## Detailed walkthrough
### [00:03](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3s) Iron Woks of the Nanhai No. 1 and Song Dynasty Stir-Frying
When the famed Southern Song shipwreck Nanhai No. 1 was salvaged in 2007, public attention naturally gravitated toward its vast cargo of exquisite porcelain. Yet Ma Weidu points out that an equally crucial discovery lay in its heavy load of ironware, particularly a substantial batch of iron woks. Although centuries on the ocean floor had encrusted these pans with thick marine concretions through prolonged chemical reactions, their iron composition remained unmistakable. To Ma, this physical evidence proves that the everyday lives of ordinary Chinese people had already become deeply intertwined with stir-frying. Backing this up with historical texts like the Song Dynasty record *Dongjing Meng Hua Lu* (*The Eastern Capital: A Dream of Splendor*), he notes the staggering variety of foods people were already stir-frying back then—chicken, rabbit, chestnuts, and crab.
Ma contrasts this historical proficiency with home cooking today. While stir-frying simple vegetables like Chinese cabbage or radishes is straightforward enough for an amateur, managing chicken at home is another matter entirely. Tossing chicken in a domestic wok often leaves the meat rubbery or clinging stubbornly to the bone because home burners lack professional restaurant heat. Admitting his own preference for roast chicken, Ma jokingly complains about the awkwardness of stir-fried bone-in poultry: “With stir-fried chicken, your mouth is full of bones, and you can never pick those little ones clean.” He explains that spitting the bones out feels wasteful, yet keeping them in is messy, making the preparation of stir-fried chicken a high-wire culinary test. The fact that stir-fried chicken and rabbit were widely consumed street foods during the Song Dynasty proves that Chinese stir-frying techniques had already matured to a level remarkably similar to modern cooking. Song-era urban food culture even featured recognizable culinary branding and specialty shops recorded in the *Dongjing Meng Hua Lu*, including Auntie Cao’s meat pies, Xue’s mutton fried rice, Xue’s dim sum pastries, Xu’s porridge, and Zheng’s fried oil cakes.
- **Nanhai No. 1 recovery year**: 2007, yielding both famous export porcelain and concretionary iron woks.
- **Historical documentation**: *Dongjing Meng Hua Lu* (*The Eastern Capital: A Dream of Splendor*), recording dishes like stir-fried chicken, rabbit, chestnuts, and crab.
- **Song commercial food brands**: Cao Po (Auntie Cao's) meat pies, Xue’s rice/snacks, Xu’s porridge, and Zheng’s oil cakes.
---
[02:35](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=155s) Flavors, Condiments, and the Fire-Driven "Wok Hei"
Despite their sophisticated techniques, Song Dynasty cooks worked with a much narrower flavor palette than modern diners. Chili peppers had not yet arrived in China from the Americas, meaning any heat in ancient cuisine was sharp and pungent, derived entirely from ginger, Sichuan peppercorns, or mustard. Ma recounts a historical dialogue from the early Northern Song Dynasty, when Emperor Taizu asked the official Su Jian what mattered most in food. Su Jian replied: “Food has no fixed flavor; it is the person eating it who determines what is best.” Ma agrees, observing that while banquets boast exotic, complicated delicacies, comfort ultimately comes down to simple, well-prepared meat. Ancient cooks created compound dipping sauces by pounding scallions, ginger, and garlic into a paste, seasoned with salt and pepper. However, Ma expresses skepticism toward the modern proliferation of heavy dipping bowls: “Personally, I advocate for eating the original flavor, relying as little as possible on condiments, especially dipping sauces.” He argues that if a well-crafted dish is drowned in heavy sauces, one ends up tasting nothing but soy sauce.
Cooking methods also imparted an entirely different character in the past. Long before natural gas or electric induction ranges dominated household kitchens, cooking required building and feeding an open wood or coal fire. Reflecting on his own youth laboring in the countryside, Ma recalls the physical routine of coaxing kindling into flame inside a stone-cold hearth. That labor yielded a distinct, irreplaceable "fire aroma." In professional Chinese kitchens, this essence is revered as *wok hei* (the breath of the wok), a concept virtually impossible to convey to Western cooks. Ma describes how a master chef violently tosses the ingredients so that open flames actively roll into the wok, directly licking the meat and searing it with combustion vapors. He cites the signature "Flaming Duck Heart" at Beijing’s Quanjude restaurant, where tall flames lick into the pan to seal in that quintessential taste of fire. By contrast, Ma remarks that modern vegetarian substitutes and reheated preparations fall flat because they lack this violent, flame-licked transformation.
```mermaid
flowchart TD
accTitle: The Evolution of Heat and Wok Hei
accDescr: Diagram tracing the culinary progression from wood hearths to modern gas burners and the role of wok hei.
subgraph Traditional["Traditional Heat Sources"]
A["Wood & Coal Fire"] --> B["Cold Stove Kindling"]
B --> C["Wood Smoke & Natural Fire Aroma"]
end
subgraph Technique["Stir-Fry Mastery"]
C --> D["High-Heat Tossing"]
D --> E["Flames Enter Wok Directly"]
E --> F["Wok Hei (Breath of the Wok)"]
end
subgraph Modern["Modern Application & Example"]
F --> G["Quanjude's Flaming Duck Heart"]
F --> H["Contrast: Pale, Wok-less Vegetarian Reheats"]
end
```
---
[06:05](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=365s) Imperial Vegetable Porcelain and the Evolution of Stir-Frying
Ma introduces an exquisite physical artifact from his collection: an exceptionally small porcelain plate. Painted cleanly across the face are everyday garden vegetables—beans, melons, cucumbers, and an eggplant. Ma emphasizes the cultural weight of this iconography: “It shows that for the Chinese, from the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties onwards, vegetables became an essential part of our diet.” Depicting humble produce on fine official kiln (Guan) porcelain was an extraordinary choice by the Qing imperial court, demonstrating deep aesthetic appreciation for agrarian staples. Ma recalls first falling in love with a twin piece at the Baur Foundation Museum of Far Eastern Art in Geneva, Switzerland, years ago. Decades later, as the global economy shifted, he spotted this counterpart at an overseas auction and bought it to document how imperial culture embraced mundane vegetables.
This artifact leads Ma into the historical trajectory of Chinese food preparation. For the first two to three thousand years, Chinese cuisine belonged to an era of boiling. Greens and grains were simply simmered in water, needing only a pinch of salt to be palatable. The turning point came during the Song Dynasty when cast-iron woks and affordable pressed vegetable oils coincided, igniting the stir-fry revolution. High-heat flash-frying unlocked vibrant textures and clean flavors, exemplified by everyday dishes like savory or hot-and-sour shredded potatoes. Ma points out that Cantonese cooking took this principle to an absolute extreme, where leafy greens are tossed over roaring burners for mere seconds rather than minutes. Highlighting the stark divergence from Western culinary methods, Ma remarks: “When vegetables are stir-fried at high heat and speed, they retain a natural freshness, making them incredibly delicious.” Western approaches, he contends, tend to roast or grill vegetables until they collapse into limp, sodden shadows of themselves.
---
[09:01](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=541s) Food as Emotional Bond and the Mastery of Chinese Culinary Arts
Moving beyond technique, Ma reflects on the domestic intimacy of the kitchen. He describes the quiet, magical feeling of simply standing aside while a loved one cooks—watching silently without nagging as a mother, father, spouse, or child ladles steaming food from the wok into a serving bowl. In that shared ritual, the meal transcends mere nourishment: “When we eat, we aren't just consuming food; more importantly, we are experiencing a connection.” On an intimate level, it cements domestic affection; on a broader canvas, it embodies a shared cultural lineage refined across millennia. Because Chinese cooking demands relentless precision, certain signature dishes remain entirely out of reach for domestic cooks, requiring the specialized training of professional culinary artisans.
To illustrate the relentless dedication behind the craft, Ma shares a conversation he had with a five-star hotel executive chef. When asked why he entered the profession, the chef admitted with disarming honesty that childhood poverty drove his decision: “Do you know why I like to cook? It’s because I couldn't get enough to eat when I was a kid. I figured if I became a chef, I’d always be full.” That pragmatic survival instinct initiated decades of grueling physical labor: entering the kitchen before dawn and walking home under lonely streetlights late at night, never seeing daylight outside kitchen walls. That lifelong discipline underlies the staggering repertoire of Chinese gastronomy—spanning shallow-frying, deep-frying, braising, steaming, and stewing. Ma concludes by voicing his long-held desire to produce a dedicated food program to showcase these profound subtleties, reminding viewers that cooking is fundamentally an art of human fellowship and collaborative labor.
[23:46](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=1426s) The Evolution of the Ding: From Cooking Pot to Imperial Power
While bronze *dings* are commonly classified as solemn ritual objects in modern times, they originated primarily as practical food cooking vessels. According to historical tradition, Yu the Great gathered metal tribute from all the nine provinces to cast nine monumental *dings* at the foot of Jingshan Mountain. Each vessel symbolized one of the provinces and was engraved with depictions of mythical creatures to serve as an apotropaic warning, protecting the common people against malevolent forces. During this historical explanation, the host briefly pauses to break up a squabble between his museum cats, cajoling them onto the furniture: “Feifei, come here. Don't fight over the bed; it's a big bed, there’s room for everyone.”
Returning to the history, the casting of the nine tripods marked a decisive cultural turning point where culinary hardware was elevated into the ultimate regalia of state authority. Whenever a dynasty fell, the sacred vessels were relocated to the new sovereign's seat of power. When the Xia dynasty collapsed, the tripods were transferred to the Shang capital of Bo; when the Shang was overthrown, they moved to the Western Zhou capital of Haojing. Establishing a dynasty and founding its capital was known as *ding ding* ("settling the tripods"), giving rise to classical idioms such as "securing the Central Plains" and the ritual hierarchy of nine *dings* and eight *gui* vessels symbolizing supreme central authority. Through this institutionalization, the *ding* secured an unparalleled stature across Chinese political and material history.
