"How's the tea?" Gyatso asked while seated on the sofa, pointing at the tea on the coffee table.
"Foye, asking that shows you don't understand tea," Jie Bing glanced at Gyatso and smiled, placing down his half-drunk cup of tea. "The way of tea is like the way of literature; there is no definitive best. Each type of tea has its own distinct flavor, and each person who brews the tea can impart a unique feeling to it. Tea can be sweet, fragrant, bitter, or astringent, so it's not about good or bad. It's up to the individual to taste and see if it suits them."
When Jie Bing spoke these words, he seemed deeply meditative, which was fitting as the two people sitting next to him were, without exaggeration, contemporary monks and indeed deservedly so.
"Enough," Gyatso waved his hand, indicating for Jie Bing to stop his pedantic sermon. "Frankly, I'm somewhat surprised that you came here."
