Puer Tea Read online

  The above themes have been reinforced since the 1950s, when martial arts fiction again flourished in Hong Kong, with Jin Yong (Louis Cha) as the most prominent writer. In his novels, the knight-errant is the dominant character in jianghu, but the boundary between knight-errant and hermit is sometimes blurred. The knights-errant who carry out heroic deeds often wish to retreat from the chaotic jianghu itself. Sometimes, a seemingly quiet hermit is actually a knight-errant with advanced martial arts skills.

  The term jianghu is also increasingly being used in contemporary narratives. In his documentary Jianghu, which records the life of a song and dance troupe, the film director Wu Wenguang (1999) treats jianghu as a contrast to home. According to his commentary, the singers and dancers were forced to leave their homeland and were “floating” in another kind of life, full of risks and with obscure prospects.20 In this example, jianghu represents a wandering space for ordinary people who leave their real native lands. “Old jianghu” (lao jianghu) has also become a common saying, referring to a person who is worldly-wise and adept at dealing with complex situations.

  The idea of jianghu as a metaphor for the space occupied by Puer tea actors emerged from many scenes that I witnessed during my fieldwork. Both on tea-growing mountains and around tea tables, people “fought” to use open or secret methods to authenticate the tea or person in front of them. I couldn't help associating this with contests in martial arts fiction, such as those acted out by Jackie Chan or Bruce Lee, and the jianghu battle depicted in the movie Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, directed by Ang Lee, even though the tea competitions were much more sedate. Many people said they were tired of the debates surrounding Puer tea and wished to just sit down for a simple, authentic cup of tea. This reminded me of the hero played by Chow Yun-fat in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, who wishes to give up his warrior life and live peacefully with his beloved.

  I found in these scenes intrinsic features of jianghu that are applicable to the world of Puer tea. First, as a space located between utopia and reality, jianghu represents a social world in which knights-errant achieve romantic dreams, but chaos and risks still remain. Cheating, poisoning, and robbery are frequent occurrences in the world of jianghu. Cheating and forgery are also prevalent in the case of Puer tea, making the quest for “authentic” Puer tea difficult to accomplish. Just like the adventures of knights-errant living in the jianghu, or of ordinary people leaving their homeland, the route to discovering authentic Puer tea is often full of risk and competition, due to the complex image of Puer tea and the obscure relationships between people. The wish for a simple cup of tea reflects people's anxiety about authenticity and indicates a desire to retreat from these risks and competitions and become a hermit-like tea drinker.

  Second, in the jianghu world of martial arts fiction, knights-errant could go beyond governmental influence to seek a simple and “perfect” resolution for all kinds of problems: good or evil, right or wrong, all could be judged by matching the kungfu skills of opponents. That is, by transcending the social hierarchy, one could decide one's own fate through reliance on personal skill, an ideal many Chinese dream of when they lose faith in formal authority (Chen Pingyuan 1997, 2002). Similarly, facing the lack of clear government regulations on Puer tea, some people believe that the best way to assure authenticity and avoid being cheated is via direct and personal tasting. This is especially evident by the many tea producers, drinkers, and traders who have emerged in the contest over identifying Puer tea's authenticity, who are each proud of their own ability to judge authentic Puer tea. A trader from Guangdong once said to me:

  You don't need to know exactly in what way a piece of Puer tea is planted, processed, or traded. All can be discovered at the tea table. Whether or not too much fertilizer has been used, what quality of tea the material is made of, which tea mountain it is from, and roughly how old it is can all be determined by your tasting ability.

  Thus the spaces for Puer tea actors—whether on faraway tea mountains or in urban teahouses or in online discussions on websites devoted to tea—share similarities with the jianghu world for knights-errant. Both contrast with the more standardized rules of the court or the elite in their emphasis on personal skills. In Puer tea's case, this is a subtle kind of noncooperation rather than a clear declaration of resistance to authority. These actors are opposed mostly to complex doctrines or definitions of Puer tea that are declared to be authoritative and scientific but in their opinion fail to distinguish the authentic from the fake.

