Fanny, a junior majoring in computer science at the School of Engineering, hailed from Seattle.
Celia, also a junior majoring in management at the School of Economics, came from San Francisco.
Kelly, a junior studying internal medicine at the Medical School, was from Los Angeles.
These three female students all came from cities on the West Coast, so when filling out their dormitory application forms, they all indicated a preference to live with other students from western cities.
After the three girls from the West Coast began living together, they quickly became close friends. With each possessing a unique charm—elegant, graceful, and sexy—they soon became the campus beauties of their respective schools, drawing countless admirers who went to great lengths to win their affection.
Coming from middle-class families, the three young women had no intention of being mere trophies. They used their academic pursuits as an excuse to ward off numerous suitors. At the beginning of this semester, their senior upperclassmen who had previously lived in the same apartment graduated and moved out. When the three girls arrived on campus to register, they learned from other students that a male had moved into their apartment, and they assumed it was one of their previous admirers who had somehow pulled strings to get in.
They immediately lodged a complaint with the school. Later, the school informed them that it was merely a 14-year-old boy, arranged by Professor Chris Landeng, and they were asked to take care of the child.
When they learned that Mu Lin was from China, Celia, who had grown up in San Francisco, told them about the Chinatown in the city, where there were many Chinese people. During her high school years, she had Chinese-American classmates—generally polite but timid. She also mentioned that Chinese food was delicious. When they later saw Mu Lin buying groceries, they waited a bit and followed him back to the apartment. After tasting the food he had prepared, they devoured it without much regard for etiquette. Since Mu Lin didn’t seem to mind, they concluded that Celia’s description of him was accurate.
Later, when they noticed that Mu Lin seemed reluctant to live with them, their pride was hurt. They assumed that Mu Lin looked down on them, that he was discriminating against their beauty. That’s when they started to act irrationally, pressuring him into signing an unfair agreement. However, considering the school’s request for them to take care of Mu Lin, they also helped him organize textbooks and syllabi, hoping to keep him quiet.
Mu Lin had no idea about the girls’ ulterior motives. Having never attended school and having little experience interacting with girls, he often found himself bullied by the three young women. After reviewing the school’s course schedule, Mu Lin enrolled in over eighty classes, which led the girls to believe he was either a madman or a genius—most likely the former.
Initially, only Celia was somewhat kind to Mu Lin. Eventually, it was his delicious meals that opened the door to friendship. One evening, after the girls had gorged themselves—eating faster than Mu Lin—they sipped coffee and chatted while watching him finish his meal.
As they talked, Celia casually asked Mu Lin, “Daniel, do you usually drink Chinese tea? I’ve tried your tea before, but it doesn’t compare to British tea.” After finishing his meal, Mu Lin let the girls clean up the dishes—this was the only boundary he firmly maintained. Usually, after dinner, he would retreat to his room to do his own thing, trying to avoid interacting with the girls.
But the girls seized every opportunity to tease him. The more Mu Lin avoided them, the more they sought him out, believing that his indifference to their youth and beauty was a form of contempt—an insult their pride could not tolerate.
Mu Lin knew they meant no harm, so he tried to keep his distance, even warning them not to enter his room. He preferred to drink tea in the solitude of his own space.
So when Celia made that comment, he was naturally displeased. “Celia, you should know that China has a long history of tea drinking, with reliable records dating back to the Han Dynasty. How long have you been drinking tea? Only about 300 years? Do you even know how many types of tea there are? You only drink black tea! Do you even know how to drink tea properly? Hmph, you think British tea is better than Chinese tea?”
Celia, seeing Mu Lin’s expression, was also clearly displeased. She stood up and retorted, “What are you talking about! I’ve had Chinese tea at my Chinese classmate’s house in San Francisco, and it wasn’t as good as the tea I had in London, England!”
Mu Lin, never one to compromise on principle, immediately stood up and scoffed, “That’s because you’ve never tasted real tea. Your classmate was just fooling you, you foreigner!”
That did it. Fanny and Kelly also stood up. “What! Did you just call us foreigners! Do you even have any good Chinese tea? If not, you’re just bragging. You’re just a lying little Chinese ‘kid’!”