```mermaid
flowchart TD
accTitle: Dynastic Migration of the Nine Dings
accDescr: A flowchart illustrating the transfer of the nine tripods through ancient Chinese dynasties.
subgraph Origin["Foundational Casting"]
A["Metal gathered from Nine Provinces"] --> B["Yu the Great casts Nine Dings at Jingshan"]
end
subgraph Migration["Dynastic Transitions"]
B --> C["Xia Dynasty Capital"]
C -->|"Fall of Xia"| D["Shang Capital at Bo"]
D -->|"Fall of Shang"| E["Zhou Capital at Haojing"]
end
subgraph Symbolism["Imperial Legitimacy"]
E --> F["'Ding Ding' (Settling the Capital)"]
F --> G["Nine Dings and Eight Gui: Central Authority"]
end
```
[25:08](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=1508s) Chopsticks, the Boiled Diet, and "Chopstick Happiness"
Following the *ding*, ancient Chinese culinary implements took a path distinctly different from the rest of the world. While ancient Chinese culture made early use of knives, spoons, and fork-like implements, chopsticks emerged as the definitive eating tool, possessing a documented lineage spanning at least 3,000 years. Early chopsticks were fashioned from perishable wood or bamboo, leaving scarce archaeological traces before appearing in Warring States tombs. Knives and forks were gradually phased out of the dining table because the core Chinese dietary pattern centered on boiling. Knives and forks proved ill-suited for plucking food out of boiling cauldrons and hot broths, and while spoons could scoop broth, only chopsticks possessed the agility to retrieve solid morsels.
The host presents an antique chopstick case and demonstrates proper handling technique, pointing out the non-slip decorative section in the middle of the shafts. This tactile demarcation serves as a boundary marker: a diner must grip chopsticks exclusively along the upper, back half, never choking down near the tips. The physical design reflects an entire food culture defined by hot boiling. Beyond basic pinching, chopsticks function as an all-purpose culinary toolkit capable of dividing, tossing, lifting, piercing, and skewering. The host recalls seeing cooks make wontons with a single wooden chopstick, scooping a dab of filling, folding the wrapper in a single flick, and dropping it straight into the boiling pot. A diner's relationship with chopsticks dictates dining satisfaction, giving rise to the cultural concept of "chopstick happiness."
The speaker stresses that mastering chopsticks is an indispensable life skill for anyone engaging with Chinese cuisine: “If you use chopsticks well, it will make your lifelong dining experience incredibly enjoyable.”
- In times of material scarcity, a single communal pot boiled over fire was the most practical cooking method, allowing grains and wild vegetables to be stewed together into an easily digestible, nutritious meal.
- Spoons alone cannot adequately handle staples like long wheat noodles or slippery dumplings without compromising the tactile pleasure of the meal.
[29:01](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=1741s) The Philosophy of Tea: From Boiling Brews to Dutch Refusal
Tea drinking presents another stark divide between Eastern and Western traditions. In China, tea must be prepared with furiously boiling water; tepid or lukewarm water—termed *wutu* in Beijing dialect—ruins the sensory experience. A proper cup requires loose, visible leaves unfurling in the liquor, allowing the drinker to blow gently across the surface before sipping. By contrast, Western tea service relies on standardized tea bags tossed into a cup and discarded, yielding a brew that lacks the soul of loose-leaf steeping.
The speaker recounts a frustrating experience during an exhausting trip to the Netherlands, where he ordered tea at a local café. Unlike Chinese establishments where hot water is continuously replenished upon request, the European venue operated on a strict cup-by-cup purchase model:
- The staff refused to refill the pot or cup with hot water, treating tea identical to espresso or filtered coffee.
- A thorough Chinese tea session requires drinking until one is "thoroughly satisfied," an experience impossible to achieve under Western per-cup billing where twenty small cups would cost an exorbitant sum.
- Traditional Chinese tea drinkers pack teapots with leaves filling half the vessel; in Southern gongfu tea brewing, leaves are mounded so high they physically push up the ceramic lid.
- The standard for being "thoroughly satisfied" requires sweating out toxins until the total time spent using the restroom surpasses the time spent seated at the tea table.
Historically, tea functioned as a primary medicine and detoxifier, tracing back to the mythological Shennong tasting the hundred herbs. Traditional Chinese classifications broke tea down into fermented, non-fermented, semi-fermented, and compressed varieties, such as tea bricks, *tuocha*, and cakes. Gifting fine tea remains an enduring social grace, celebrated for over two millennia since the Han dynasty as an elegant gesture that leaves neither the foul odor nor the intoxication of alcohol, echoing the legendary Chan dialogues between poet Su Dongpo and Monk Foyin. While modern bottled tea drinks exist, they are divorced from the deeper spiritual tranquility of tea. Quoting the famous line associated with Lin Yutang, the speaker notes: “As Mr. Li Yintang once said, as long as one has a teapot, Chinese people can be happy anywhere.”
[33:50](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=2030s) Ritualized Drinking: Orchid Pavilion and the Floating Cup
Chinese wine culture similarly evolved from basic consumption into an elaborate artistic ceremony. The quintessential embodiment of this refinement appears in Wang Xizhi’s *Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Collection*, which records literati gathering alongside meandering waterways among high peaks and lush bamboo groves. Scholars practiced *liushang qushui* ("floating wine cups along the winding stream"), placing curved vessels onto the running water and allowing the current to carry them downstream past seated guests.
Under the rule of "one cup, one poem," a guest before whom a floating cup came to rest was required to improvise a poem before drinking the wine. This game transformed ordinary drinking into an intellectual rite. This tradition established lasting etiquette conventions regarding wine vessels: because the floating wine cups had to be lifted carefully with both hands to prevent tipping, two-handed drinking became a lasting standard of respect. This physical gesture persists in modern banquet etiquette, where presenting or clinking a glass with an elder or social superior must always be performed using both hands. The speaker observes: “Therefore, when the ‘drifting cup’ appeared, the ancient Chinese began to imbue their wine drinking with a sense of ceremony.”
[35:00](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=2100s) Ancient Drinking Games, the 18-Sided Die, and the Ethics of Drinking
Chinese drinking culture traces its foundational etiquette back thousands of years. Holding a cup with both hands to show respect originates in Shang dynasty ritual customs, and that physical gesture remains deeply tied to modern toasts. To enliven gatherings, ancient scholars and drinkers did not rely on vulgar drinking chants; instead, they invented elaborate games, notably tossing dice (*touzi*) and drawing drinking tallies. While modern dice are simple six-sided cubes, ancient dice reached astonishing levels of craftsmanship and complexity. A featured ancient 18-sided jade die offered a mere 1-in-18 probability for any given toss. Numbered from 1 to 16, its two remaining facets bore specialized Chinese characters: "Jiu Lai" (Drink Up), the lowest point that penalized the roller with a drink, and "Jiao" (Pride), the highest point, which granted the roller bragging rights across the table.
```mermaid
flowchart TD
accTitle: Ancient Chinese Dice and Drinking Game Structure
accDescr: Diagram illustrating the 18-sided jade die and scholar drinking tallies used in ancient Chinese banquets.
subgraph Die["18-Sided Jade Die"]
N["Numbers 1 to 16<br/>(16 Graduated Moods)"]
JL["'Jiu Lai' (Drink Up)<br/>Lowest Point Penalty"]
J["'Jiao' (Pride)<br/>Highest Roll to Boast"]
end
subgraph Tallies["Scholar Tallies & Games"]
T1["Targeted Drinking Rules<br/>(Neighbor drinks, opposite drinks 3)"]
T2["Poetic Elegance<br/>(Bai Juyi: Plucking floral branches)"]
end
Die -->|"Liven Up Banquets"| Atmosphere["Sophisticated Conviviality"]
Tallies -->|"Liven Up Banquets"| Atmosphere
```
Scholarly drinking tallies introduced literary whimsy to banquets, featuring designated instructions such as "the neighbor on the left drinks a cup," "the person next to you drinks a cup," or "the person opposite drinks three cups in a row." This practice is immortalized in classical literature and poetry, such as Bai Juyi's famous verse about drunkenly snapping a flower branch to serve as a drinking tally, as well as vivid drinking scenes in *Romance of the Western Chamber*. This stood in stark contrast to crass modern drinking-table slogans like "down it all if your feelings are deep, or just take a sip if they're shallow." Yet behind all the banquet games lay a strict moral philosophy regarding personal restraint. Drinking was meant to provide joy, but ancient etiquette demanded avoiding two major hazards: bodily harm from excessive vomiting and illness, and alcohol-induced disorderly conduct. As Ma Weidu observes:
> “Whether a person is good or not really comes down to these two things: can you control yourself enough to not harm your body, and can you control yourself enough to not cause trouble?”
- The 18 facets of the jade die were conceived as representing 18 distinct moods and outcomes, making a penalty roll of "Drink Up" an uncommon 1-in-18 chance.
- Classical drinking customs held that anyone who drinks to the point of ruining their physical health or picking fights simply does not understand the art of drinking.
