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Standing at the restaurant's entrance was not a young, attractive hostess, but an elderly man with white hair, dressed in a dark, traditional buttoned coat. Despite his age, he exuded vigor, with steady steps and a warm demeanor.
The sight was a pleasant surprise. Jin Shiya had never encountered such a unique "service staff" before.
The elderly man walked at an unhurried pace, leading them to their reserved private room while explaining the origins of the day’s ingredients. When he described one dish—桂花糖藕 (lotus root with osmanthus syrup)—Jin Shiya’s appetite was immediately piqued.
(TN: I'm hungry... )
(TN: It's a loofah... )
He explained in detail:
The lotus roots were freshly harvested that morning by nearby villagers and delivered directly to the restaurant. The chefs insisted on using only the most tender and pristine roots, regardless of how many guests they might serve that day. Sticky rice was carefully stuffed into the hollow roots, simmered until soft and fragrant, and then drizzled with a caramel-colored syrup. Garnished with dried osmanthus petals, harvested from the restaurant’s own trees, the dish presented an elegant contrast of deep red syrup and light yellow flowers. Its delicate floral aroma added an air of sophistication to the already beautiful presentation.
The elderly man’s slow, melodic speech carried a soft Wu Nong dialect accent, which lent an additional charm to his narration. With a warm smile and lines of joy etched into his face, his words sounded far more credible than those of any young server.
Because Jin Shiya was the only one in the group who is Chinese, the elderly man naturally assumed she was the one who had made the reservation. He directed most of his comments toward her.
By the time they reached their private room, Jin Shiya felt she could listen to him talk for hours.
The room itself was meticulously designed, blending the aesthetics of a traditional Jiangnan garden with the practicality of a dining space. Their table was set outdoors, overlooking a serene lotus pond. Instead of modern umbrellas, shade was provided by an ancient camphor tree, with its branches protected by an overhanging eave. The table and chairs were spotless and inviting. While there was an indoor seating option, the crisp early autumn breeze and the picturesque view made dining outdoors an irresistible choice.
The elderly man, perceptive and tactful, said with a smile, “Please take a seat, and I’ll bring tea right away. The food will follow shortly.”
Jin Shiya, eager to sit outdoors, turned toward the man for his decision. To her surprise, he had already taken a seat outside, clearly having made up his mind.
Relieved, Jin Shiya joined him without hesitation.
Sherman, however, stayed, engaging the elderly man in conversation. Jin Shiya was stunned to hear the elderly man respond in fluent English, without even a hint of hesitation.
After their exchange, Sherman took a seat between Jin Shiya and the man.
Moments later, the elderly man returned with tea. The light floral fragrance wafted through the air. Jin Shiya took a sip and immediately recognized the tea as Biluochun. Though she wasn’t an avid tea drinker, her father’s teachings had equipped her with a keen ability to discern tea varieties and their quality.
Feeling obligated to fulfill her role as a host, Jin Shiya started to introduce the tea. She had intended to share some lesser-known facts about the tea, ones not even found in encyclopedias, but the man across from her interrupted.
“This is Biluochun, a type of tea that’s…”
“I know. I can taste it.”
Jin Shiya clamped her mouth shut, a flicker of annoyance rising in her chest.
You’re a foreigner—what could you possibly know about tea?