“What! I’m a kid! I’m lying! Fine! Come to my room right now, and I’ll show you what real Chinese tea is. You’ll have to apologize to me!” Mu Lin said coldly, then turned and walked toward his room.
“Fine! We’ll go!” the three girls said as they followed him.
In Taoism, tea is valued for its health benefits, particularly for nourishing the body. Taoist tea culture emphasizes the physical benefits of tea. The Taoist school, led by the Fang Xian sect, believes that the spirit depends on the body for existence, and the body relies on the spirit to function. Only when both body and spirit are in harmony can one achieve good health. Therefore, Taoists place great importance on medicine and physical cultivation, with herbal consumption being one of their main practices—believing that “taking medicine is beneficial, and thus one can become an immortal.”
Herbs and plants are considered the essence of external nourishment, and tea is naturally the top choice. Zhang Daoling, the founder of Taoism, once “gathered and consumed various herbs on Changli Mountain, and on Lishang Mountain, he first taught his disciples the methods of physical cultivation.” Mu Lin, of course, had a deep understanding of tea. During his travels, he had collected many high-quality teas.
Mu Lin’s room wasn’t large. On the front wall hung a Suzhou embroidery piece titled “Three Cats,” depicting three kittens with clearly defined whiskers, watching the newcomers from above.
“Wow! So cute!” the three girls exclaimed loudly.
Hearing their shrieks, Mu Lin suddenly realized, “Oh no, I’ve been tricked!”
The girls had been trying for ages to get into Mu Lin’s room, but he had never given them the chance. Now, they had finally succeeded.
The room’s bed and desk were provided by the school, but Mu Lin had returned the school-issued bedding. The bedspread was a Yantai wool embroidery landscape from Shandong, the pillowcases and quilt cover were Suzhou floral and bird designs, the tablecloth was a Hunan embroidery of golden fish, and the chair cover was a Gu embroidery of “Flat Peas and Dragonflies,” a piece where the dragonfly wings were stitched using an ice-crack technique, appearing almost translucent, while the peas were plump and lifelike.
Finney, a junior majoring in Computer Science at the School of Engineering, hails from Seattle.
Celia, a junior in the Management program at the School of Economics, is from San Francisco.
Kelly, a third-year medical student specializing in Internal Medicine, comes from Los Angeles. These three female students are all from West Coast cities, so when filling out their dormitory application forms, they all requested to live with peers from western cities.
After moving in together, the three quickly became close friends. Moreover, each possessed striking beauty—elegant, poised, or sensual in their own ways—soon earning them the title of campus belles in their respective schools and attracting countless suitors who employed every trick in the book to win their favor.
Coming from middle-class families, the trio had no interest in being mere trophies. They brushed off their admirers, citing academic commitments. At the start of the semester, their senior roommate graduated and moved out. Upon returning to campus for registration, they learned from classmates that a male student had moved into their apartment. Assuming it was one of their persistent suitors pulling strings, they immediately reported the issue to the school.
The administration later informed them that it was merely a 14-year-old boy, arranged by Professor Chris Landon, and they were expected to look after him.
Upon discovering that Mu Lin was from China, Celia—the San Francisco native—shared that her hometown had a vibrant Chinatown with a large Chinese population. She recalled having Chinese classmates in high school, describing them as generally polite but timid, and praised Chinese cuisine as delicious. Later, when they saw Mu Lin grocery shopping, they followed him back to the apartment. Unable to resist the aroma of his cooking, they abandoned decorum and devoured the meal. Noticing Mu Lin’s lack of reaction, they concluded Celia’s assessment was accurate.
When Mu Lin seemed reluctant to live with them, their pride took a hit. They interpreted his indifference as disdain for their beauty and began pestering him to sign an “unequal treaty.” However, remembering the school’s request to care for him, they later helped him gather textbooks and syllabi—partly to keep him from complaining.
Unfamiliar with the complexities of female psychology and having little experience with schooling or girls, Mu Lin often found himself at the mercy of the trio. When he later enrolled in over 80 courses, they deemed him either a madman or a genius—leaning heavily toward the former.
Initially, only Celia showed him kindness, but gradually, Mu Lin’s culinary skills opened the door to friendship. One evening, after another hearty meal—consumed faster than Mu Lin could manage—the girls sipped coffee and chatted while watching him eat.