---
[38:42](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=2322s) The Art of Soup: Ancient Strainers and Cultural Utensils
When drinking irritates or unsettles the stomach, nothing restores comfort quite like a warm bowl of soup. Soup represents one of China's most profound culinary inventions, ranking alongside wine and tea. The sophistication of ancient Chinese soup-drinking is embodied not in ordinary kitchen bowls, but in exquisite, specialized bronze, silver, and metal implements that date back millennia. A display of historical ladles includes a sterling silver duck-billed strainer spoon with a bronze bowl, as well as a massive Liao-Jin period soup ladle. These utensils reveal that soup consumption was never merely about drinking liquid broth; it was equally about skimming, straining, and scooping out tender meat and stewed ingredients.
Examining three historical colander spoons—one Warring States piece (2,500 years old), one Tang dynasty piece (1,200 years old), and one Liao dynasty piece (1,000 years old)—reveals a clear functional division between personal and communal dining. Smaller perforated strainers were designed for personal use, allowing an individual diner to scoop overcooked morsels of meat out of their own bowl. Larger strainers with deliberately curved handles were designed for serving others. While modern viewers might assume a curved spoon handle was accidentally bent over time, museum specimens confirm that ancient metalsmiths purposefully curved the handles to provide the ideal leverage for separating solid contents from broth. This degree of functional refinement highlights why traditional Chinese diners often find Western soup presentations jarring: serving soup in shallow, wide plates completely misses the point, whereas Chinese tradition demands deep vessels and proper ladles.
- The duck-billed silver strainer spoon features intricate chased surface patterns, proving that high dining etiquette treated soup ladling with imperial luxury.
- Ancient ladles served as functional strainers, establishing that rich, ingredient-heavy broths have been a staple of Chinese banquets since at least the Warring States period and the Liao and Jin dynasties.
A sharp geographical contrast defines Chinese soup culture. While cold northern climates would logically seem to demand warm soups, northern domestic cooking historically paid little attention to complex broths. In northern family dining, soup was relegated to simple egg drop soup served at the very end of a meal—following four, six, or eight main dishes—acting purely as a punctuation mark to announce that the meal was finished. Although early agricultural treatises like the Northern and Southern Dynasties' *Qimin Yaoshu* recorded intricate stewing and soup methods in the north, over subsequent centuries the art of slow-simmered soup shifted almost entirely south.
```mermaid
flowchart LR
accTitle: Comparison of Northern vs Southern Chinese Soup Culture
accDescr: Flowchart comparing Northern clear broths and dining order with Southern slow-boiled tonic soups and viscous geng.
subgraph North["Northern Tradition"]
N1["Course Order: Served last as meal finale"]
N2["Style: Simple egg drop, clear broths"]
N3["Benchmark Geng: Cuttlefish Egg Soup<br/>(Shandong style, white pepper)"]
end
subgraph South["Southern / Cantonese Tradition"]
S1["Course Order: Served first before the meal"]
S2["Style: Slow-boiled 'Old Fire' soups (煲汤)<br/>Packed with meat, herbs, medicinal roots"]
S3["Benchmark Geng: Shunde Fish Velvet Geng<br/>(Viscous, rich, highly nourishing)"]
end
North <-->|"Culinary Divergence"| South
```
For Cantonese diners, soup is an indispensable daily panacea: whether treating internal heat, expelling cold, dispelling dampness, or detoxifying, a bowl of slow-boiled soup is seen as the ultimate remedy. Southerners serve slow-boiled soup at the very beginning of the meal, packed with ingredients so dense that the soup itself could serve as a complete dinner. Ma Weidu recalls using massive woven wire-mesh scoops during his youth in the countryside as an educated youth, where draining boiling dumplings instantly for a hundred people was essential so the dough would not turn soggy and mushy.
This practical appetite carries over into how northerners interact with southern soups: northerners delight in fishing out chicken feet, chicken gizzards, chicken hearts, and stewed pork to dip into soy sauce and vinegar, whereas Cantonese purists often look down on eating the simmered dregs, believing the nutritional essence has already dissolved entirely into the broth. In terms of thickened soups (*geng*), northerners possessed almost no concept of viscous soups outside of Shandong cuisine's celebrated Cuttlefish Egg Soup seasoned with white pepper, or tofu-thread hot-and-sour soups related to Henan's *Hulatang*. Southern culinary craft, by contrast, developed intricate, thick stews like Shunde Fish Velvet soup, creating deeply flavorful, velvety broths that nourish the body far beyond ordinary clear water.
- Classical slow-simmered Cantonese soups include Hairy Fig (*Wuzhimaotao*) and pork bone soup, black bean and carp soup, Codonopsis (*Dangshen*) and Astragalus (*Huangqi*) chicken soup, and rich oxtail soups.
- A folk slang expression stemming from rural wire-mesh cooking scoops was "eating wire and a strainer," humorously characterizing what someone holds inside their belly.
[46:56](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=2816s) From Congee and Royal Broths to the Philosophy of Governance
The discussion begins by examining how soup deepens into something even thicker than a traditional thickened soup (*geng*): congee. Northerners historically kept their porridge plain and austere, eating little beyond white porridge, millet porridge, or a simple blend of millet and rice, seasoned with nothing more than salted vegetables. In sharp contrast, Cantonese culinary tradition elevates congee into an elaborate dish, incorporating fresh sliced fish, pork, and century eggs—combinations that seemed unimaginable to someone raised in the North during childhood.
Beyond its culinary appeal, soup holds profound historical and philosophical significance in China. Ma Weidu highlights Yi Yin, the founding prime minister of the Shang Dynasty, who famously used the art of making and seasoning soup to articulate the doctrine of statecraft. Ruling an empire requires harmonizing salty, sweet, bitter, and spicy flavors while perfectly controlling the heat, balancing the diverse needs of the populace just as a chef balances a broth. Because preparing a truly exquisite pot of soup demands immense time, technique, and effort, superior soups are usually found in dedicated restaurants rather than ordinary homes. In Northern folk culture, the supreme status of soup is immortalized in master Liu Baorui’s legendary monologue crosstalk piece, *Pearl, Jadeite, and White Jade Soup*, where the dramatic serving of the soup represents the narrative climax. In earlier decades of material scarcity, stewing a rich chicken or fish soup was reserved almost exclusively for recuperation from illness or postpartum recovery, making chicken soup a rare luxury inextricably tied to childhood memories of being sick.
- **Congee varieties**: Northern plain rice or millet porridge accompanied only by salted vegetables versus Cantonese century egg with lean pork porridge and sliced fresh fish congee.
- **Yi Yin’s philosophy**: The Shang prime minister used culinary balance—regulating heat and seasoning flavors—as a blueprint for governing a state and addressing public sentiment.
- **Cultural references**: Liu Baorui's signature monologue crosstalk routine, *Pearl, Jadeite, and White Jade Soup* (*Zhenzhu Feicui Baiyu Tang*).
- **Speaker quote**: Reflecting on the ancient political metaphor of cooking, Ma Weidu observes that “Yi Yin, the prime minister of the Shang Dynasty, used the art of cooking to explain governance, saying that ruling the world is like seasoning a pot of soup—it requires harmony of flavors.”
---
[49:42](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=2982s) The Three Lessons of Drinking and the Design of the Nine Palace Pots
Ma Weidu outlines three indispensable drinking arts every person must cultivate: alcohol, soup, and tea. Moderation is the golden rule for alcohol to avoid harm and reckless trouble; soup must be understood and crafted properly, with the very best soups being gently steamed rather than aggressively boiled; and drinking fine tea should become an enduring everyday habit to clear greasiness, dispel inner worries, and preserve health.
```mermaid
flowchart LR
accTitle: The Three Drinking Arts
accDescr: Three core drinking disciplines outlined by Ma Weidu covering alcohol, soup, and tea.
subgraph Lessons["The Three Drinking Arts"]
A["Alcohol<br/>(Moderation & restraint)"]
B["Soup<br/>(Proper brewing & steaming)"]
C["Tea<br/>(Daily habit & wellness)"]
end
subgraph Vessels["Nine Palace Pots Specialization"]
D["Ice-Steep Pot<br/>(Shallow, wide mouth)"]
E["Ri Pot<br/>(Pu-erh, hardy, boiling water)"]
F["Shanzhi Pot<br/>(Green tea, rapid heat dissipation)"]
end
C --> Vessels
```
To achieve mastery over tea, appropriate tools are paramount, echoing Confucius’s dictum that a craftsman must sharpen his tools to execute his work well. Ma Weidu demonstrates this principle through the specialized designs of the Nine Palace Pots (*Jiugong Hu*):
- **The Ice-Steep Pot**: Features a shallow body and an exceptionally wide rim designed for cold-brewing tender, fresh tea leaves under melting ice cubes. Unlike mass-manufactured modern bottled iced teas, this vessel revives an ancient, leisurely method of slow living that draws out an exquisite, delicate flavor profile.
- **The "Ri" Pot**: Designed specifically for robust Pu-erh tea, featuring a wide, open spout and large capacity that withstands repeat infusions of rolling boiling water without scalding or compromising the leaves.
- **The "Shanzhi" Pot**: Crafted for delicate green teas, engineered with an open-mouth structure that quickly dissipates excess heat. If green tea is steeped in a conventional tight, enclosed pot using water that is too hot, the leaves stew and turn soggy.
- **Speaker quote**: Emphasizing the classic Confucian philosophy behind specialized teaware, Ma Weidu asserts that “Confucius also said, 'A workman must sharpen his tools if he is to do his work well.'”
---
[53:13](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3193s) Expanding Tea Culture: The Guan Jiugong Tea Set and Its Craftsmanship
Moving beyond standalone teapots, the "Guan Jiugong" series expands into a holistic tea universe. A genuine tea experience is not confined to pouring water over leaves; it requires setting a complete aesthetic environment incorporating incense tools, floral arranging vessels, tea storage containers, brewing instruments, and presentation trays. While the original Nine Palace Pot design drew inspiration from the classical nine-square calligraphy grid (*jiugongge*), the newer set expands into an 11-compartment wooden grid tray holding a total of 13 implements (including the tray itself and an accompanying bucket), branded under the museum’s collectible line "Guan Jiugong" (观九宫).
