Mo Shoops

When I was growing up, I was repeatedly advised (by school, relatives, strange cloaked Wotan-style wanderers slumped over a gnarled staff) to not become an academic, under any circumstances.  The careers of lawyer, architect, backing singer in a Japanese punk band - any of these is preferable to being an academic, went the Received Wisdom.

Being an academic, the chorus of guidance went, is a sure-fire way of (i) wearing cardigans before the age of forty; (ii) ending up in a state of penury; and (iii) smelling of mothballs and slightly suspicious ammonia-based fluids of a masculine persuasion.

I am here, Gentle Reader, to tell you that (i) I have always loved cardigans, and now somehow I have accidentally become temporarily cool, thanks to recent incarnations of Dr. Who* and a generation of British indie bands; (ii) while not exactly a license to print money, some branches of academia are apparently able to avoid destitution; and (iii) academics actually smell of old books, not urine, and old books smell like Gandalf.  What's Gandalf?  Gandalf's cool, that's what.

*Interestingly, my nickname among the undergraduates appears to be "Dr. Who".  The origin of this moniker is, I have discovered, due to my dress sense.  I was under the impression for the longest time that my nickname was actually "Dr. Hu", referring to my rule of iron discipline, like an Asian police state.

There are perks to being an academic, entirely apart from the ability to wear brightly-coloured cardigans, odd socks, and the occasional bow tie at dinner.  Some of these are intangible: they include, strangely, breakfasts served in the oak-clad darkness of ancient buildings that seem to benefit from the cathartic, healing scent of bacon and black pudding.  Others are more tangible: we have a post-doc from Malaysia who brings me back whopping great big stacks of tea from his homeland when he visits home.

The cake shown in the first half of this article is an awesome example of this generosity: a 2012 cake of shupu from an outfit named "Aomen Hualian".  The name refers to Macao ("Aomen"), and where "hualian" is a connection to (Mainland) China - a suffix often used in association with the various islands / provinces / independent nations [delete as appropriate] that exist around the coast of the PRC.

This cake is only the second that I have ever finished.

I am just going to let that fact sit there for a little while, and marvel in it.  I have only ever finished two cakes of pu'ercha.  The first was something from white2tea, and was, I think, another fantastic shupu.

This Aomen Hualian cake is probably not going to be too easy to find.  However, should you ever come across it, I emplore you to remember this article: buy this tea.  It is rocking, thick, brutal, strong, fat, calorific, and all-round-fine.  I had a period after Christmas this year in which I was encased in my office, working on a long EU grant proposal - this Aomen Hualian cake propped me up, slapped me in the face, and promptly punched me in a sensitive place that I really would have preferred not to have punched.  I can heartily recommend this cake.

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Speaking of chugworthy shoopmasters, we now turn our attention to something from the Augean Stables of white2tea: no matter how much you think you've cleaned 'em out, they just keep on giving.

I am reasonably certain that through various channels, Gentle Reader, you will have probably heard the Gospel concerning this mighty little 1998 "white wrapper" tuocha.  Just in case you have recently arisen from a long hibernation beyond the grave, I here recount some brief notes to convince you that we have on our hands (yet another) good, random purchase from w2t.

I say "purchase", but, as you might conclude from the above, the tuocha in this article was received gratis and for nothing, by an unknown correspondent whom seems to know / be related to / be married to / be in indentured servitude to Paul, a.k.a. twodog2 of w2t.  As is often the case with some of the finest dealers of narcotics, the first hit is always free.

Then, the Jonesing begins.

And how, the Jonesing!  This is strong.  In fact, my diary appears to have "The tea is extraordinary."  It is thick, creamy, sweet, and obviously excellent.  This is a good tea to buy in quantity.  Amusingly, the tong of tuocha eventually come wrapped in some REALLY RUSTY wire, which is surely a good sign.  You can't buy risky fun like that.

Well, actually, you can - at about $55 / tube, which is a very fair price for brilliant shoops that might give you tetanus.  You just can't go wrong.

Addendum: it seems that I have already written about this tea!  I'm glad to see that I agree with myself.

The shupu fades after the 8th infusion, but is otherwise fantastic.  The creamy, well-rounded sweetness remains even after the body has faded.  It is a delightful tea, and a fine introduction to this week's haiga...

