Official title: Refused to stay at the university, started his career in a rural town.

On the day Professor Song arrived, it rained in Qingping Township.

Yang Fan woke up before dawn, put on his raincoat in the dark, and rode his bicycle toward Nangezhuang.

The dirt road was soaked by the rain and turned into a muddy mess. As the wheels rolled over it, mud splattered onto his trousers, but he didn't care.

Geng Yan was already waiting at the village entrance. The cigarette butt glowed intermittently in the rain.

"Mayor Yang, given this weather, is the professor still coming?"

"Come!"

Yang Fan squatted down and washed the mud off his hands in the rain. Geng Yan offered him a cigarette, but he waved it away.

The car has arrived.

A Cherokee emerged from the mud, its body covered in yellow mud.

Professor Song Huaiyuan pushed open the car door. He was in his early fifties, with gray hair and wearing black-rimmed glasses. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his leather shoes sank into the mud.

He didn't look at his shoes, but looked up at the tea garden in the rain and mist.

"That area?"

Yang Fan nodded.

"Xiao Yang, right? Come for a walk with me."

Song Huaiyuan turned to leave, and his graduate student Xiao Liu quickly opened his umbrella, only to have it slapped away by Song Huaiyuan: "What are you using it for? The rain isn't heavy."

In the tea garden, the old tea tree gleamed from the rain, and the moss on its bark was soaked with water, as thick as a blanket.

Song Huaiyuan stopped, took off his glasses, wiped them, and leaned closer to examine the tree trunk.

Looked for a long time.

Then I reached out and picked up a leaf, examining it closely in the rainy sunlight. The veins were clear, the leaf flesh was thick, and the underside was covered with fine hairs.

"How old did you say this tree was?"

Geng Yan took a step forward: "It existed in my grandfather's generation. It's at least a hundred years ago."

Professor Song put the leaves into a sealed bag and had his graduate students take soil samples. He circled the old tea tree three times before finally stopping and looking at Yang Fan.

"The variety is indeed unique. We'll have to go back to the lab to analyze the specific components."

He paused for a moment.

"But based on my thirty years of experience, if this tea is properly processed, its quality will not be bad."

Geng Yan's hand, gripping the pipe, trembled slightly.

Yang Fan remained silent.

Song Huaiyuan added, "However, good tea trees don't necessarily mean good tea leaves. The processing technique, the timing of harvesting, and soil management—you can't miss any of these. You need someone to learn them."

"I'll learn," Geng Yan said eagerly.

Song Huaiyuan glanced at him and nodded.

At noon, Yang Fan hosted Professor Song at the township government canteen.

Enameled bowl, cabbage stew with vermicelli, steamed buns.

Chen Ming blushed as he brought the dish over: "Professor Song, we have..."

Song Huaiyuan had already broken open the steamed bun, picked up a piece of vegetables with his chopsticks, and was eating it with loud slurping.

"Back when I was at Hanjiang Agricultural University, I would spend half a year at a time sitting on a tea plantation, which was much harder than this."

Yang Fan sat opposite him, barely touching his chopsticks.

"Professor Song, there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

Song Huaiyuan raised his head.

"brand."

Yang Fan put down his chopsticks: "Qingping tea can't just sell raw materials; it needs its own brand."

"I plan to imbue our tea with traditional culture and associate it with gifts."

"Small jars, exquisite packaging. Impressive as a gift, and high-quality for personal enjoyment."

Song Huaiyuan chewed on his steamed bun, simply nodded, and didn't reply.

Yang Fan continued, "My idea is to release a small batch of tea from the first flush of buds next spring as a trial. I'm not aiming to make money, but to let the market know that Nangezhuang has good tea."

"Have you decided on a name yet?"

"Let's call it Little Pot Tea! What we have now is Qingping-Yunwu!"

Professor Song stuffed the last bite of steamed bun into his mouth, clapped his hands, and said, "Let's make the tea first. Once the tea is good, the brand will naturally become well-known."

He stood up: "I brought three students with me this time."

"Tea picking, soil improvement, and pest and disease control are all handled by one person per plot. We'll stay for three days."

Yang Fan stood up and bowed.

Song Huaiyuan waved his hand: "Don't give me that. Professor Li showed me your report on apple bagging. People from Handong University are efficient and decisive. I'm here to help tea farmers increase their income, not to endorse you!"

The rain stopped in the afternoon.

The villagers of Nangezhuang crowded into Geng Yan's courtyard. Some were squatting, some were leaning against the wall, and some were sitting on the doorstep.

Yang Fan stood in the middle of the courtyard.

