茶水好
Photographs taken on the first of April, 2026.