They were all afraid Aunt Lan would refuse to stay long in the capital and might slip away one night without saying a word, so they dared not waste time. They laid the so‑called tea master Ge into the redwood coffin. Shihu, together with a few taciturn, trustworthy men, shouldered the casket and, in a solemn procession, set off for Five‑Mile Slope.
From a distance Li Ying saw her little clay brazier and the teacup she’d left outside the cottage were gone—no doubt Aunt Lan had quietly taken them back inside—and a small weight lifted from her chest.
She steadied herself and walked straight to Aunt Lan’s gate to knock.
Aunt Lan’s face went thin with irritation when she saw Li Ying return.
“Miss Li, I’ve never wronged you, so why do you keep harassing an old woman? I already gave you that Jin Hua black tea. If you want others to copy it, go ahead. I’m no unparalleled master. My tea-making isn’t anything special. You’ll find someone else to take my place. Please—have mercy and leave me be!”
Li Ying hurried to explain. “Aunt Lan, you’ve got me wrong. I’m not trying to trouble you—it's just…”
Following the plan she and Lu Xunguang had worked out, Li Ying turned her head and cast a mournful, doleful glance at the “coffin.” She put on a look of genuine sorrow and continued, measured and slow, playing her part.
“Aunt Lan, you don’t know. I just went back a little while ago to ask for justice for you, to find out why Tea Master Ge spurned your devotion all those years. But he insisted—he swore he would never marry, that his heart had always been faithful to you. He got so agitated trying to prove it that he struck his head on a nearby stone. He bled and fainted.”
“The doctor was called and said there was nothing to be done. Before he died he left this wish: to be buried beside the old tea master. He said he feared no one would remember him, so there needn’t be a three‑day wake—bury him at once.”
Li Ying told that monstrous lie and felt a small pang of conscience as she watched Aunt Lan’s face for any sign of reaction.
Aunt Lan seemed struck by lightning. She stood frozen a long moment, then her eyes went wide with disbelief. She staggered forward and, reaching out with trembling hands, lightly laid them on the redwood lid.
“Senior brother… I thought you and Master always looked down on my ‘Plum Tea,’ thought little of me, cast me out of the school just so you could be joined to that official’s daughter. I never expected… I kept myself all these years, remained unmarried, and yet you too—your heart was set on me and you never took another bride. Oh, brother, you’ve been so foolish.”
She murmured, and a pair of slow tears slid down her weathered cheeks.
“Brother, if you had troubles in your heart, why didn’t you speak sooner? Caiwei is not a woman to be stubborn for no reason.”
“You were always like this—shut up like a sealed gourd, keeping everything inside. Now you die and leave me alone in the world. What’s the point of living?”
A flush colored Aunt Lan’s face. Li Ying’s heart skipped—this was bad.
“Brother, wait—don’t go. Caiwei is here with you.”
Before Li Ying could think to stop her, Aunt Lan’s eyes hardened into resolute steel. She rushed headlong at the coffin.
“Ah!”
Li Ying couldn’t pretend any longer. She was about ready to leap forward, terrified the old woman would injure herself, when Lu Xunguang caught her by the wrist and held her back.
Her stomach dropped.
Aunt Lan had clearly intended to die, sure that her plunge would finish her. But instead of hitting wood, she fell into a surprisingly soft embrace—the air filled with a faint, unforgettable scent of tea. If it wasn’t the tea‑stained presence she had longed for and resented by turns, who could it be?
Tea Master Ge sat up from inside the coffin. In all his years he had never been close to women; even when he and Aunt Lan had quietly loved each other it had always been restrained by propriety. Now, suddenly holding the woman he’d carried in his heart for years, his chest felt as if it might burst.
“Caiwei—Caiwei, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault!” Ge wept and clung to her, unwilling to let go.
Aunt Lan froze a second, then quickly recovered her wits. Realizing she had likely been trapped by Li Ying and the others, the tenderness in her eyes evaporated. Her face hardened as she tried to shove Ge away.
Ge, however, who now understood the real feelings of the woman he loved, refused to let go.
Li Ying meant to step forward and smooth things over a little, but Lu Xunguang gave her another warning tug at her sleeve.
She understood immediately—after decades of misunderstanding between them, this was their chance to clear the air, to confess and forgive. As an outsider and a junior, she had no place to interfere.
Lu and she exchanged a conspiratorial glance. Quietly, they took Shihu and the others a step back.
“Lu, did you know Aunt Lan would be so hot‑headed? That if she heard Ge was dead she’d rather die than live, so you set a trap in the coffin?” Li Ying, quick as she was, had already pieced most of it together from the tiny clues.
Lu Xunguang answered matter‑of‑factly, the faint smile gone from his face. “The edges of that coffin are sprung. A forceful impact will collapse the lid inward so that she falls right into Ge’s arms.”
It wasn’t an entirely honorable trick, but both Ge and Aunt Lan were proud, rigid souls who would never yield to polite diplomacy. Without a scheme like this, reconciliation might have been near impossible.
Li Ying let out a breath and tried to laugh, “Ping’an’s craftsmen really are clever. In only half a day to fashion such a neat mechanism—impressive.”
She meant it as a casual compliment, but Lu cut the easy air with a gravity that stopped her smile.
“This coffin,” he said, “was actually something I had prepared for myself.”
Li Ying had never expected those words. Her heart thudded hard; her face went as pale as fresh snow.
“Lu, you’re joking, right?” she tried to speak bravely. She’d always fancied herself quick with words, silver tongued, but now it felt as if a wad of cotton were stuffed in her throat. Swallowing was hard; smiling came forced and dry.