The People

01　Tea making · Lugu, Nantou

When the mist comes, don't rush — tea waits for its own time

Expert tea farmer Mr. Chen keeps to hand-picking and sun-withering in his garden at 1,200 m in Lugu. Machines can be fast, he says, but the patience in the cup can't be faked.

Mountain weather turns three times a day. Sun withering means watching the sun; indoor stirring means watching the leaf; kill-green means watching the clock — and none of it can be run off a timer. After decades he still inspects every batch himself before it goes into the pan.

Mr. Chen · Lugu, Nantou · expert tea farmer

02　Picking · Alishan, Chiayi

One bud and two leaves isn't a rule — it's the bush telling you it's ready

Xiu-Juan leads a picking crew. They climb before dawn and work while the dew is still on the leaf; once the sun is up, the leaf goes soft.

A dozen people, and she decides who takes which block and where the day ends. She reads the sky and the bushes both: in the same garden, the sunny face and the shaded face come on at different speeds, so they get picked on different days.

What a machine harvests in ten minutes takes a crew all day. But a machine, she says, can't tell which bud should be left to grow.

Xiu-Juan · Alishan, Chiayi · picking-crew leader

03　Roasting · Muzha, Taipei

Fire can't be hurried. Hurry gives you scorch, not character

A-Zheng tends the roasting baskets. A batch of Tieguanyin goes in and out several times, hours at a stretch, cooling and re-absorbing moisture in between.

A thermometer reads numbers; he reads smell. At a certain point the aroma turns from green to ripe, and from ripe to deep — and once that moment passes it doesn't come back. So he stays all night.

Even then it isn't finished. Freshly roasted tea still carries fire; it needs months of rest before the fruit acidity and sweetness underneath can surface.

A-Zheng · Muzha, Taipei · roaster