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Cup of Cold Tea

cup of cold tea

returned to the teapot

after storytime

Nothing More to Laos

I may have previously confessed to being a stalker, of bargains.

Doomed to walk the dimensions between reality and dream, we bargainstalkers are ghostly half-souls, the nosferatu of the teaworld.  It is our destiny to drink anything and everything, for only then, in the asymptotic limit of our consumption, is that one true bargain to be found: that final bargain, beyond all bargains, which will grant us eternal rest from our tormented half-existence.

Seeking that promise of eternal rest, that undiscovered country, we are driven onwards - beyond the realm of cheap cakes, beyond that rancid cake that your best friend made when he went on holiday to Yunnan, beyond EVEN MODERN CNNP.  Out into a hideous nether-realm in which the howls of the damned are the only accompaniment for the truly absymal tea that we are brewing.  Out into Laos.

Laos is like the Belgium of tea.  It's probably quite nice, but who is EVER going to go to Belgium?  Not even the Belgians like Belgium.  (Friends from KU Leuven, I love you, I love your country, and I especially love your WESTVLETEREN uberbeer.)

Having established that we are about to enter a place beyond civilisation, just like Belgium, where no conscious conscience has ever trodden, a place past the Phlegethon itself, let us consider the facts.

Laos tea is not expensive.  It is pu'ercha from before the days when pu'ercha was A Thing.  It is protocha, the way your grandfather used to drink, assuming that your grandfather is from Yunnan and drinks tea.  It is so Old School, it is possibly even good.

You see why we pale-eyed, hollow-souled teastalkers are drawn to its warmth, like a festering moth around a decaying, flickering candleflame.  It offers the promise of solace.  Laos tea could be The One True Bargain, forged by ethereal smiths in a time long-forgotten: one bargain to rule them all, and in the darkness bind them.

This is the 2014 Chawangpu "black label" from a place named "BAN KOMAEN".  This place is so remote, so hideously, inconceivably distant in both space and humanity (just like Belgium) that we can only begin to imagine how its name should be pronounced.  It is probably a transliteration from some arcane daemonological script, the mere sight of which would drive rational minds into an unhinged state of fractious insanity.

It also, inexplicably, is not at all "cheap".  It is $48/200g, which is, actually, not cheap at all and bordering on "Whoops, what happened to that price-tag".

Scrolling up, you may have noticed that the leaves are pretty darned green.  They look suspiciously green, in fact, as if someone doesn't know how to make The Pu'ercha.

This tea is interesting: the leaves are clearly of good quality.  They are vivid, and they push their way into the mouth with gushu-style cooling sensations.  The processing, though - the processing!

It is an empty tea, and I have to REALLY pile the leaves on to get anything resembling bitterness.  The scent is all flowers and fruit.  There is a big pile of butter, from the magic of the wok, and there is a big pile of huajiao-style numbing.  Just flowers.  More and more flowers and fruit.  Just like the green wulong that it closely resembles in appearance and flavour, this tea needs some attention in the processing.  I get the impression that some perfectly good leaves have not been exploited properly.

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Changing gear, we crack open the "blue label".  This is not some absurd American-style whisky, but is allegedly another cake from BAN KOMAEN, the demonplane from beyond imagining.  The price is lower than the "black label", and it is claimed that the latter is better than the former.

Though perhaps not as good in terms of leaf-quality, the processing is much better here with the "blue label" than with the "black label".

Smooth, earthy, and "breadlike", it is rather pleasant.  It is soft around the edges, but is full, potent, and interesting.  I appreciate the edge of kuwei that gives it some complexity, and I find it much more enjoyable than the "watery", dilute fruitiness of the "black label".

If you are going to travel to a demonic half-plane, and bring back some tea, then it may as well be something like the "blue label".  It is $38/200g, which is... not really cheap, and not really expensive.  I was under the impression that tea from the netherworld was not supposed to reach Yunnan-style prices, and yet here we are.  Is it worth the equivalent of about $70 for a bing-equivalent weight?  It is pretty good... but it is not an obvious Masterbargain.  It is "hmm, maybe you should try this yourself to see if it resonates with your tastebuds".

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With thanks to THE JAKUB for this final trip into the altered dimensions of tea, this is a "2012 MENGZHR" (sic) cake made by someone calls Jeff Fuchs.  Amusing surname aside, Mr. Fuchs sells this 100g cake for $39, which follows the trend of this article's not-so-cheap-after-all Laos teas.

