<p class="ql-block">2023年回國(guó)時(shí)去了易武，剛好梁老師那年收到的少量留給自己的茶王樹（茶王樹在普洱玩家里有“存放之王”的說(shuō)法）可以精制了，便跟著老師一起記錄了全精制的全過(guò)程。</p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block">那幾天的陽(yáng)光溫潤(rùn)，山風(fēng)里還帶著雨前的微潮，茶坊里蒸氣氤氳、布袋抖茶的沙沙聲、還有老師的講解和教導(dǎo)，都落進(jìn)我的視頻里，也落進(jìn)那餅將成的茶里——原來(lái)所謂“精制”，不是把茶變完美，而是把時(shí)間、手溫、經(jīng)驗(yàn)，一并按進(jìn)茶餅的弧度里。</p> <p class="ql-block">When I returned to China in 2023, I went to Yiwu. It happened that Teacher Liang's small batch of "Tea King Tree" (known among Pu-erh enthusiasts as the "King of Storage") he had kept for himself that year was ready for refining. So I followed him and documented the entire refining process.</p><p class="ql-block">The sunlight in those days was gentle, and the mountain breeze still carried the pre-rain moisture. In the tea workshop, steam billowed, tea leaves rustled as they were tossed in cloth bags, and Teacher Liang's explanations and guidance—all of it found its way into my videos, and also into the tea cake that was about to be formed.</p><p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">Turns out, "refining" isn't about making tea perfect—it's about pressing time, hand warmth, and experience into the very curve of the tea cake.</span></p> <p class="ql-block"><b style="color:rgb(57, 181, 74); font-size:20px;">挑黃片</b></p><p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">從毛茶里面挑出來(lái)黃片，普洱茶的采摘標(biāo)準(zhǔn)是一芽?jī)扇~，因?yàn)閮善院蟮娜~子會(huì)缺乏營(yíng)養(yǎng)，做成毛茶以后會(huì)變成黃片。</span></p><p class="ql-block"><b style="color:rgb(57, 181, 74);">Translation 1: Selecting Yellow Leaves</b></p><p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">Yellow leaves are picked out from the raw tea. The picking standard for Pu-erh tea is one bud and two leaves, because leaves beyond the second will lack nutrients and turn into yellow leaves after being processed into raw tea.</span></p> <p class="ql-block"><b style="color:rgb(57, 181, 74); font-size:20px;">稱克重</b></p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">秤桿微翹，青毫在光下泛銀。每餅標(biāo)重400克，老師卻總多抓三五克——“壓餅要縮，晾茶要喘，存茶要養(yǎng)，哪一環(huán)不是在和時(shí)間討價(jià)還價(jià)？”茶末簌簌落進(jìn)布袋，那多出的幾克，像一句沒說(shuō)出口的承諾：給未來(lái)留點(diǎn)余地，給陳化留點(diǎn)空間，給喝它的人，留一點(diǎn)驚喜。</span></p><p class="ql-block"><b style="color:rgb(57, 181, 74);">Weighing</b></p><p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">The scale arm tilts slightly, the fine tea hairs glistening silver under the light. Each cake is supposed to weigh 400 grams, yet Teacher Liang always adds an extra three to five—"Pressing shrinks the cake, drying lets it breathe, storage nurtures it—every step is a negotiation with time." As the tea dust settles into the cloth bag, those extra grams feel like an unspoken promise: leave some room for the future, some space for aging, and a little surprise for the one who will eventually drink it.</span></p> <p class="ql-block">蒸汽石模壓餅</p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block">水汽“噗”地一聲騰起，毛茶被蒸得柔軟微潤(rùn)，老師雙手托起熱騰騰的一茶在布袋中被裹緊、被擠壓、被塑形——不是蠻力，是順著茶葉的筋脈，一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)收攏它的氣韻。</p> <p class="ql-block">Steam Stone Mold Pressing</p><p class="ql-block">With a soft "puff," steam rises, softening and moistening the raw tea. Teacher Liang lifts the hot bundle with both hands—wrapped, pressed, and shaped within the cloth bag—</p><p class="ql-block">Not with brute force, but gently following the veins of the tea leaves, gradually gathering its spirit and essence.</p> <p class="ql-block">成型了</p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block">揭布、脫模、晾架——茶餅離模的剎那，它不聲不響，卻已把易武的霧、茶王樹的根、梁老師的掌紋、還有我屏息凝神的那幾分鐘，一并壓進(jìn)了這400克的圓里。</p> <p class="ql-block"><b style="color:rgb(57, 181, 74); font-size:20px;">Formed</b></p><p class="ql-block">Unwrap the cloth, release the mold, set on the drying rack</p><p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">The moment the tea cake leaves the mold, silently, it has already pressed into this 400-gram circle—the mist of Yiwu, the roots of the Tea King Tree, Teacher Liang's palm lines, and those few minutes I held my breath in focused awe.</span></p> <p class="ql-block">那些石模靜立在木架上，刻著“梁淵號(hào) 2005年”……字跡被年復(fù)一年的茶汁浸潤(rùn)得微深，凹槽里還嵌著干涸的茶漬，像老匠人手背上的筋絡(luò)。它們不說(shuō)話，卻比任何茶樣都更誠(chéng)實(shí)——每一道刻痕，都是某一年春天的重量；每一次壓餅，都是人對(duì)時(shí)間的一次謙卑托付。</p> <p class="ql-block"><span style="font-size:20px;">Those stone molds stand quietly on the wooden rack, engraved with "Liang Yuan Hao 2005"... The inscriptions have been deepened year after year by tea stains, the grooves still embedded with dried tea residue, like the veins on an old craftsman's hand. They don't speak, yet they are more honest than any teacup—every scratch carries the weight of a certain spring; every pressing is a humble entrustment from man to time.</span></p> <p class="ql-block">如今這款茶我也求老師分了2提給我收藏，只為將來(lái)可以分享給我的小伙伴們。指尖輕撫餅面，粗糲中帶著溫潤(rùn)，仿佛還能觸到蒸汽的微潮、還有那年易武山間，穿林而過(guò)的風(fēng)。</p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block">精制不是終點(diǎn)，而是茶真正開始呼吸的起點(diǎn)。</p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block">它靜待水落，靜待歲月，靜待某一天，被一雙熟悉或陌生的手撬開——那時(shí)，2023年的春光，就順著茶湯，緩緩流進(jìn)另一個(gè)人的喉間。</p> <p class="ql-block">Now, I've also asked Teacher Liang to set aside two tongs of this tea for my own collection, so that I can share it with my friends in the future. As my fingertips gently brush the surface of the cake—rough yet warm—I can almost feel the lingering the subtle moisture of the steam, and the wind that swept through the forests of Yiwu that year.</p><p class="ql-block">Refining is not an end, but the beginning of tea truly breathing. It quietly awaits the pouring of water, the passage of years, and that one day when it will be broken open by familiar or unfamiliar hands—and then, the spring light of 2023 will slowly flow, through the tea liquor, into another person's throat.</p>