The Secrets of a Tea Chamber

In all the times you’ve wandered, could you take the time to count on one hand how many occasions you’ve walked past an entrance you should have walked into?

Well, I’m no saint either (far from it, in fact).

In all the times I’ve strolled in the City of Spires, I’d say this was the best stumble. An entrance you probably would not have even noticed had welcomed me into something I did not expect, so for this story, I cannot count at least one finger, as I did not pass by.

The tea chamber fell silent as we accidentally entered it, a welcome comparison to the constant drone of the city. As we stepped in—three heads turned to look at us.

“Is this private?” one of us asked in a loud yet coy voice.

“No, you’re more than welcome, please come sit with us,” said the lady facing us at the end of the chamber.

It seemed we had walked into the most relaxed tea party I’d ever been to. I had never walked into a Chinese front living room before, but the calmness of the Sunday evening, and the peaceful presence of the three heads gave me some indication of what it would be like to be a fly on the wall. So from this point on, reader, try to imagine me as a fly (on and off the wall).

The chamber exuded an air of serenity, adorned with traditional Chinese motifs painted on the walls. Delicate teapots and cups lined shelves, and umbrellas hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow under the soft light. The scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the faint fragrance of incense, enveloping us in a cocoon of tranquility.

As it was gestured, we sat. The three faces smiled, the steeping tea leaves lightly shrouded the low table in steam. A small cup appeared in front of each of us, and the lady gracefully filled them.

The furthest man to our right (later to be introduced as Passion) embraced the small cup in his large hands. It seemed the cup disintegrated as he inhaled a lungful of the tea’s essence. As he did so, he seemed to sink into his seat of peace.

The closest man to our right (later to be introduced as Silence) followed suit. “Are you tourists?” asked the lady. The two men just smiled in peaceful silence at us.

“No, I’ve lived in this city for almost five years, and he’s lived in a village somewhere on the other side of the country for six,” one of us responded.

“Well, about this place. This whole chamber is my creation; my two hands have made or brought what your eyes can see. Do you know China?” the lady asked.

We nodded in confirmation.

“Well, I was made in China—to be precise, the south of the south—and we all can agree that the best things are made in China, especially me, and tea. If you drink tea that is not made in China, you are basically drinking dust… And these men can agree, as they are my regulars. They come here every week, they are from… I forget,” said the lady.

“I am from Olomouc, and he is from Barcelona,” said Passion, breaking his peaceful silence and gesturing towards Silence.

Silence smiled as he gradually sank back into his tea.

“Where are you both from?” asked the lady.

“I am from Brazil,” one of us said.

“And I am from Britain,” said the other.

“Please, drink,” the lady requested.

As we sipped from the tiny cups, the cup kept filling, and the conversation flowed with them.

Passion's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke about tea.

“Ah, the wonders of tea! Each sip is a journey, a dance of flavours on the palate. You must try this one; it's like a delicate embrace of honey and sunshine, captured in a cup.”

The lady's voice was warm and melodic as she shared stories of her homeland.

“Brazil, Britain… such diverse places! I remember the golden sands of Rio and the gentle rains of London. Life takes us on such unexpected journeys, doesn't it?”

Silence remained true to his name, his expression serene as he listened to the conversation, occasionally nodding in agreement or offering a soft smile.

“What can I call you?” asked the lady.

As one of us fell silent, the other responded, “I am Neve, and what can I call you?”

“You can call me Sunshine. Nice to meet you, Neve,” responded the lady, now referred to as Sunshine.

As one of us sat passively (maybe like a fly on the wall), Passion, Sunshine, and Neve conversed as Silence sat peacefully, staring into his tea.

As a comfortable silence fell in the tea chamber, so did a butterfly.

Silence broke. A fly flew in front of his face, and he greeted it with a soft “hello, little fly,” before it flew away again.

And as conversation started to pick up again, another butterfly fell, and my stomach reached a seven.

It had come to the time to part ways, to leave the tea chamber and to continue on to where we were meant to be going. Time had really seemed to warp there; the track of it had been completely lost, but what we had found in the process was well worth walking through the doorway.

We exchanged farewells, and as we walked back through the doorway we almost didn’t notice, and set foot back on the streets of the City of Spires—the plumes of tea steam were replaced by bellows of smoke, the sounds of the city hit me, accompanied by the jingling of keys.

I did not catch a full view of the smoker. Just the back of a figure turning the corner, jingling away, only leaving a trail of smoke.

Bennett Crossley writes children’s picture books and adult fiction. His storytelling, inspired by life experiences and a love of reading, spans various genres. Born in England, he has lived in Tonga and now resides in the Eagle Mountains of Czechia, drawing inspiration from travel and diverse cultures.