Casually, Celia remarked, “Daniel, do you usually drink Chinese tea? I’ve tried it, but it’s not as good as British tea.”
Mu Lin, who retreated to his room after meals to avoid further interaction (his one steadfast rule, aside from the girls handling cleanup), was irked. He knew they meant no real harm but preferred to keep his distance, especially since they seized every chance to tease him. Their pride couldn’t tolerate his apparent indifference to their charms.
Now, provoked by Celia’s comment, Mu Lin retorted, “Celia, you should know China has a millennia-old tea culture. The earliest reliable records date back to the Han Dynasty. How long has the West been drinking tea? Barely 300 years! Do you even know how many varieties exist? You’ve only tasted black tea. And do you understand proper tea-drinking etiquette? Hmph! British tea better than Chinese tea?”
Celia, affronted, stood up and shot back, “What nonsense! I’ve had Chinese tea at my classmate’s home in San Francisco. It was nowhere near as good as what I had in London!”
Mu Lin, unwavering on principles, rose as well and sneered, “That’s because you’ve never had quality tea. Your friend probably fooled you, foreigner!”
This ignited a firestorm. Finney and Kelly jumped to their feet. “What? You’re calling us foreigners?! Do you even have any decent Chinese tea? If not, you’re just a lying little Chinese brat!”
“Me? A brat? A liar? Fine! Come to my room, and I’ll show you real Chinese tea. Then you’ll apologize!” Mu Lin snapped, storming off toward his bedroom.
“Big deal! Let’s go!” The girls trailed behind him.
—
In traditional Chinese wellness practices, tea is revered for nurturing the body—a concept rooted in Taoist beliefs that harmony between form and spirit ensures health. Taoist masters, like Zhang Daoling, emphasized herbal remedies, with tea being a prime choice. During his travels, Mu Lin had gathered exquisite teas, mastering their essence.
His modest room featured a Suzhou embroidery piece, *Three Cats*, depicting lifelike felines gazing down at visitors.
“Wow! Adorable kitties!” the girls squealed.
Realizing their ploy too late, Mu Lin groaned inwardly: *Trapped!*
The trio had long schemed to invade his sanctum. Now, they marveled at his bedding—Shandong velvet landscapes, Suzhou floral embroideries, Sichuan goldfish-patterned tablecloths, and a Gu embroidery of *Hyacinth Beans and Dragonflies*, its wings rendered in translucent “ice stitch” technique.
A Zisha teapot, lacquered tea caddies, a jade brush holder with Huzhou brushes, a Shoushan stone paperweight, and a Tang-era Duan inkstone adorned his desk. Another table held his computer, concealed under a Hunan peony embroidery.
The room’s vibrant aesthetics left the girls breathless. With only one chair, Mu Lin invited them to sit on his bed—only for them to gleefully inspect his quilts and pillows, exclaiming over every detail.
Celia, ever quick-witted, declared, “Daniel, boys should have pin-ups! I’ll trade you my autographed star posters for this cat embroidery. People might question your orientation otherwise!” She replaced *Three Cats* with two glamour shots.
Finney chimed in, “Your bedspread’s so outdated. Here’s my mom’s linen one!” She swapped it for a pink version.
Kelly, cradling Mu Lin’s bedding, sighed, “Poor orphaned junior! Let me give you my spare set.” She dashed off and returned with—predictably—more pink.
*This is a disaster*, Mu Lin lamented. His room now screamed “teen girl’s fantasy,” complete with pop-star wall art.
“Hey, little liar! Where’s that tea?” Finney demanded.
“Yeah, yeah!” Celia and Kelly echoed.
Resigned, Mu Lin brewed Anxi Tieguanyin, its golden liquor releasing an intoxicating aroma. The first sip brought grimaces (“Bitter!”), but patience rewarded them with lingering sweetness. After seven infusions, Mu Lin ushered them out, abandoning any hope of apologies.
“Daniel, sorry—Chinese tea wins,” Celia conceded. “But now you’re stuck hosting us regularly. And we’ll tutor you in return!”
Mu Lin sighed. *Trapped again.*
The room was vibrant and fresh in color. Since there was only one chair, Mu Lin reluctantly invited them to sit on the bed. But the girls had other intentions—they picked up the quilt to examine it, sniffed the pillowcases, and chattered excitedly.