  Third, the term jianghu hints that the essence of society is based on the presence of various groups or clans whose disciplines are in debate and cannot be tolerated by one another. That is, each group has its own social space, its “own code of conduct,” and its “own language and wisdom” (Minford 1997: xxix). One would be at risk or would lose one's sense of belonging if one entered the other's space without accepting their discipline. In the case of Puer tea, different groups have different palates; divergence exists between the so-called raw Puer tea group (sheng cha pai) and the artificially fermented Puer tea group (shu cha pai), the Yiwu flavor group and the Menghai flavor group, the Yunnan storage group and the Guangdong storage group. Each declares itself the most authentic and does not tolerate the other. This kind of taste divergence may also be seen in consumption choices discussed by Western scholars over food or clothes that act as distinct cultural markers (see Bourdieu 1984). What is different about the Chinese case might be that the jianghu distinction doesn't have a strong emphasis on class hierarchy. James Liu has pointed out that Chinese knights-errant should not be regarded as a distinct social class, “but simply as men of strongly individualistic temperament” (1967: 4). Similarly, Puer tea actors are distinguished not necessarily by class, but on the basis of different interests, mutual prejudice, and indignation about certain “authoritative” instructions. Moreover, in jianghu there are generally two levels of distinction: a distinction from authoritative powers that arises by declaring themselves to be a nonmainstream group, and a distinction among themselves that arises from interior discrepancies in terms of different opinions among different disciplines. Even within one discipline suspicions exist, and there are open or secret battles.

  The jianghu metaphor used in this book is conspicuously embodied by but not limited to the world and behavior of knights-errant that stresses the ethics of loyalty, righteousness, and male camaraderie. Rather, a broad sense of jianghu is used to refer to a kind of “intellectual pursuit” by various Chinese—in particular the pursuit for truth, freedom, and independence (Sanlian Life Week 2012: 62) reflected by many Puer tea actors’ ideal of finding and having a cup of authentic tea.

  However, multiple voices have converged as a result of Puer tea's popularity, and counterforces exist between these voices. This makes the effort of “unifying” the jianghu of Puer tea (yi tong jianghu)—namely, giving Puer tea a singular authenticity—ultimately unsuccessful. Such multiple voices and counterforces have long existed in China. This book both explores this social and cultural continuity and displays the unprecedented depth of a certain commodity's contested fashioning in the context of Reform China's consumption revolution.

  The jianghu voices and counterforces are illustrated at various spatial levels and in different circles of actors who debate and contest as well as negotiate and cooperate in identifying authentic Puer tea. Generally, this can be seen as a battle between the voices that attempt to package Puer tea within a “perfect” profile, especially for symbolizing certain forms of local nationalism, and the counterforces that unpack its popularity and deconstruct its “perfect” meanings. The measuring of Puer tea's authenticity may take place at a small production place between a local tea producer and an outside trader, or at a consumption site among several tea drinkers. Sometimes the jianghu narrative moves to a higher geographical level, with multiple subdistricts in Yunnan competing for the honor of being the “original” producer of Puer tea, or Yunnan itself debating other consumption regions
about whose Puer tea tradition is more authentic.

  These multiple voices and counterforces are situated in a context where the state has joined in the authenticating process but hasn't been able to efficiently supervise all aspects of production and consumption.21 According to some producers and traders, this has created added burdens and risks in the jianghu of Puer tea. As a result of the state's inability to clearly regulate Puer tea, an arena has developed in which multiple jianghu actors express their own voices and find their own solutions, as do the knights-errant who rely on their personal martial arts abilities to survive in the jianghu.