For the original Nine Palace Pots, Ma Weidu composed a palindromic nine-character inscription where every single character contained exactly nine brushstrokes: *Bei jing sha xiang hou dai pin ke* (杯径砂香厚待品客). For the new 11-compartment tea set, he meticulously selected 11 classical Chinese characters related to craft, each written with exactly 11 strokes: *Yao*, *Shu*, *Sheng*, *Zhang*, *Chui*, *Yin*, *Pao*, *Xu*, *Qi*, *Sui* (窑熟盛章 锤银匏蓄 漆檖). These characters encapsulate diverse traditional artisan mediums:
- **Kiln-craft (*Yao*)**: Porcelain and ceramic pieces fired in kilns.
- **Hammered metalwork (*Chui Yin*)**: Hand-hammered bronze and fine silverware.
- **Vessel work (*Pao Xu*)**: Utensils crafted from dried gourds (*pao*) and woven bamboo (*xu*).
- **Lacquer techniques (*Qi Sui*)**: The ancient process of applying raw natural lacquer onto vessels, using the archaic character *qi* without the modern three-dot water radical.
- **Speaker quote**: Addressing the distinctive collectible pedigree of this comprehensive ware, Ma Weidu notes that “In the future, when you see those four characters, it must be a collectible produced by the museum.”
---
[56:52](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3412s) Artisan Aesthetics and the Zen of Natural Beauty
Transitioning from tea utensils to the philosophy of craft, Ma Weidu explores the concept of artisan aesthetics. Rather than the academic aesthetic treatises taught in university lecture halls by prominent scholars like Zong Baihua or Zhu Guangqian, everyday aesthetics is an intuitive visual literacy applied when walking through a marketplace and judging whether an object is crude or beautiful. In contemporary society, where basic material needs are met and people are constantly surrounded by manufactured goods, being "aesthetically illiterate" has become even more detrimental than being functionally illiterate.
To illustrate the deepest layer of aesthetics, Ma Weidu shares a Zen parable about a novice monk tasked with sweeping the monastery courtyard. On the first day, the boy swept every corner until the stone ground was immaculately clean, yet the master shook his head in silence. On the second and third days, the novice repeated the exhaustive task, polishing the courtyard to absolute spotlessness, but the master remained dissatisfied. Finally, after the courtyard was swept completely clean, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees, scattering a few solitary leaves onto the immaculate stone path. At that sight, the master smiled, nodded, and approved of the scene. True artisan aesthetics does not lie in sterile, rigid perfection, but in a harmonious balance that embraces natural transience and organic grace.
- **Speaker quote**: Summarizing the master's realization of natural imperfection in the Zen courtyard parable, Ma Weidu recounts: “At this moment, the master nodded and said, 'This will do.'”
[58:11](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3491s) The Wabi Aesthetic and the Art of Withered Landscapes
Judging the realm of aesthetics fundamentally comes down to a matter of intuitive resonance: whether one's personal perception aligns with the collective sensibility of connoisseurs and seasoned masters. The speaker introduces the Japanese aesthetic concept of *wabi* (侘), noting that in contemporary Chinese, the character is exceedingly rare outside of ancient classical literature. Visually composed of the person radical alongside the character for dwelling or house (*zhai* / 宅), it is pronounced similarly to *chà* (诧). Rather than an embrace of worldly abundance, the philosophy behind *wabi* represents an active rejection of extravagance, complexity, and opulent display. As the speaker explains:
> “*Wabi* in Japanese is a negation of things that are wealthy, ornate, vibrant, luxurious, or complicated—not an affirmation, but a negation.”
Instead of indulgence, *wabi* seeks that which is austere, solitary, understated, weathered, and even withered. To ground this concept in art history, the speaker contrasts two divergent traditions within classical landscape painting. The Yuan Dynasty master Ni Yunlin (Ni Zan) became celebrated for his "withered landscapes," characterized by bare branches, barren trees, minimal foliage, and sparse, dry brushwork. This cold, solitary restraint serves as the direct aesthetic antithesis to the lush, vibrant blue-green landscapes (*qinglü shanshui*) epitomized by Wang Ximeng’s celebrated Northern Song masterpiece, *A Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains*. While blue-green landscapes celebrate richness and saturation, the pursuit here targets the quiet, desaturated realm of *wabi* and withered landscapes.
```mermaid
flowchart TD
accTitle: Duality of Classical Aesthetic Realms
accDescr: Diagram illustrating the contrast between lush ornamentation and withered restraint in aesthetics.
subgraph Ornate ["Ornamental & Vibrant"]
A["Blue-Green Landscapes<br>(Wang Ximeng)"] --> C["Rich, saturated color & full composition"]
end
subgraph Restrained ["Wabi & Austere"]
B["Withered Landscapes<br>(Ni Yunlin)"] --> D["Bare branches, dry brushwork & cold restraint"]
end
D --> E["Wabi Aesthetic: Active negation of luxury and complexity"]
```
---
[01:00:15](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3615s) Sen no Rikyu's Solitary Morning Glory and the Philosophy of Restraint
To illustrate how extreme aesthetic restraint manifests in practice, the speaker recounts the iconic historical encounter between Japanese tea master Sen no Rikyu and the regent Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Rikyu cultivated a magnificent bed of morning glories at his Kyoto residence. When word reached Hideyoshi, the ruler expressed an eager desire to view the blooming garden, and Rikyu formally invited him for a morning tea gathering. However, upon arrival with his retinue, Hideyoshi discovered to his fury that every single flower in the courtyard had been severed at the stem. Entering the tea room in a simmering rage, Hideyoshi encountered a single pristine blossom set inside a solitary vase, its petals still glistening with morning dew.
> “Sen no Rikyu destroyed all the other flowers, leaving only this one to express this feeling of *wabi*.”
By stripping away the visual chaos of the entire garden, Rikyu concentrated beauty into its singular, uncompromised essence, demonstrating that true elegance does not depend on abundance, but often shines brighter through isolation. This principle of modest restraint directly informed the development of teaware for the Jiugong Tea House, bridging Japanese tea ceremony sensibilities with the traditional Chinese proverb, "humility brings benefit, while arrogance invites loss."
---
[01:01:55](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3715s) The Elusive Gray Celadon: From Longquan to Modern Sophistication
Examining specific vessels designed under this philosophy, the speaker presents a flower vase named *Xiuyuan* (远秀 / 秀远). The name derives from Xin Qiji’s Song Dynasty lyric poem *Man Jiang Hong*, specifically the line evoking vast skies and tranquil horizons: *"Clouds break, the forest glows, the sky is far and clear; the moon shines on the corner of the pavilion."* Although the Song Dynasty represents the historical zenith of Chinese ceramics—famed for the Ru, Guan, Ge, Jun, and Ding kilns—the glaze on this modern piece attains a muted gray tone that Song kilns could not technically execute with such uniform delicacy.
```mermaid
flowchart LR
accTitle: Ceramic Evolution from Longquan to Subtle Gray
accDescr: Flowchart showing the shift from traditional green celadon to modern pale gray.
A["Historical Prototype<br>(Longquan Celadon)"] -->|"Crisp, bright green<br>(Instantly pleasing)"| B["Traditional Ceramic Form"]
B -->|"Re-engineered glaze formula"| C["Xiuyuan Vase<br>(Celadon Base)"]
C -->|"Pale, delicate gray<br>(Demands aesthetic cultivation)"| D["Versatile, understated luxury"]
```
The speaker recounts showing this subtle gray vase to a prominent French luxury brand designer who visited the museum:
> “He felt nothing for the flashy, colorful ceramics. But when I brought out this gray piece, he was instantly stunned.”
The designer immediately recognized the shade as a rare, ultra-high-end neutral suitable for luxury design. The physical prototype of the vase was historically rendered in Longquan celadon, known for its crisp, radiant emerald-green hue. While bright Longquan green instantly captivates the untrained eye, the muted pale gray requires a deeper, more refined aesthetic sensitivity. In practical terms, this elusive gray acts as a neutral canvas:
- Accentuates single botanical elements such as white roses, winterberries, or hydrangeas.
- Maintains visual weight and quiet presence even when displayed completely empty.
- Belongs chemically to the celadon family despite shedding the conventional jade-green coloration.
---
[01:05:11](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=3911s) The Tang "Ji Xu" Kettle and the Hidden Angle of Craftsmanship
Transitioning to the functional pieces of the Jiugong tea set, the speaker unveils a side-handled kettle designated as *Dong* (东篱 / 东). The name is drawn not from Tao Yuanming's famous recluse verse, but from Tang Dynasty monk Guanran's poetic line: *"On the ninth day, at the mountain temple, the eastern fence turns yellow."* The kettle revives an archaic ceramic and stone form known since the Tang Dynasty as a *ji xu* (急须), a term literally translating to "urgent necessity." Although originally coined by ancient Chinese tea drinkers to describe a vessel for quickly heating water, the term largely disappeared from contemporary Chinese usage as tea rituals turned leisurely, whereas the Japanese tea tradition preserved both the name and the form.
The speaker displays a thousand-year-old Tang Dynasty antique *ji xu* featuring a short tiger-head spout, an integrated finger-hole loop for secure gripping, and a dense, heat-retaining body. In comparing historical vessels to modern side-handled teapots, the speaker highlights a trade secret revealed by an experienced Japanese artisan. While standard Chinese straight-handled pots align the spout and handle at 180 degrees, side-handled pots appear to sit at a right angle of 90 degrees. In reality, master craftsmen deliberately engineer the angle between the spout and side handle to be 88 to 89 degrees:
> “These Japanese craftsmen are meticulous; they believe this angle of less than 90 degrees makes it easier and more convenient to use.”
