Rain falls on Qingming, tea fragrance lingers on.


2026-04-05

The Qingming Festival, also known as the Spring Outing Festival, Ancestor Worship Festival, Third Month Festival, and Grave Visiting Festival, falls between April 4 and 6 every year. It is a traditional occasion for sacrifice, ancestor worship, and tomb sweeping.
 

As Qingming arrives, rain falls gently and the mountains turn green.

The tea hills wake up amid mist, tender buds topped with dewdrops, clustered one beside another. When the wind passes, the entire slope is filled with the fresh fragrance of newly awakened plants.

 
These are the purest days of spring. Heaven and earth are clear and bright, all things clean and fresh. Tea pickers are already bending over among the rows.
 
Their fingers move lightly and swiftly. Plucking one bud and one leaf at a time, they place each gently into baskets, never squeezing or overhandling the tender shoots. From dawn till dusk, they bend and straighten, straighten and bend again. The bamboo baskets fill with layers of tender green—spring itself, earned through countless repeated motions.
There is another group in the tea garden: intern students. It is their first time stepping onto the tea hills, learning to judge qualified buds and leaves, practicing how to pluck with their fingertips.
"Don’t pinch—lift gently," the master instructs beside them. Only then do they understand that a perfect fresh leaf is easily damaged by too much force, yet cannot be picked with too little. Calluses form on their hands, but they learn a profound truth: tea is not merely leaves on a branch, but the careful measure held in the palm.
 

Once the fresh leaves are brought down from the mountains, the real craft begins.

 

From fresh leaf to dried tea, the automated production line makes spring tea processing faster, more stable, and more consistent.

 
From branch to cup, a single leaf weathers wind and rain, is tended by human hands, and journeys through day and night under unceasing workshop lights.

The Qingming rain has stopped, but the tea fragrance lingers on.

 

The tea pickers’ bamboo baskets are empty, yet the students’ hands still carry the faint green sap of young leaves.

The withering trays once held the fullness of spring, and the pressure of rolling has settled into every curled leaf.
 

This season’s spring tea holds time itself, along with the bending figures and focused eyes of all who tended it.

 

When boiling water unfurls the leaves, another Qingming will come alive in the cup.