  China's gift economy is relevant in this regard (Yang 1988, 1989, 1994). Rather than simply reflecting bureaucratic corruption, since the 1980s, the gift economy has actually become an alternative means of distribution and even an important supplement to the state's distributive and redistributive economy. Socializing through gift exchange—known as guanxi—may be understood as an unofficial order that arises from the “popular realm” (minjian) and is both oppositional and complementary to that of the state (Yang 1994).22 Likewise, many attempts by ordinary tea producers, traders, and consumers to define authentic Puer tea have come to supplement, as well as subtly resist, governmental regulation.

  Although these jianghu actors also appeal to the state for clearer and stronger regulation, in actuality, once regulations are clarified, alternative voices emerge to draw Puer tea back to its vague state. The key excuse for retaining the vagueness, I have come to understand from many tea producers, traders, and drinkers during my fieldwork, is that only one's personal experiences—especially sensory techniques—can be relied upon to differentiate quality; scientific standards cannot contend with Puer tea's changeable features and only make the process of tea appreciation boring. Therefore, the problem is not just that governmental regulation is not clear or strong enough, but that this tea culture may not need such clear and strong standardization. Preference for nonstandardization is most obviously exemplified by the supposedly strictest standards on Puer tea's authenticity that are agreed upon by many jianghu actors: that authentic Puer tea is the raw kind made with tea leaves from a single origin, from a good environment, crafted by hand, traded via negotiation with small-scale family units, and stored for a long period of natural fermentation. According to this view, the authenticity of Puer tea does not come from mechanization or standardization, but should be judged personally, contextually, and flexibly, and thus it represents handcrafted authenticity. It is empirical, flexible, and also vague.

  While examining the process of how a substance is fashioned, this book suggests that it is more important to look at the other side—namely, how its fashioned value is counterpackaged by multiple forces. The multiple voices, counterforces, and “handcrafted” standard on authenticity are shaped by the intrinsic features of Chinese jianghu culture and are significant in understanding the chaotic phenomenon of Puer tea in the early twenty-first century in China. The intrinsic features of jianghu culture shed light not only on consumer culture and business practices in contemporary China but also on the relationship between standardization and individuality, the force of strengthening as well as breaking the social network, and the intellectual pursuit of authenticity by Chinese individuals. This book demonstrates the usefulness of approaches in anthropology, cultural studies, and social science more generally that explore the meanings of consumer goods by popularly relating them to complex aspects of globalization, (post)modernization, state control, transnational regulatory regimes, and reinvented localities. More importantly, this book seeks to go beyond these popular approaches by using unique Chinese concepts, in particular jianghu, to interpret how the meanings of consumer goods are deeply rooted in and essentially shaped by accompanying cultural and national characteristics.

  A popular question and answer about jianghu best explain how handcrafted authenticity is produced: Where is jianghu located? In the human heart (Jianghu zai nail? Jianghu zai renxin). Here, jianghu refers to the space of authentic things. In the case of Puer tea, whether a piece of tea is authentic or not depends upon whether the seller has a kind heart, whether the buyer thinks the tea is good, and the strength of the relationship between the buyer and the seller.

  CHAPTER 1

  “The Authentic Tea Mountain Yiwu”

  Our Puer tea is made from tender fragrant tea leaves, topped with the refined tea buds of the authentic tea mountain Yiwu…. Recently, fake Puer tea has emerged, counterfeits are increasing, and fake tea is being mixed with authentic tea, which is hard to identify. Some shameless people have counterfeited our brand for their own profit. To forestall such bad effects, we changed our brand icon to two lions in August 1920. Please make note of our special description and avoid being cheated.

  —Tongqing Hao Puer tea label, Yiwu, 1920s or 1930s

  Our tea boasts original flavor, original taste, and is from an original environment.

  It is processed by hand and is a healthy green drink. After natural fermentation, it will become mellower: the longer the storage, the better the taste.

  —Zheng family Puer tea label, Yiwu, 2007

  In January 2007 I passed through Hong Kong on my way from Australia to Yunnan. I decided to stay in Hong Kong for a few days, as I had been told that Puer tea is “produced in Yunnan, stockpiled in Hong Kong, and collected in Taiwan.”