Celia was the first to react. “Little junior, you’re a guy, so why don’t you have any female celebrity posters? How about I trade you two signed celebrity photos for your cat embroidery? Otherwise, people might question your sexuality. You know, these posters have their real autographs!” She took down the Suzhou embroidery “Three Cats,” then ran to her room to fetch the signed celebrity photos, which she then put up on Mu Lin’s wall.
Fanny chimed in, “Your bedspread is so outdated. Let me replace it with a linen one my mom gave me.” She then changed Mu Lin’s bedspread to a pink one.
Kelly hugged Mu Lin’s quilt and pillow. “Aww, poor junior, you don’t have a mom. You’re still using such a thin quilt. Let me replace it with one my family gave me.” Saying that, she ran to her room to fetch it.
“This can’t be happening,” Mu Lin thought to himself. “Have I really invited thieves into my home?”
When Kelly returned with her quilt and pillow, Mu Lin saw that they were also pink. She placed them on the bed, and after a moment of inspection, the three girls declared, “Now this looks like a real guy’s room.”
Great. Now the entire bed was pink, and there were two celebrity posters on the wall. Anyone walking in would surely question his sexuality.
“Oh right, little liar, you still haven’t given us your Chinese tea!” Fanny said.
“That’s right! That’s right!” Celia and Kelly chimed in.
Mu Lin smiled bitterly, thinking, *You girls sure know how to change the subject. Well, at least you didn’t touch my stuff on the table. Fine, I’ll brew the tea.*
Finney, a junior majoring in Computer Science at the School of Engineering, hails from Seattle.
Celia, a junior in Management at the School of Economics, is from San Francisco.
Kelly, a junior in Internal Medicine at the Medical School, comes from Los Angeles. These three female students are all from West Coast cities, so when filling out their dormitory application forms, they all expressed a preference to live with classmates from western cities.
After moving in together, the three quickly became close friends. Moreover, each possessed a distinct charm—elegant, poised, or alluring—and soon became the campus beauties of their respective schools, attracting countless suitors who employed every trick in the book to win their favor.
Coming from middle-class families, the girls had no interest in being mere trophies. They brushed off their admirers, citing the need to focus on their studies. At the start of the semester, their senior roommate graduated and moved out. When they returned to register for classes, they heard from other students that a boy had moved into their apartment. Assuming it was one of their persistent suitors pulling strings, they immediately reported it to the school.
The administration later informed them that it was just a 14-year-old boy, arranged by Professor Chris Landon, who hoped they would look after him.
Upon learning that Mu Lin was from China, Celia—being from San Francisco, home to a large Chinatown—shared her experience of having Chinese classmates in high school. She described them as generally polite but timid, though she admitted Chinese cuisine was delicious. Later, when they saw Mu Lin buying groceries, they followed him back to the apartment. Unable to resist the aroma of his cooking, they abandoned all manners and devoured the meal. Seeing Mu Lin’s lack of reaction afterward, they concluded Celia’s description was accurate.
When Mu Lin seemed reluctant to live with them, their pride took offense. They assumed he looked down on them, dismissing their beauty, and thus began pestering him to sign an “unequal treaty.” However, remembering the school’s request to care for him, they later helped him gather textbooks and syllabi—partly to keep him from complaining.
Mu Lin, unfamiliar with the complexities of female psychology and having little experience with girls, often found himself at their mercy. When he later enrolled in over 80 courses, they deemed him either a madman or a genius—leaning heavily toward the former.
Initially, only Celia showed him kindness. Gradually, Mu Lin’s culinary skills opened the door to friendship. One evening, after another hearty meal (eaten faster than Mu Lin could manage), the girls sipped coffee and chatted while watching him eat.
Casually, Celia remarked, “Daniel, do you usually drink Chinese tea? I’ve tried it, but it’s not as good as British tea.”
Mu Lin, who retreated to his room after meals to avoid further interaction (his one boundary being that the girls handled the dishes), was irked. “Celia, you should know China has a millennia-long tea-drinking history, with records dating back to the Han Dynasty. How long has the West been drinking tea? Barely 300 years! Do you even know how many types of tea exist? You’ve only had black tea. And do you know how to properly drink it? Hmph, British tea better than Chinese tea?”