This intentional 1- to 2-degree contraction accommodates the ergonomic arc of the human wrist when pouring and securing the teapot lid. While classical Chinese aesthetics often emphasize geometric perfection through balanced, straight alignments ("horizontal and vertical perfection"), this technique embodies "hidden craft" (*zangqiao* / 藏巧). The speaker cautions collectors against mistaking this deliberate ergonomic offset for an artisan flaw or a crooked alignment.
[01:08:59](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=4139s) The Lineage of the Kyūsu and the Art of Stoneware
The discussion centers on the craftsmanship, history, and physical nuances of traditional tea kettles (*kyūsu* / 急须). When examining such a vessel, evaluating the angle of the spout and body reveals whether the piece is superior—specifically, an angle of less than ninety degrees marks a fine pot, and knowing how to spot this distinguishes an expert connoisseur. While contemporary observers often marvel at Japanese ceramic techniques, these crafts originated in China and were carefully preserved across the sea. During the Qing Dynasty, a craftsman named Jin Shiheng (金士恒), identified through historical research as hailing from Tongshan County in Anhui, traveled to Japan and transmitted the Chinese art of purple clay pottery. Japanese potters subsequently integrated these Chinese techniques with local clays and mineral deposits. In classical ceramic taxonomy, items fired from ordinary clay are classified as earthenware, while those made from kaolin are porcelain; purple clay ware falls into the scientific category of stoneware, written with the "fire" radical beside the "stone" character (炻).
The kettle itself embodies a deep literary and cultural lineage. In the Northern Song Dynasty, the poet Huang Chang wrote of tea preparations: "The kettle is drawn toward the stove" and "A pot of hot *jixu*, belly-laden," describing a vessel full of water heating over the fire. Classical writers poetically captured the distinct sounds of water reaching a boil, comparing the auditory cues to a flying clump of silver or "pine wind" whistling through trees. Japanese envoys sent to the Tang Dynasty originally transported these tea customs home, maintaining medieval Chinese practices through later centuries. The Japanese refer to such vessels as "Tang-style tea kettles," evoking the era of the tea master Lu Yu. Designed with a modest, compact capacity, the kettle is meant strictly for self-brewing and self-drinking, or serving two people at most, rather than supplying a large gathering. The pot is lightweight, with a stony texture and an earthy yellow body joined entirely by hand at the spout. Connoisseurs are advised never to treat shade variations as flaws: “You must never ask, 'Why is there a color difference?'” Instead, one should praise the natural chromatic shift as sophisticated variation, accentuated by a warm, metallic-lustered glaze along the bottom that provides visual weight.
```mermaid
flowchart TD
accTitle: Transmission and Evolution of Kyūsu Stoneware
accDescr: Flowchart showing the historical path of purple clay craft from China to Japan and its cultural features.
subgraph Transmission ["Historical Transmission"]
A["Qing Craftsman: Jin Shiheng<br>(Tongshan, Anhui)"] -->|"Transmits purple clay craft"| B["Japanese Kilns<br>(Combined with local clays)"]
C["Tang Dynasty Envoys"] -->|"Brings medieval tea rituals"| B
end
subgraph Characteristics ["Physical & Functional Attributes"]
B --> D["Stoneware Material<br>(Between pottery & porcelain)"]
D --> E["Single-User Capacity<br>(Self-brewing & intimate use)"]
D --> F["Hand-Joined Details<br>(Metallic-luster glaze base)"]
end
```
- **Material Definition**: Scientifically termed stoneware (炻器), sitting between porous earthenware (clay) and fully vitrified porcelain (kaolin).
- **Literary Source**: Song poet Huang Chang's verses referencing the *jixu* (急须) kettle over a hearth.
- **Auditory Boiling Stages**: Ancient tea masters listened for "pine wind" (松风) and "silver sound" (银声) to judge boiling water.
- **Proportion and Use**: Built specifically for single-person enjoyment or two people, preserving Tang-era proportions.
---
[01:12:07](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=4327s) The "Wuyou" Spouted Pot and the Beauty of Intentional Imperfection
Accompanying the kettle is a specialized spouted pot (*zhihu* / 执壶) given the poetic name "Wuyou" (无忧, No Worry), taken directly from Bai Juyi’s line: "A bowl of 'no worry' tea, for a lover of tea." In traditional tea service, this spouted vessel functions not as a direct drinking vessel or teapot, but as a water pourer. During the Song Dynasty, long-spouted ewers served strictly to pour hot water for whisking tea; it was not until the Ming Dynasty, following fundamental shifts in leaf preparation, that teapots were employed directly for infusing tea leaves. This direct functional design subsequently crossed the sea from China into Japan, where regional artisans adopted and adapted it into standard tea sets.
Visually and tactilely, the exterior of the Wuyou pot appears coated in coarse sand, yet the grit is not sand at all. Japanese craftsmen employ a peculiar technique: they take pre-fired ceramics, bake them until thoroughly hard, crush them down into fine granular grit, and intentionally knead this grog back into the raw clay body. This labor-intensive process produces a rugged, textured surface that preserves visible working marks. This aesthetic directly challenges industrial standards of glossy, smooth perfection: “They don't pursue smoothness. They don't pursue perfection. What is perfection? Having a face with nothing on it, smooth as jade—that’s what you call perfection.” To illustrate why deliberate imperfection holds artistic value, the speaker points out how Marilyn Monroe drew an iconic mole on her face to cultivate individuality. The tactile sensation of the pot’s coarse surface is likened to the textured skins of traditional regional pears—such as Laiyang pears from Shandong, Dangshan pears from Anhui, or snow pears from suburban Beijing. Much like contemporary youth embracing distressed jeans with holes and frayed edges, true appreciation of tea ware requires learning to find beauty in rough, earthy textures.
- **Name Provenance**: "Wuyou" (无忧) derives from Tang poet Bai Juyi's celebrated tea poetry.
- **Historical Functional Shift**: Song Dynasty ewers were dedicated water pitchers; teapots for brewing whole leaves evolved during the Ming Dynasty.
- **Grog Technique**: Pre-fired, crushed ceramic granules are blended into the wet body to generate grit, tactile friction, and visible tool marks.
- **Pear Skin Analogy**: The surface texture mimics coarse-skinned heritage fruits like Laiyang and Dangshan pears.
---
[01:15:06](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=4506s) Regional Drinking Customs and the "Moon Soul" and "Cloud Break" Vessels
Drinking tea reveals striking cultural contrasts between northern and southern China, reflected directly in the shapes of cups and bowls. Southern tea drinkers—particularly in Southern Fujian and the Chaoshan region—favor tiny cups and insist on finishing each portion in a single, clean gulp. Leaving half a cup sitting undrunk immediately gives someone away as a visitor from the North. In northern culture, downing a whole cup at once was historically seen as ill-mannered, with elders reprimanding anyone who chugged hot tea from large enamel mugs "like a thirsty donkey." Northerners were taught to sip slowly and leave some liquid behind. Recalling his youth before the age of thirty, the speaker shares his first tea experience in Chaozhou, where he initially hesitated to drain the tiny cup until noticing that all the local masters downed theirs in a single motion.
```mermaid
flowchart TD
accTitle: Regional Tea Etiquette and Vessel Typology
accDescr: Diagram illustrating Northern versus Southern tea drinking habits and the Moon Soul vs Cloud Break tea vessels.
subgraph RegionalHabits ["Regional Drinking Habits"]
South["Southern Tradition<br>(Chaozhou / Southern Fujian)"] -->|"Small cups, single-gulp finish"| FastFinish["Prompt, One-Gulp Consumption"]
North["Northern Tradition<br>(Large enamel mugs)"] -->|"Slow sipping, leaving tea behind"| ModerateFinish["Forbidden to chug like a 'thirsty donkey'"]
end
subgraph VesselTypes ["Pi Rixiu Couplet Vessels"]
MoonSoul["'Moon Soul' (月魂) Cup<br>- Large capacity & deep<br>- Scraped glaze with spiral ridges<br>- Real Bodhi leaf from India"]
CloudBreak["'Cloud Break' (云破) Bowl<br>- Shallow ('Zhan' shares radical with 'shallow')<br>- Intentionally non-round & pitted<br>- Defies industrial standardization"]
end
```
The discussion contrasts deep "cups" (*bei*) against shallow "bowls" (*zhan*), noting that the Chinese character for bowl (盏) contains the phonetic and semantic component of "shallow" (浅). The speaker introduces two contrasting vessels inspired by Tang poet Pi Rixiu’s couplet: "Moon Soul" (月魂) and "Cloud Break" (云破).
The Moon Soul cup features an exterior glaze paired with a scraped interior, which leaves potting rings exposed to showcase the tea’s liquor color. Emblazoned on its exterior is an actual Bodhi leaf imported from India—the homeland of Shakyamuni Buddha—fired directly onto the clay, symbolizing enlightenment and awakening beneath the Bodhi tree.
By contrast, the Cloud Break bowl is deliberately irregular, uneven, and pitted, making it difficult for average commercial buyers to accept. When customers complain that the piece is not perfectly round, the speaker emphasizes the irony of modern consumer taste: “Making something round is too easy; making it not round is what's difficult.” Industrial manufacturing has conditioned people to demand uniform, pristine, circular tableware, yet those very same consumers visit Japanese noodle shops and admire rough, misshapen black bowls as artistic masterpieces.
- **Etymological Detail**: The character *zhan* (盏) shares its right-hand component with *qian* (浅, shallow), indicating its structural form.