I am told that MENGZHR is not actually in Laos at all, but is in Yunnan, near the border to Laos.  I am raising my eyebrows in consternation at the non-Pinyin rendering of the name of this place, but have no other alternative to offer you, Gentle Reader.  I suspect that the second character in this placename is in fact "zhi", followed by the Beijing throatypirate "rrr" sound, but that's just a guess.

This tea is OK.  It has the warm, earthy, character of certain spots in Yunnan.  It is cooling, maybe nodding towards gushu.  It is buttery, it is clean.  It is not a "flavour" tea, but that, too, is OK.

Is being "OK" enough?  Can we haunted, thin-spirited spectres slake our undying thirst on something that is merely "OK"?

I am not convinced.  This trio of teas was not particularly impressive, either in quality or in bargaination - this latter, in part, due to the non-trivial sums at which these LAOS or near-LAOS cakes are priced.

It is with a heavy heart that I sling my NECRONOMICON over my shoulder, fire up the daemongate, and prepare to step, once again, out into the missing dimensions in search of my prey.

It continues to evade me, and yet... I am getting closer.  Every badly-processed Laos cake, every unappealingly-priced product, gets me one step closer to my place of rest.

I must go now, for the daemons: they are a-howlin'.  If you need me, I will be in Belgium.

Before the Parents

The time before one's parents arriving is a special time.  It is a time that flies past, hours spent like minutes, and yet it is a time to be treasured.  Before the Arrival on one particular Saturday, I sat down with the 2012 Autumnal Yiwu from Pu-erh.sk.  It turned out to be the best decision that I made all day.

The leaves are fruity and small, as pictured below.  Oddly, it seems that I was making notes in my journal about the scent of this tea while planning the staffing of a new research centre in China.  If indeed the proposed centre is built by my university, then I intend to ensure that my portion of it contains at least a representative quantity of pu'ercha for the researchers to keep their minds healthy.  There's nothing like a good tea session to bring out the best in one's research - but maybe that's just me.

Stocking such a place with an autumnal Yiwu might be a good idea: this cake combines the best of accessibility and high quality.  It has a slightly brown hue that reminds me instantly of "guhua" [autumnal, lit. "grain flower"] teas, but it is truly lovely: sweet, clean, and very fresh.

This range of characteristics is also true of the soup in the mouth, with its immediate buttery opening, its crisp profile that is easy to love, and its comfortable feeling at the back of the mouth.

Just as the parentile units pull into the driveway, I come to the end of this memorable tea session.  It is Yiwu in an obvious and enjoyable way: it has the low tobacco of much of the tea from that region, with piles of dry fruitiness on top, perhaps accentuated by its autumnal status.  It is approachable, slightly "purple" in its flavour, and entirely rewarding.

I must tear myself away from the tea-table and go and answer the door...

All Over Your Wuliangshan

Having just returned for Christmas from a week in the terrifyingly cold grip of the Nevada mountains (-19 degrees C), I am just about to embark on a journey to Brunei and Malaysia, where the temperature is 30 degrees C.  My body has absolutely no idea how to cope.  Tea, as always, is the answer...

Wuliangshan is a long range of mountains, one million miles away from everything, up in Simao diqu [prefecture].  It is one of my favourite pu'ercha places, combining tasty "outlier" characteristics with the low prices that accompany regions that are off the beaten track.  With prices in Xishuangbanna climbing ever high, especially those in the hot-spots (Laobanzhang, Guafengzhai, etc.), I look more and more favourably on tea from Simao and Lincang.

Today's article brings together a trio of teas from this region, kindly provided by Scott of Yunnan Sourcing.  Full disclosure: these were freebies.  I missed the YS season from 2012 entirely, partly due to the fact that it was an ab-so-lutely crazy year for me, both in terms of family (new baby) and work (new position).  This means that I am completely out-of-touch with teas from Scott since 2011, and therefore am extremely excited to be offered the opportunity to regain familiarity.  Long-time readers will recall my vocal support of folk who love pu'ercha, and who make good cakes - Scott being one of the longest-serving members of the community.

The first cake is, as pictured above, the 2012 "Chenxiang", which means "aged fragrance".  It sells for just $27, and comes from Nanjian county of Wuliangshan area - presumably not the region of the same name in Dali prefecture.  While not the focus of this article, I include it for my own reference.

