Zhendong’s Hidden Jade

Introducing a touch of green for spring —

Green teaware, like new life, always carries a breath of vitality, a true symbol of spring.

Drinking tea in spring is like having a conversation with your body. After winter’s retreat, the whole body, like all living things, awakens. Sitting before a tea set brings joy—taking a sip of fresh green feels like sipping spring itself. With focused attention, one seems to traverse the entire cycle of nature’s renewal, bringing deep contentment to both body and mind. These tiny green fragments of spring piece together a complete picture of the season, like a new year’s note gently unfolding—its handwriting tender yet clear.

Mist lingers, light rain falls. The essence of spring flows softly and delicately, yet from this gentleness, something new is born. From north to south, from mountains to plains, shades of green unfurl in layers, overturning the landscape. This miraculous new green fills the heart with delight, urging one to stretch and breathe it all in.

The past few days have been drizzly and chilly, the spring air still tinged with winter’s sharpness. Nature’s ripples of fresh greenery spread across mountains and fields, cities and streets, lightly touching the heart. And with it, hope arrives.

Spring—when all ten Haizi come back to life,

and in half a moment, eighty thousand springs bloom. *

Last year, the Hidden Jade series for spring, summer, and autumn featured small gaiwans of 60-80cc. Many friends still inquired about them even in winter—perhaps because the harsher the season, the deeper the longing for vitality.

The greens of different seasons are like hope hidden within the world. As we move through the cycle of time, what we cherish is the daily rhythm itself. To be rooted in the everyday, to embrace the ordinary—perhaps things are not as bleak as we imagine. Every day is a good day; every moment is new. In nature, though the body is small, the heart can quietly inhale the vast, wordless presence around it, drawing in energy.

Even in the south, the days have turned cold and profound. Walking along the mountain paths, hands and feet are chilled, and each breath carries the bite of frost. Though the mountains remain green, their presence feels austere. The roots of plants grow deeper, animals retreat further into their burrows. A moment of stillness—and yet, the longing remains: to curl up by the fire, cradle a warm cup of tea, let the mind wander outward while the soul returns home, steady and at peace.