In the private room decorated in traditional Chinese style, a stick of sandalwood incense was inserted obliquely into the incense burner, its faint wisps of smoke slowly drifting upwards. Across from him sat the elder Jiang clad in a Zhongshan suit, his warm, benevolent gaze resting on Gu Jiangnian, quietly watching as he put tea leaves into the pot, started the infusion, and then, lifting the pot with a slight bow, poured him a cup.
"Your method of making tea is exactly like your mother's," the elder spoke warmly, his voice carrying the distinctive tone of an elder looking at a younger generation.
"It's something I've picked up along the way," Gu Jiangnian replied as he placed the teapot on the table and then leaned back in his chair, looking at the elder. His words carried a hint of respect.
But this respect did not extend any further, staying right at the midpoint between mere politeness and civility, without advancing even slightly.