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Moving swiftly on, the 2012 "Yinxiang" cake (meaning "Impression") is an entirely unbranded affair, which Scott sells as being a potential for Western distributors to resell.  Scott has a number of collaborative ventures and, as his reputation grows, so reselling and collaborations become rightfully more popular - this is a Good Sign, I think.

This cake is not entirely Wuliangshan, and also includes some from an unnamed source in Lincang diqu, and some other leaves from elsewhere in Simao.

Perhaps as a consequence of the unbranded nature of this blended cake, the price is straight out of the mid-2000s: it sells for just $13.50.  If you get 35 sessions out of a cake, let's say for argument's sake, then this works out to $0.39 per session.  I cannot think of a commodity in the UK that sells for that much - it's cheaper than an apple.

I rather fancy the leaves, pictured above and below, but then I have always been a sucker for a pretty blend.  We have small, medium, and large leaves; we have tips and basis leaves; we have the odd stem - it all looks very broad and interesting.  I always get too excited about the Dark Arts of blending pu'ercha; it is quite a difficult skill to acquire.

 

The yellow soup is so fresh that it has actual hints of green.  This is the kind of pu'ercha that you feel was just picked recently, even though it is over a year old.  The scent is of caramelising sugars, perhaps imparted by the wok.

We have the smoothness and sweetness of Lincang with the dry granary base of Wuliangshan.  It's reliably "northern" character is completely charming, and it carries a decent kuwei [good bitterness] in the throat that keeps things interesting.

It settles down into a sweet, fairly loose-and-watery body, with hints of citric fruits in later infusions.  For under $14, you really can't be too picky, and this tea is as enjoyable as any of those earlier-years Dayi blends that you could pick up back in the day for around the same amount or less.

The "Yinxiang" is cheap and very cheerful, and does a great job of bringing northern pu'ercha characteristics into a highly affordable package.  You never know - this humble little cake might be available from resellers in another guise in coming years.

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I totally loved the 2011 Wuliangshan from Scott, which is tong'd up nicely on our teashelves at home and aging well.  Its qualities far outshone its humble price ($20!), and its strength has caused the passing two years to change it noticeably while retaining its charm.  I have high hopes for it.

This 2012 version, then, has a lot to live up to!

This is probably "the kiss of death" for pu'ercha...

Yellow, big, and sweet, grainy, and full - it captures the attention and seems like a huge bargain in the first infusion. I like its kuwei, and it is clean, strong, grassy tea.  "A tong?" I wrote to myself, rather brashly.

I wrote of the 2011 version that it was "exactly my cup of tea", and this 2012 likewise: it has an undercurrent of husky grain-like characteristics that draws water into the mouth; there is a sweetness, enduring and strong, that satisfies.  It is a noticeably excellent tea.

And yet...

The tea stays weet and grassy, although the bold smoothness of the first infusions has passed.  Perhaps that tong of the 2011 version is sufficient; the later infusions are much more ordinary, if not unpleasant.  It is certainly very good for $28, although I am reminded of the importance of evaluating a cake's core characteristics, after the initial infusions have passed.

So, then, two-and-a-half cakes involving the Wuliangshan region, where the "2012 Wuliangshan" is the best - although it has transiently amazing charms in its opening infusions.  The strength is there, which is certainly in its favour.  That said, the 2013 version may already be available by the time this article gets into "print"!

The Dao of Big Sessions

Some teas are built for big sessions: the kind of sessions in which you can really get entrenched, and dug in for the long haul.  These are the type of sessions where the tea-table becomes a fortification, ready to withstand all intruders.  This article concerns two teas which occupy diametrically opposed ends of the gamut of "big session" teas.

The first occupies a spot in my "long session" repertoire because it is so accessible, and so undemanding, while being quite decent.  The key aspect of relevance is that it soldiers on without breaking apart.  It is the 2012 Dehong "Yesheng Ziya" [wild purple-sprout], which is made by Yunnan Sourcing and is one of his oldest continuous recipes.  Back when Scott used to sell mainstream cakes (Dayi, etc.) as his main business, the purple-leaf Dehong was one of perhaps two or three teas that he produced himself.