- **Pi Rixiu Inspiration**: The names "Moon Soul" and "Cloud Break" stem from the Tang poet's classical couplet describing delicate tea vessels.
- **Botanical Firing**: The Moon Soul cup incorporates an authentic Indian Bodhi leaf fused onto the surface during kiln firing.
- **Industrial Bias**: Modern mass production easily produces flawless circles, making asymmetrical, hand-shaped non-round wares far more difficult to execute.
在节目的尾声，话题落脚于不同文化语境下思维与感知方式的根本分歧，结语将其提炼为两国之间审美层面的深层差异：“difference in aesthetics between the two nations.” 这种审美差异不仅体现在烹饪技艺与对火候、风味的追求上，更延伸至中西方在生活哲学、思维模式及文明形态上的整体分野。
> [35:00](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=2100s) Whether a person is good or not really comes down to these two things: can you control yourself enough to not harm your body, and can you control yourself enough to not cause trouble? — 马未都
> [06:05](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucm23OYgDv8&t=365s) When vegetables are stir-fried at high heat and speed, they retain a natural freshness, making them incredibly delicious. — 马未都
[17:10] 马未都: 中国人必须吃热食，一旦菜放温了、凉了就觉得难以下咽，非得烫嘴不可。
[35:00] 马未都: Whether a person is good or not really comes down to these two things: can you control yourself enough to not harm your body, and can you control yourself enough to not cause trouble?
[6:05] 马未都: When vegetables are stir-fried at high heat and speed, they retain a natural freshness, making them incredibly delicious.
Original transcript
[0:03] When the Nanhai No. 1 shipwreck was
[0:05] salvaged in 2007, besides the
[0:06] well-known porcelain, it importantly
[0:08] contained a significant amount of
[0:10] ironware, including a number of iron
[0:12] pans. Although these iron pans had been
[0:21] on the seabed for too long and had
[0:22] undergone chemical reactions with their
[0:24] surroundings to become concretionary
[0:26] objects, it is clearly visible that
[0:28] they are iron, which indicates that the
[0:29] everyday life of the general public had
[0:31] become linked to stir-frying. There are
[0:38] many documents from the Song Dynasty,
[0:40] such as the "Dongjing Meng Hua Lu,"
[0:42] which recorded a great deal; for
[0:43] instance, what did they stir-fry?
[0:46] Stir-fried chicken, rabbit, chestnuts,
[0:49] crab—you name it. If you think about
[0:52] it carefully today, stir-frying things
[0:54] like napa cabbage or radishes is
[0:56] relatively easy. But if you want to
[0:59] stir-fry chicken, it seems you have to
[1:01] go to a restaurant. Restaurants have
[1:05] professional chefs to help you cook,
[1:07] because if you do it yourself, it might
[1:09] not taste as good, or the heat might
[1:10] not be sufficient. Chinese cooking
[1:14] emphasizes heat; take stir-fried
[1:16] chicken for example, if it's not done
[1:18] well, the meat is hard to chew off the
[1:20] bone, right? I personally prefer eating
[1:23] roast chicken. Why roast chicken?
[1:25] Because the meat falls right off the
[1:27] bone; it’s tender, fragrant, and
[1:29] delicious. With stir-fried chicken,
[1:31] your mouth is full of bones, and you
[1:33] can never pick those little ones clean.
[1:36] Spitting them out feels wasteful, but
[1:38] not spitting them out is messy; so
[1:40] stir-frying chicken is a skill. In the
[1:45] Song Dynasty, at the very least, we can
[1:47] see that stir-fried chicken and rabbit
[1:49] were already very popular, which proves
[1:51] that our stir-frying had reached a
[1:52] significantly higher level. This level
[1:57] is not much different from what we have
[1:59] today. We have seen many records in
[2:02] documents; for example, the "Dongjing
[2:04] Meng Hua Lu" mentions things like Cao
[2:06] Po meat pies. They aren't much
[2:10] different from the meat pies we have
[2:11] today. There was also Xue’s rice,
[2:16] likely mutton fried rice, as well as
[2:18] Xue’s snacks, which were essentially
[2:20] dim sum or small treats, and Xu’s
[2:22] porridge. Take Zheng’s oil cakes, for
[2:27] instance—you see, they even had brand
[2:29] awareness, similar to how we talk about
[2:31] sea cucumber fried noodles today. The
[2:35] Song people didn't have as rich a
[2:36] variety of flavors as we do; you have
[2:38] to realize that our ingredients today
[2:40] are far too abundant. For instance,
[2:42] when it comes to eating spicy food, the
[2:44] Song people didn't have it. The "
[2:46] spiciness" they experienced was a
[2:48] pungent heat, relying on ingredients
[2:50] like ginger, pepper, or mustard. In the
[2:56] early Northern Song Dynasty, Emperor
[2:58] Taizu asked a minister named Su Jian, "
[3:00] In terms of food, what do you think is
[3:02] the most important?" Su Jian replied, "
[3:08] Food has no fixed flavor; it is the
[3:10] person eating it who determines what is
[3:12] best." In other words, the food you
[3:15] like best is the finest food. He makes
[3:18] a valid point. Sometimes we eat strange
[3:21] and exotic delicacies, but frankly, I
[3:23] think the most delicious thing is still
[3:25] just simple, ordinary meat. The
[3:29] ancients would take these supreme
[3:31] delicacies and turn them into a sauce,
[3:33] made by crushing ingredients like
[3:34] scallions, ginger, and garlic. Then,
[3:38] some would add a bit of pepper and salt
[3:40] to the mix. Today, we pay so much
[3:44] attention to these seasonings; when we
[3:46] eat, we must have many sauces on the
[3:48] side. Personally, I advocate for eating
[3:54] the original flavor, relying as little
[3:56] as possible on condiments, especially
[3:58] dipping sauces. When you eat, the dish
[4:01] already has its own flavor; if you
[4:03] drown it in sauce, you’re just
[4:05] tasting soy sauce, aren't you? We can
[4:08] see that cooking back then was
[4:09] different from today. Nowadays, most of
[4:14] China uses gas. Basically, everyone
[4:16] uses gas or electricity, but back then,
[4:19] you had to burn wood or fire. There is
[4:22] a certain joy in cooking, but we no
[4:23] longer have that pleasure. The joy of
[4:26] starting a fire to cook is gone. When I
[4:30] was working in the countryside, every
[4:32] time I had to light the fire, the stove
[4:34] was cold, so I used kindling to ignite
[4:36] the firewood before feeding it in. You
[4:42] eventually discover that food cooked
[4:43] over coal or wood tastes different. It
[4:47] has an "aroma of fire." This is
[4:49] interesting. If you chat with a chef,
[4:52] they always say a dish must have "wok
[4:54] hei"(breath of the wok). What is "wok
[4:57] hei"? It’s hard to define. If you
[4:59] explain it to a foreigner, they won't
[5:01] understand. In Chinese cooking, for
[5:03] some dishes, you must let the flames
[5:05] actually enter the wok. Look, when you
[5:08] go to a restaurant and watch the
[5:10] kitchen, the chef tosses the wok as
[5:12] flames lick the edges—that is what we
[5:14] call "wok hei." For example, the
[5:18] Quanjude restaurant in Beijing has a
[5:20] dish called "Flaming Duck Heart." They
[5:24] ensure the large flames enter the wok
[5:26] to lick the ingredients, giving the
[5:28] food that flavor of fire; that is why
[5:30] it tastes good. So, this is what we
[5:33] call "wok hei." Today's vegetarian food
[5:36] lacks that wok-fired essence. You just
[5:40] soak or heat it up, and it’s just not
[5:42] the same; that’s why vegetarian
[5:44] products will never replace the
[5:45] complexity of Chinese cooking. Speaking
[5:51] of which, I've been talking for a while
[5:52] , and you shouldn't just look at one
[5:54] thing and stop. Let me show you
[5:58] something else so you can see how truly
[6:00] magical our cuisine is. Let me see what
[6:05] else I brought back. Look at this one
[6:09] —oh, it's so tiny, really small.
[6:15] It’s a little plate, do you see it?
[6:19] And what’s on the front? Vegetables!
[6:23] There are beans, melons, cucumbers, and
[6:25] an eggplant. What does this show? It
[6:32] shows that for the Chinese, from the
[6:34] Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties
[6:36] onwards, vegetables became an essential
[6:38] part of our diet. They even painted
[6:42] them on official kiln porcelain. How
[6:45] impressive is that? Years ago, I was in
[6:48] Switzerland and saw a plate like this
[6:50] at the Baur Foundation Museum. I was
[6:54] amazed by it—it was absolutely
[6:56] extraordinary. To my surprise, with the
[6:59] rapid flow of the economy, I came
[7:01] across another one at an overseas
[7:02] auction house years later. I bought it
[7:08] back to show everyone that the Qing
[7:10] Dynasty imperial court painted these
[7:12] vegetables on plates, reflecting both
[7:13] their appreciation for produce and its
[7:15] importance in daily life. We’ve
[7:20] covered a wealth of knowledge about
[7:21] artifacts in this program, but it’s
[7:23] still just scratching the surface. If
[7:25] you want to learn more about artifacts,
[7:27] download the official app. There are
[7:29] thousands of creative cultural gifts
[7:31] and cash coupons waiting to be given
[7:33] away for the holidays. Download and
[7:35] register on the app now, go to the
[7:37] homepage, and you can enter the lucky
[7:39] draw immediately. We’ve been talking
[7:42] for a while—Chinese cuisine started
[7:44] with boiling. This first stage was very
[7:48] long, lasting at least two or three
[7:50] thousand years. The Chinese primarily
[7:54] boiled their vegetables, and a pinch of
[7:56] salt made them delicious. Then, in the
[8:00] Song Dynasty, with the appearance of
[8:02] iron woks and cooking oil, people
[8:04] started stir-frying. Stir-fried dishes
[8:08] have such a vibrant flavor. For example
[8:11] , what are some stir-fried dishes I
[8:13] like? There’s stir-fried shredded
[8:15] potato, right? Some are savory, some
[8:17] are hot and sour; they’re all
[8:19] delicious. You just need that intense,
[8:21] high-heat stir-fry technique. Done in a
[8:23] few minutes. In Cantonese stir-frying,
[8:29] some greens are basically measured in
[8:31] seconds, not minutes, which is why it
[8:33] demands such high speed. When
[8:38] vegetables are stir-fried at high heat
[8:40] and speed, they retain a natural
[8:42] freshness, making them incredibly
[8:43] delicious. The Chinese technique isn't
[8:48] something everyone can master; I don't
[8:50] think foreigners are very good at it.
