RAN XIAO
The Century-Old Teahouse

The Guanyinge Teahouse in Pengzhen, Chengdu, is a living specimen of China's “slow living” philosophy. Transformed from a 1768 Guanyin temple in 1916, it has stood for a century. At 4 a.m., the attendant fires up the Republican-era “Tiger Stove” with water from the Min Mountains. Honeycomb briquettes, fire tongs, and a dozen kettles heating in unison sustain an efficiency of frugality. Since taking over in 1995, keeper Li Qiang has honored a “one-yuan tea” pact with old patrons. His practiced flick of the wrist sends an arc of steam and boiling water through the air. The elderly regulars, neat with a bowl of tea and a cigarette, carry the unassuming poise of “Old Chengdu.” One gazes at a faded Commune-era photograph, drifting back to youth; the arrival of younger patrons and an ear cleaner shifts the scene, turning the space into another kind of theater. For these old friends, it was never about the tea, but the persistence of this space itself—a vessel for memory and dream.

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