"As Professor Song said, and as some of you have heard, our old tea trees have unique varieties and their quality is not bad."

Someone in the crowd muttered, "Wouldn't it be great if it wasn't bad?"

Yang Fan didn't answer directly. He took out a crumpled newspaper from his pocket and unfolded it.

"Mayor Li recently went on a research trip to the coastal areas and brought back some materials. In Nanhua Village, every household grows tea. There are rows of cars parked at the village entrance. Just from growing and picking tea, the average income per person is nine thousand yuan, not to mention that they also have their own brand!"

The courtyard was quiet.

"Nine thousand yuan, what does that mean?" Yang Fan folded the newspaper. "In Qingping, the per capita income last year was less than two hundred yuan."

The old man squatting in the front row tapped his pipe against the sole of his shoe.

"Mayor Yang, we can cut those days in half."

"Achieving three-tenths is sufficient!"

"I'd be happy with even 10%!"

The villagers below were making a ruckus.

"Ten percent?" Yang Fan looked at him. "On what basis?"

The old man was stunned.

"We have century-old tea trees, guidance from renowned professors, and hundreds of acres of tea gardens waiting to be planted. Why should we feel inferior to others?"

Yang Fan's voice wasn't loud, but everyone in the courtyard could hear it clearly.

"We can't stay poor any longer. The children have to walk several miles of mountain road to go to school. When they get sick, they have to endure it because the county hospital is too far away, and more importantly, they don't have the money! The young people have left, and the remaining old men and women can't even pick tea anymore."

He paused.

"If we all think in the same direction and work together, this tea plantation can thrive."

Geng Yan stepped forward. He threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stomped it out.

"Mayor Yang is right. I'm Old Geng, over fifty, and all I know how to do is brew coarse tea. Now that the professor is here, I'm willing to learn from scratch. Who wants to learn with me?"

There was a few seconds of silence.

His brother-in-law, Lao He, raised his hand, and then Lao Li from Zhaojiaping also raised his hand. Hands rose one after another.

Yang Fan looked at them without saying a word, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

Not everyone at the township government believes it.

Zhou Dequan from the agricultural technology station believed it. He followed Yang Fan for three days, taking samples, recording data, and taking photos, his trousers covered in mud.

I think Yang Fan is a pragmatist.

But some people don't believe it.

"An apple is an apple, and tea is tea. Can they be the same?"

"A graduate student, has he ever farmed even a few days?"

"Just wait and see, Apple is just a lucky break."

When Chen Mingxue told Yang Fan these words, Yang Fan was flipping through the technical documents left by Professor Song. He didn't even look up.

"Let them talk."

Chen Ming panicked: "Mayor Yang, they—"

"Xiao Chen," Yang Fan looked up, "when Apple was being piloted, were there many people gossiping?"

Chen Ming was taken aback for a moment: "A lot."

"And now?"

Xiao Chen stopped talking.

Yang Fan lowered his head and continued flipping through the documents.

Three days later, Song Huaiyuan left.

Before leaving, he stood in front of the old tea tree and patted the trunk.

"For this tree, I'll personally oversee the cooking of the first batch of buds next spring."

Yang Fan nodded.

Song Huaiyuan got into the car and rolled down the window: "That brand you mentioned sounds good, but you have to understand, tea, tea, the most important thing is the tea itself. No matter how good the advertising is, if the foundation isn't solid, it will never amount to anything!"

The Cherokee sputtered and disappeared at the end of the dirt road.

The next morning, the tea garden in Nangezhuang was packed with people.

Geng Yan carried a hoe, Wang Dashan held a machete, and Old Li from Zhaojiaping pushed a wheelbarrow. The women held sickles, and the children carried small baskets filled with their midday rations.

Yang Fan took off his coat and picked up a hoe.

"Today we've completely cleared away the weeds, cut down the vines, and loosened the soil around the tea trees. Professor Song left some technical points, and Station Chief Zhou will guide everyone through each tree one by one."

He raised his hoe and brought it down on the hard soil at the foot of the old tea tree. With a thud, dirt splashed out.

Behind me, the sounds of hoes and sickles filled the air.

As Geng Yan cut the vines, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Be careful, don't damage the tea tree roots! This stuff is very precious!"

The old men squatted under the old tea trees, loosening the soil bit by bit with small shovels, even more carefully than they would tend to crops.

The sun rose. Sunlight filtered through the tea leaves, scattering golden fragments across the ground.

Yang Fan straightened up and wiped away his sweat. Before him, the tea garden, which had been abandoned for almost ten years, was being cleared away little by little.

The sunlight after the rain shone on the wet tree bark, making it gleam.