He picked up the cup.
Hot. His tongue recoiled the moment it touched the water, but he still drank a little.
Duck Shit Fragrance? Bullshit.
Tea flavor? There was a tiny bit, probably from the boiling water scalding the purple clay teapot.
He had drunk Duck Shit Fragrance tea before. He knew its distinctive taste.
This tea tasted nothing like it.
There was a trace of sweetness, though. It rose from his throat, so faint he nearly missed it. How could plain boiled water be sweet?
He set the cup back on the table.
Across from him, the Old Daoist was watching him. A loose, easy smile hung at the corners of his mouth. Who knew what he was smiling about?
"I didn't taste any Duck Shit Fragrance," Wang Xiaoliang admitted honestly. "But it was sweet."
His voice was still hoarse, but much better already.
The Old Daoist raised an eyebrow without a word.
Fan Qishan straightened away from the chair back and gave him a sidelong glance. Wang Xiaoliang knew that expression-"not bad." Coming from Fan Qishan, "not bad" translated into "pretty damn good" for a normal person.
The Tea Room fell quiet for a few seconds.
Wang Xiaoliang set his cup down on the tabletop and cleared his throat.
"I don't know what to call you." He looked at the Old Daoist. "Qishan definitely won't introduce us, so I could only ask for myself."
Fan Qishan snorted. He didn't argue.
The Old Daoist picked up the kettle and refilled his own cup. The spout faced the rim, the stream as fine as a thread, without the slightest wobble.
"My master gave me the Daoist name Hermit Yimu."
He put the kettle down.
"You can call me old man, or old fraud."
When he said "old fraud," he deliberately