From Zhou Xiang’s spring sourcing trip to Fengqing
Every spring I head to the southern reaches of Yunnan, where the old tea hills of Fengqing deliver some of China’s most generous buds. This 2025 lot comes from a small family farm perched at 1,600 meters — terraced slopes, mist-soaked mornings, and deep red soil. The pickers hand-selected only the tender golden tips, the same material that defines classic Dianhong. I stayed in the village for three days to monitor the oxidation, something I’ve been refining for black teas since my childhood in Hunan. The cool mountain night gives the leaves just enough time to develop their full aromatics without tipping into over-fermentation. After a gentle hand-rolling, the tea was baked at low temperatures to lock in the honeyed sweetness. I tasted this batch on the factory floor — the raisin and malt were already singing. It’s a tea that bridges the wild richness of Yunnan with the finesse I chase in all my black teas. For me, this Dianhong is a reminder that the simplest leaf can hold the deepest comfort. I hope it warms your cup as it did mine.