[8:54] They just roast or grill everything
[8:55] until the vegetables are limp before
[8:57] serving—it's not good. I don’t know
[9:01] if you’ve felt this, but when a
[9:03] family member is cooking, just stand to
[9:04] the side—don't talk, it’s annoying
[9:06] —just watch them scoop the dish into
[9:08] the bowl, no matter who in the family
[9:10] made it. It doesn’t matter if it was
[9:15] your mom, dad, son, daughter, or your
[9:17] partner who cooked it. Just seeing it
[9:21] scooped into the bowl. That feeling is
[9:23] truly magical. Beyond the food itself,
[9:28] it carries the touch of a loved one;
[9:29] it’s filled with affection. When we
[9:34] eat, we aren't just consuming food;
[9:35] more importantly, we are experiencing a
[9:38] connection. On a small scale, it’s
[9:45] the bond between family members; on a
[9:47] grand scale, it’s the cultural faith
[9:49] passed down through thousands of years
[9:51] of our nation's history. That’s how
[9:55] Chinese people are—we spare no effort
[9:57] when it comes to food. Our culinary
[10:00] arts are so complex that not everyone
[10:02] can master them. We have many dishes
[10:05] that only professional chefs can make;
[10:07] you can't make them yourself, no matter
[10:09] how much you might want to. You simply
[10:12] don't have the skill. I often chat with
[10:15] chefs, as I enjoy it. Once, I talked to
[10:19] a cook who was particularly interesting
[10:21] . He said, "Do you know why I like to
[10:25] cook?""It’s because I couldn't get
[10:27] enough to eat when I was a kid.""I
[10:28] figured if I became a chef, I’d
[10:30] always be full." So, from the very day
[10:32] I started learning to be a cook. I
[10:35] never saw the sun at either end of the
[10:37] day. By the time I headed into the
[10:39] kitchen, the sun hadn't even risen yet.
[10:42] Every night, after cleaning up, I’d
[10:44] head home under the streetlights. Day
[10:47] after day for decades, and eventually,
[10:50] he became the head chef at a five-star
[10:52] hotel. That’s true skill—mastering
[10:55] the art of Chinese cooking. Chinese
[10:57] cooking is incredibly complex—
[10:59] pan-frying, deep-frying, braising,
[11:01] steaming, stewing—there are countless
[11:03] methods, and even more that I can't
[11:05] name. I’ve always wanted to make a
[11:07] food show. Given the chance, I’ll
[11:13] surely find the time to create one, so
[11:15] everyone can get a sense—visually and
[11:17] conceptually, or at least gain a
[11:19] general understanding—of the profound
[11:21] subtleties of Chinese cooking. It’s
[11:27] not just about the taste; it’s more
[11:28] about the bonds it cultivates between
[11:30] people. When the two of you prepare a
[11:33] meal and work on it together, the
[11:35] result is something special. Let’s
[11:40] take a look at another item. You’ll
[11:46] recognize this, right? Everyone knows
[11:48] this. This is all too familiar. A hot
[11:57] pot. Everyone in China knows hot pot;
[12:00] it’s recognized from north to south.
[12:03] But a quality hot pot like this is rare
[12:05] these days. Let me open it up and show
[12:08] you. The space inside is quite large.
[12:11] Oh my, it makes me want to start
[12:12] cooking meat right away, see that? This
[12:15] is a traditional style of hot pot. This
[12:18] heating method involves placing glowing
[12:20] charcoal here; today we can even boil
[12:22] water with it. This is the air intake.
[12:26] Old-fashioned hot pots were just like
[12:28] this: a large, round pot with a chimney
[12:30] in the center for the burning charcoal.
[12:34] Nowadays, everyone across the country
[12:36] eats hot pot, and all kinds of hot pot
[12:38] restaurants fill the streets. But let
[12:43] me tell you, hot pot only became
[12:44] popular in the last few decades. When I
[12:47] was a kid, eating hot pot was a huge
[12:49] deal. In Beijing, there was only
[12:51] Donglaishun; it didn't exist anywhere
[12:53] else. I remember passing by Donglaishun
[12:55] as a child, peering inside just to see
[12:57] what a hot pot looked like. In the
[13:00] winter, it was always steaming hot. The
[13:03] interesting thing about hot pot is that
[13:05] it brings everyone together around a
[13:06] single pot to eat. It feels so warm and
[13:10] lively. The origin of the hot pot—
[13:13] this pot is in the way, let me move it
[13:15] for you. The origins of the hot pot
[13:19] have been a subject of much debate
[13:20] throughout history. Whether the item
[13:25] unearthed from the Haihunhou tomb is a
[13:26] hot pot is a separate discussion. But
[13:32] the hot pot we talk about today isn't
[13:34] just any pot you happen to pick up.
[13:37] According to tradition, a hot pot must
[13:39] be heated in the center. Nowadays, some
[13:43] small pots aren't heated that way; they
[13:45] rely on electricity, candles, or
[13:47] alcohol lamps. In the past, it was
[13:50] always heated by glowing charcoal. The
[13:54] type of hot pot we are referring to is
[13:55] generally this authentic kind, where
[13:57] the heat radiates outward from the very
[13:59] center. Back in the late Qing Dynasty
[14:02] and the Republic of China era, those
[14:04] large communal hot pots were huge.
[14:06] Usually, eight or ten people would sit
[14:08] around a table and eat from the same
[14:10] pot. Hot pot, at least back when I was
[14:16] young, having a meal with this much
[14:17] meat in Beijing was a really big deal.
[14:25] Hot pot, although it was popular in
[14:27] history—they say it started becoming
[14:29] popular back in the Tang and Song
[14:31] dynasties—was actually not very
[14:32] widespread. It wasn't as prevalent as
[14:38] it is today, with so many different
[14:39] types. Today, our hot pot culture spans
[14:42] across the North and the South, with
[14:44] all sorts of varieties. Nowadays, when
[14:46] you go to a hot pot restaurant, the
[14:48] most important thing is the split pot,
[14:50] because some people can't handle spice
[14:52] —half spicy red broth, half clear
[14:54] broth. Actually, I remember the first
[14:57] time I had hot pot in Chongqing, it was
[14:59] only spicy; there was no non-spicy
[15:01] option. That first bite nearly killed
[15:04] me with the heat. Especially in the
[15:07] summer. And everyone sat around one big
[15:09] pot. People around the table didn't
[15:12] know each other; there were dividers,
[15:14] and you'd just grab and eat from your
[15:15] section. I remember someone else and I
[15:18] shared two sections. We didn't
[15:21] understand that the dividers were only
[15:23] connected at the bottom, not the top.
[15:25] It turned out—I don't remember if it
[15:27] was an intestine or something—it
[15:29] slipped from my grip and slid under to
[15:31] their side. Just as I was trying to
[15:33] fish it back, the other person grabbed
[15:35] it and popped it in their mouth.
[15:37] Whatever was in your section was yours;
[15:39] nobody would try to claim it. It's hard
[15:42] to imagine sharing a pot with strangers
[15:44] today. Back then, several groups of
[15:46] people who didn't know each other would
[15:47] sit at one table, eating their own food
[15:49] and paying for their own, so you
[15:51] couldn't let go of your chopsticks.
[15:53] Even if you were grabbing something
[15:55] else, you’d let go and grab again,
[15:57] let go and grab again, just to make
[15:58] sure it didn't get away. So when did
[16:01] hot pot really start to become popular?
[16:04] It was during the Qing Dynasty. Even
[16:07] though people were eating hot pot
[16:09] during the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing
[16:11] dynasties, it truly peaked in the Qing.
[16:17] Due to the dietary habits of the
[16:18] Manchus and the large-scale banquets
[16:20] held during the Kangxi and Qianlong
[16:22] eras, when you have thousands of people
[16:24] eating in winter, if you aren't eating
[16:25] hot pot, how else could you serve a hot
[16:27] meal? Right? Today, if you ever have
[16:34] the chance to attend a large banquet—
[16:36] and I mean one with over 100 tables—
[16:38] the dishes you eat are basically all
[16:40] cold. That’s why the South has a
[16:44] solution. I once had a "steamed feast"
[16:46] in Suzhou where every dish was steamed,
[16:48] so everything was piping hot when it
[16:50] was served. But if you're stir-frying,
[16:57] it's too much work for a big group, so
[16:59] hot pot has become a way for Chinese
[17:00] people to gather that’s lively and
[17:02] inclusive for everyone. Just imagine,
[17:10] on New Year’s Eve, it’s much better
[17:12] for the whole family to have hot pot.