Dehong is a "prefecture" (i.e., diqu or zizhizhou) that is a long way away from anywhere, even by the standards of Yunnan.  My mental map has Simao north of Xishuangbanna, and then Lincang north of Simao.  Tea becomes more rare as we go north to Lincang.  Beyond Lincang lies Baoshan.  Just to the west of Baoshan, we eventually reach Dehong.  It is miles away from everywhere.

The tea has a base of something that I call "granary sweetness", as in the sweetness of grain, which it has in common with teas from Lincang.  I have little experience of Baoshan teas, which lie between Dehong and Lincang, but suspect that the granary sweetness might be common to all three.  This gives the "ziya" purpleness a little extra complexity, and it is this husky, "dry" base that keeps things interesting.  Also, the tea is quite strong - unlike many "purple" teas, this is very easy to overbrew, which is to its credit: it has some real trousers.

The "Dehong Yesheng" tea has appeared previously on this humble site in the guise of a 2012 xiaobing made by Scott for Canton Tea.  Herein lies the difficulty, because the cake sells for approximately half the cost at Yunnan Sourcing as it does at Canton Tea.  The two companies have fairly dissimilar customers, and so this may work out well for everyone.  Irrespective of the merchant from which it comes, this tea is strong, quite interesting, and, most importantly for a big session, it lasts forever.  I managed to get a lot of writing done before this tea ran out of steam. 

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At the other end of the gamut*, we have the 2003 Chenguanghetang "Yiwu Zhengshan Shipin". 

*If gamuts have ends - they are traditionally rather ovoid shapes, if we are considering printing gamuts.

Mr. Chen is a tea merchant who looks precisely like my mental image of the professional aggressive tea-salesman.  His teas are solid, nonetheless, and, while overpriced, can often be really quite good.  Certainly, that is the case with this 2003 cake.  Thanks to TA for this particular sample.

Chen's teas are often produced in the "Taiwanese" style, which means chopped to high heaven.  Thankfully, this one is more "fragmented" than "chopped", and this benefits the tea.  It is an autumnal cake, and therefore doesn't have the luxury of having excess strength to see it through its aging.  Were one to chop an autumnal cake, I suspect that the results would be sub-optimal, in that whatever energy it had would be aged away more rapidly due to the chopping (and therefore exposure of the leaf interior to oxidation / fermentation).

As with many autumnal teas that have some age, it is almost impossible to overbrew this tea.  I ended up with Zidu [purple-belly, my teapot] ab-so-lutely crammed with leaves, and it still stayed drinkable.  Indeed, one has to increase the quantity of leaves used with this tea so that it retains the desired strength.  The result is smooth, heavy, and sweet: the sweetness is loooong.  It is long in its sweetness.  While not particularly complex, it is as dense as the bowels of a star, and brews forever.  This may be a function of the large quantity of leaf used, but the result is a long, long session.

Compared with the husky, dry, simple-but-constant sweetness of the Dehong tea, this Yiwushan tea is extremely orthodox.  It tastes exactly as one would expect from a good producer when making teas from a canonical region of 'Banna.  I have no doubt that it is fairly expensive, and I long since gave up buying "CGHT" cakes, but the session with this sample was extraordinary in its duration.  I had to refill the ink in my pen twice, such was the time at the table.  Sometimes, you need a tea like this to see you through.

Yiwushan Clan

Today's article covers a week in the world of Yiwushan, in which I've been focussing on getting to know some of the various villages, as my almost-depleted bag of samples allows.  The motivating tea for this excursion was a sample generously provided by Prof. GV, who is now departed for an old British trading colony attached to the south of China.  I suspect that his access to good tea has improved accordingly.

This is, as far as I can make out, "2006 Eight Pcs", or that could be "2006 Eight Pos".  I suspect the former.  Eight pieces?  Pieces-of-eight, pirate style?  If the good professor happens to be reading, perhaps he might be able to shed some light on this.

Funnily enough, I brewed this tea as a remedy for washing away the sins of a pesticide-laden cake in the previous session.  The leaves have a dense and sweet aroma of good ol' Yiwushan that promises tongue redemption.

PIECES-OF-EIGHT turns out to be a spicy-sweet Yiwu with some warmth and decency in the straightforward style typical of the region.  It has some backbone that keeps it going; even though I crammed a large quantity of leaves into the pot, I am rewarded with stability and sweetness, without scaling any heights of grandeur.  It definitely put me in the mood for more Yiwushan tea, however, and that formed the focus of my sessions over the few days following.