Celia, affronted, stood up. “Excuse me? I’ve had Chinese tea at my classmate’s house in San Francisco. It was nowhere near as good as what I had in London!”
Mu Lin, unwavering on principles, rose as well. “That’s because you’ve never had good tea. Your classmate probably gave you the cheap stuff, fooling you foreigners!”
This sparked outrage. Finney and Kelly jumped to their feet. “What? You’re calling us foreigners? Do you even have any decent Chinese tea? If not, you’re just a lying little Chinese brat!”
“Little? Me? Fine! Come to my room, and I’ll show you real Chinese tea. Then you’ll apologize!” Mu Lin stormed off toward his bedroom.
“Big deal! Let’s go!” The girls followed, curiosity piqued.
Tea, in traditional Chinese wellness practices, is prized for nurturing the body. Taoist teachings emphasize its medicinal properties, with early masters like Zhang Daoling advocating herbal tonics, including tea, for longevity. Mu Lin, well-versed in tea lore, had collected premium leaves during his travels.
His modest room featured a Suzhou embroidery piece, *Three Cats*, hanging on the wall—three lifelike felines peering down at visitors.
“Wow! So cute!” The girls squealed.
Realizing their ploy, Mu Lin groaned. “I’ve been tricked.”
The trio had long schemed to invade his space. Now, they’d succeeded.
The room was sparsely furnished with school-issued items, but Mu Lin had replaced the bedding with Shandong velvet embroidery (a landscape scene), Suzhou floral pillowcases, and a Sichuan brocade tablecloth. A Gu embroidery of *Hyacinth Beans and Dragonflies* adorned the chair—its wings rendered in translucent “ice stitch” technique.
A Yixing teapot, lacquered tea caddies, a jade brush holder with Huzhou calligraphy brushes, an inkstone, and a few books completed the setup. A second desk held a computer and printer, draped with a Hunan embroidery of peonies.
With only one chair, Mu Lin invited them to sit on the bed—only for them to start snooping. Celia, ever quick, proposed a trade: “You’re a guy. Where are the pin-up posters? Here, I’ll swap my autographed star photos for your cat embroidery. People might question your orientation otherwise.” Before Mu Lin could protest, she’d swapped the artworks.
Finney replaced his “old-fashioned” quilt with her pink linen set, while Kelly clucked, “Poor motherless boy, using such thin blankets. I’ll give you mine.” She dashed off to fetch her pink bedding.
Mu Lin sighed. *This is what they call ‘letting the wolf through the door.’*
Now his bed was a pink monstrosity, the walls plastered with starlet photos. *Anyone walking in would think I’m… never mind.*
“Hey, little liar, where’s that tea?” Finney demanded.
“Yeah!” the others chorused.
Resigned, Mu Lin figured they’d overlooked his desk treasures. *Might as well proceed.*
Opting for Anxi Tieguanyin, he measured leaves into the pot—their crisp *clinks* pleasing the ear. After rinsing the first brew, he served the second: golden liquor, fragrant and clear.
The girls sipped. “Mmm—bitter!”
“Wait,” Mu Lin advised. The bitterness soon gave way to sweetness. Seven steeps later, he declared, “Tea’s done. Time to go.”
Apologies were forgotten; he knew pushing further was futile.
“Daniel, sorry,” Celia conceded. “Chinese tea wins. But now you have to keep serving us—you’ve spoiled us for anything else.”
Finney added, “We’ll tutor you in return.”
Mu Lin groaned inwardly. *Trapped again.*
The girls took a sip. “Mmm, so fragrant! Wow! So bitter!”
Mu Lin told them not to rush. After a while, the bitterness gave way to a sweet aftertaste. After seven infusions, Mu Lin said, “Alright, seniors, the tea is done. You should go now.”
He had no intention of bringing up the apology. These girls were thick-skinned enough to make trouble even when there was none. He had no desire to provoke them further.
“Daniel, sorry, but Chinese tea really is better. But from now on, you have to treat us to Chinese tea often. After all, you introduced us to such amazing tea, and now we won’t know where else to find it!”
Fanny and the others chimed in, “But we’ll help you catch up on your studies to make it up to you.”
Mu Lin thought to himself, *Great, now I’m stuck with them again.*
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