  While I was in Hong Kong, many people recommended that I go to a famous restaurant, Lianxiang Lou, for yum cha, a traditional type of Cantonese cuisine consisting of dim sum and tea and usually eaten for breakfast. Most of the customers there chose to drink Puer tea. Over shaomai, or steamed pork dumplings, Zongming, a local Cantonese fellow, said to me, “Now you can understand why Hong Kong people must drink Puer tea. If they didn't, these foods would be too greasy to digest. With Puer tea, people can eat more and stay here longer.”

  Some days later, Eddie, a local friend, showed me his personal stash of Puer tea produced in different periods. I was surprised to find that he had two round cakes of well-known, high-quality aged Puer tea: the first, labeled Tongqing Hao (hao means “brand”), had two lions as its icon; the second, Songpin Hao, had its own good luck picture (figs. 1.1–2). I had seen these types only in collectors’ books about aged Puer tea (see Deng Shihai 2004: 325–326). Eddie brought samples of both kinds and accompanied me to a famous teahouse in Hong Kong. There we tasted the teas with Mr. Ye, the master of the teahouse, who had a rich knowledge of tea.

  These teas were highly appreciated at the teahouse. The waitresses paused in their work and gathered around. Mr. Ye, who had tasted many kinds of aged Puer tea before, infused the tea himself very carefully. He commented that there was a sort of sweetness bubbling up from the depth of his throat soon after tasting the Tongqing tea—like sugar, though more natural. He described the tea's flavor as “like a blossom in the mouth.” But he noted that it was still a little acerbic and would benefit from additional aging. He gave higher praise to the Songpin tea, which, he said, fit the model of excellent tea described by an ancient food commentator: it eliminates your arrogance, removes your impatience, elevates your mood, and softens your temper (ping jin shi zao; yi qing yue xing) (Yuan Mei 1792).

  We talked about the teas’ history. Eddie told us that he had gotten both kinds from an old Cantonese man who had bought the cakes early in his life (Eddie was not sure exactly when) in Guangdong, before his family migrated from Hong Kong to Australia. Eddie met the old man in Sydney in 1997, and the man gave him several cakes of the tea, calling them “useless relics.”

  Although it was unclear in exactly which year the tea was produced, Eddie and Mr. Ye dated it to no later than the mid-1930s. That is, both pieces of tea were at least seventy years old. Considering their mature flavor and trademark, they probably came from Yiwu, one of the “Six Great Tea Mountains” in Xishuangbanna, Yunnan. Such aged Puer tea, however, never appeared in my later fieldwork in Yiwu. The tea producers of seventy years ago had good brand awareness, and they used
special icons, such as the lions and the good luck motif, to identify the products their family had made in a particular period and to distinguish their tea from counterfeits. Furthermore, these icons were used to represent Puer tea originating from “the authentic tea mountain Yiwu,” or Yiwu zheng shan (zheng means “authentic” or “original”; shan means “mountain”). The tea production master included the Chinese character zheng in the description of the tea to remind consumers of its authenticity.

  In the ten years prior to my visit, the price of aged Puer tea had skyrocketed. I was told by informants in Hong Kong and Taiwan that in the 1980s, when connoisseurs began noticing Puer's value, one round cake (usually 357 grams) sold for less than ¥1,000; its value then reached over ¥10,000 in the 1990s, and in 2002 a single cake was traded for more than ¥1 million. It's no surprise that some tea connoisseurs like to say that “one cake consumed is one cake lost” (see also fig. 1.3). Such aged and valuable Puer tea cakes were established as ideal specimens, inspiring connoisseurs to make a pilgrimage to their place of origin, Yiwu. As with some other commodities, such as French wine (Ulin 1996; Guy 2003) and chocolate (Terrio 2005), Puer tea's burgeoning popularity relied heavily on the role of connoisseurship. The connoisseurs created a series of standards for authenticating Yiwu's raw tea, which were further developed by traders, tourists, writers, media reporters, and locals, who together packaged an “authentic” image of Yiwu.