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Scraping the bottom of my sample bag for residue, I came across a packet of tea kindly provided by Eugene of Tea Urchin, when the on-line shop opened some time ago.  It looks as if Eugene has gone on to good things; the samples that I tried previously had the disadvantage of all being autumnal, and were consequently a little underwhelming.

Intriguingly, this tea is sold as being "Wangong" tea, although the product description reveals it is Dingjiazhai.  This is sort-of, kind-of the eastern Yiwushan region, and often classified as "Mansashan".  Wangong is rather sexy, as far as tea locations go, Dingjiazhai is about as sexy as old corduroy.  Don't get me wrong, I love me my corduroy.

This is an autumnal cake from "Xinshenglihao", a brand so minor that it does not appear in the mighty BABELCARP, long may she reign over us.  I found the Xinshenglihao "Xikong" to be good, but a bit simple compared with the competition from Yunnan Sourcing.

What you get for your $49/200g here, which is quite a lot for an autumnal cake, is some dark, sweet soup with a cooling penetration.  It is, unsurprisingly, warm and rounded in the autumnal "guhua" style, without the aggression of springtime tea - this could be acceptable if you're looking for a muted drink-it-now cake, but will prove a hinderance to aging.  There is little complexity but there is, at least, comfort.  There is just an edge of kuwei [good bitterness], dimmed.  By the fourth infusion, this cake has collapsed into mediocre Dingjiazhai territory.

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Days later, I went into a session with the 2012 "Early Yiwu" cake from Yunnan Sourcing ready to be underwhelmed.

Scott has demonstrated, over the course of the years, that he knows how to pick good cakes.  I am always wary of "early season" cakes, however, because the emphasis is on rushing to market, and this can sometimes correspond to the sacrificing of quality.  Scott has made this using leaves from Yibi and Luoshuidong, where I can honestly say that I don't think I've ever had a good pu'ercha cake from Luoshuidong.  Hence the feeling of impending doom.

You have to go into pu'ercha with an open mind.  The first few infusions of this tea were so watery that I was ready to confirm my schlerotic prejudice almost immediately.  Thankfully, I soldiered on.

It turns out that this tea really needs four infusions to reach maximum speed.  This is quite unusual in young tea, which is usually deceptively pleasant in the first two infusions, and which may then easily collapse after the third.  If you're lucky, the tea will stay pleasant.  This cake, however, bucked the trend, and actually got better during those first four infusions, until it peaked and remained stable.  This is a characteristic shared by some of my favourite teas, and hints at the fact that the leaves might actually have quite a lot of density, in some sense, that needs some coaxing to turn into strong soup.

Eventually, the soup turns a thick yellow.  By this time, the straightforward, almost empty, Yiwushan sweetness has swollen into something thick and proper.  It has a heavy solidity that I appreciate, and the sweetness continues out until the ninth or tenth infusion.  So, in this case, as so frequently occurs, my prior assumptions turned out to be false, and I should learn to give the tea its time in the sun.  At $24/250g, it is quite nicely priced, too.

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This was an article about Yiwushan, which I have totally misrepresented, because I want to finish with a tale of the 2010 Longfeng "Phoenix", which actually comes from Jieliang (near Laoman'e), in the Bulangshan region.

There was some soap-opea drama associated with the Longfeng brand, involving a cross-over with Yunnan Sourcing, as far as I recall, and which I hope to ignore as my tolerance for drama is extremely limited.

Much better to consider, the tea leaves (pictured below) are fragmented, and a little dark, but have the heavy scent of good sweetness.

This tea, as with the "Early Yiwu" cake described above, starts slow and watery.  However, by the third infusion, it delivers a razor-sharp edge of sheer metallic kuwei that is unmistakeably "Bulangshan".  I love it.  The sensations in the mouth are simultaenously cold, which reinforces the "cold steel" feeling of this cake.

The core of sweetness develops as the perfect foil to the cold-steel kuwei.  "This pure antisocial hatred is rather refreshing, and I am happy to brew it again and again."

I'm sure that this cake isn't available any more, but I loved its deadly ruthlessness.  Fine stuff, and a great way to end a week that was otherwise spent pottering around in the sweet comfort of Yiwushan.