[17:15] Why? Nobody is idle. Everyone is busy
[17:17] working together. Think about it, the
[17:20] thing people fear most on New Year’s
[17:22] Eve is the family member cooking—
[17:24] whether it's the matriarch or the son
[17:26] —while everyone else enjoys
[17:27] themselves, it’s a bit heartless to
[17:29] let them work alone, so hot pot is best
[17:31] . Sometimes I think, when friends come
[17:34] over, it’s easier to just order hot
[17:36] pot. Nowadays, hot pot ingredients are
[17:40] sliced and delivered to your door, so
[17:42] we can see that the Chinese way of
[17:44] eating, from the initial boiling to the
[17:46] end, remains the same. From boiling
[17:51] meat in those bronze cauldrons to our
[17:53] modern hot pot, there’s at least
[17:55] 3,000 years between them. In those
[17:58] 3,000 years, the essence of our eating
[18:00] habits hasn't changed at all. What is
[18:03] the essence of the Chinese way of
[18:05] eating? I said it at the beginning:
[18:08] it’s heat. Chinese people must eat
[18:10] hot food. If the food goes lukewarm,
[18:13] it's unpleasant. It must be piping hot,
[18:16] scalding the mouth—that's how it
[18:18] should feel. Today is New Year’s Eve,
[18:22] so we’ve discussed the changes in
[18:24] food, the formation and evolution of
[18:26] our diet over 3,000 or 4,000 years, or
[18:28] ever since the beginning of Chinese
[18:30] civilization. These changes are very
[18:34] rich, so we focused on three milestones
[18:37] : first, boiling; second, stir-frying;
[18:40] and third, hot pot. We chose these
[18:44] three fragments so that you can have
[18:45] the opportunity on New Year’s Eve to
[18:47] experience the transformation of our
[18:49] own food culture. While we all enjoy
[18:53] Chinese culture, we are also enjoying
[18:55] our food culture. That’s why we said
[19:00] at the start that the Chinese stomach
[19:02] is the most patriotic; because Chinese
[19:04] food is complex, it makes the Chinese
[19:06] palate complex too. When I went abroad
[19:10] in my early years, no matter how
[19:12] delicious the foreign food was, I
[19:13] couldn't eat it for long before I
[19:15] started craving Chinese food. Chinese
[19:18] food is so simple; a bowl of noodles or
[19:21] a bowl of fried rice can bring us such
[19:23] great happiness. Nowadays, we all place
[19:26] a lot of importance on family reunions
[19:28] during the New Year. Because life has
[19:32] become so good. In the past, the most
[19:36] important thing during the New Year was
[19:37] eating. Whether we were reunited or at
[19:41] home wasn't that important; what
[19:43] mattered was having a good meal on New
[19:45] Year’s Eve. Even if I were in the
[19:48] countryside and couldn't go home, I
[19:50] still had to eat a good meal. What is
[19:52] the most important thing for Chinese
[19:54] people when it comes to dining? Chinese
[19:57] people feel that eating cold food
[19:59] doesn't count as a meal; it's just
[20:01] making do. But Western food is
[20:05] different; it can be cold. Ever since
[20:14] ancient times, we discovered we could
[20:16] use fire, like wildfires, to cook food,
[20:18] and we gradually grew interested in
[20:20] cooked food, making it the mainstream
[20:22] —eating cooked, not raw. Although we
[20:32] eat some raw food today, like salads,
[20:34] Chinese people prefer hot food because
[20:36] it is easier to digest. Over thousands
[20:42] of years of culture, we have formed a
[20:44] very complex way of cooking. Compared
[20:48] to Westerners, we are all culinary
[20:50] experts. So, what is our most complex
[20:54] way of cooking? To put it simply, it's
[20:58] actually quite straightforward: boiling
[21:00] is a true skill. We might think, "
[21:04] What's so novel about boiling?" Let me
[21:07] tell you. Boiling determines the
[21:10] Chinese diet. Let's look at something;
[21:14] let's stand up and take a look. All the
[21:18] artifacts in this setting today are
[21:20] real. We see the huanghuali tables,
[21:26] chairs, desks, beds, cabinets, and even
[21:28] the zitan racks; these are all
[21:30] authentic artifacts. This one is too—
[21:35] this is a bronze ding. Most of the
[21:39] dings we see have handles; this round
[21:41] ding has no handles, making it closer
[21:43] to our pots today. This is a bronze
[21:47] round ding, different from the famous
[21:49] dings you often see, like the Da Ke
[21:51] Ding or the Da Yu Ding. It has no
[21:55] handles but has a lid. This lid is
[21:58] quite magical; when flipped over, the
[22:00] three rhinoceroses can stand steadily
[22:02] on the ground, serving like a plate.
[22:06] This is the famous round ding. Such a
[22:09] bronze ding was essentially a large pot
[22:11] in ancient times. Once opened, you
[22:14] could use it to stew meat inside. Many
[22:21] bronze dings we’ve unearthed contain
[22:23] food and bones, showing that regardless
[22:25] of their shape, they were historically
[22:27] just pots. In November 2010, a Warring
[22:34] States period tomb was excavated in the
[22:36] northern suburbs of Xi'an, Shaanxi
[22:38] Province. Inside this tomb, there was a
[22:42] bronze ding, and inside this ding was
[22:44] half a pot of bones. This was the first
[22:46] time in Chinese archaeology that a bowl
[22:48] of bone soup from over 2,400 years ago
[22:49] was discovered. Although this ding
[22:51] isn't large, just over 20 centimeters,
[22:53] what kind of bones were soaked inside?
[22:55] There were foot bones, vertebrae, and
[22:57] rib bones. It could be chicken, or
[22:59] perhaps lamb bones, with cloudy broth.
[23:03] So, what do these bone soups tell us?
[23:08] It shows that for the Chinese, food is
[23:10] the top priority, so this pot is
[23:12] essential. Since the "ding" is
[23:19] essentially a pot, it historically
[23:21] became a symbol of national power. For
[23:26] instance, common phrases like "a
[23:28] promise worth a cauldron,""with strong
[23:30] support," and "boiling with public
[23:32] opinion" all directly relate to the "
[23:34] ding." Since the appearance of bronze "
[23:39] dings," they gained an additional
[23:40] function, becoming important ritual
[23:42] vessels used in ceremonies. We often
[23:46] label bronze "dings" as ritual objects
[23:48] today, but in reality, they were a type
[23:50] of food vessel. Yu the Great once
[23:54] collected metal from the nine provinces
[23:56] to cast nine "dings" at the foot of
[23:58] Jingshan Mountain, symbolizing the nine
[24:00] provinces and engraving them with
[24:01] images of mythical creatures to warn
[24:03] people against being harmed. Ever since
[24:08] the legend of Yu casting the nine "
[24:10] dings"—you two, come over here, stop
[24:12] arguing, come over here, come on. Come
[24:15] down, Feifei, come here. Come here.
[24:20] Don't fight over the bed; it's a big
[24:22] bed, there’s room for everyone. Stop
[24:24] arguing. So, ever since the legend of
[24:27] Yu casting the nine "dings," the "ding"
[24:30] evolved from a simple cooking vessel
[24:32] into a symbol of national power. When a
[24:35] state was destroyed, the "dings" had to
[24:37] be moved. The Xia dynasty fell and the
[24:40] Shang rose, so the "dings" moved to the
[24:42] Shang capital, Bo; when the Shang fell
[24:44] and the Zhou rose, the "dings" moved to
[24:47] the Zhou capital, Haojing. From the
[24:49] Shang to the Zhou, establishing a
[24:51] capital and a dynasty was called "ding
[24:53] ding," which is why we say "securing
[24:55] the Central Plains"—isn't it nine "
[24:56] dings" and eight "gui" vessels? It also
[24:58] became a symbol of the central
[25:00] government. The status of the "ding" in
[25:03] Chinese history was thus established.
[25:08] From the "ding" onward, many other
[25:10] things developed. What is the most
[25:13] unique piece of Chinese tableware?
[25:17] It’s not spoons, nor knives and forks
[25:19] ; the Chinese have all of those, but
[25:21] our unique tableware is chopsticks. We
[25:25] don't know exactly how long the history
[25:27] of chopsticks is, at least 3,000 years,
[25:29] because early chopsticks were just two
[25:31] pieces of wood or bamboo that rotted
[25:33] away quickly. However, they have
[25:37] appeared in Warring States tombs, and
[25:38] as for knives, they have existed since
[25:40] long ago. But why were these utensils
[25:44] phased out after the Warring States
[25:46] period? It's because Chinese people
[25:49] consume a lot of boiled food. Think
[25:52] about food boiled in hot soup; knives
[25:54] and forks aren't very useful for that.
[25:57] Chopsticks are the best, as they can
[25:59] fish things out. Spoons can only scoop
[26:02] soup, but chopsticks can handle
[26:03] anything. We’ve prepared a lot of
[26:07] artifacts for this episode, and I’ll
[26:09] bring them out for you to see at any
[26:10] time. For example, chopsticks—I’ve
[26:15] prepared a pair right here. Let me
[26:17] first...Look at our chopstick case,
[26:33] this pair of chopsticks. Let me show
[26:36] you. At first glance, these aren't just
[26:39] any chopsticks; they have a non-slip
[26:40] design in the middle. When we hold them
[26:43] , see? It signals that you should hold
[26:45] them no further than this point; you
[26:47] can't get any closer to the front. You
[26:49] shouldn't hold them like that. You must
[26:52] hold chopsticks from the back half. So,
[26:54] what does the emergence of chopsticks
[26:56] signify? It shows that our early diet
[26:59] primarily consisted of boiled food. It
[27:04] was an eating style where food was
[27:05] mainly cooked by boiling, which is why
[27:07] we needed chopsticks to fish it out.
[27:11] There are too many ways to use
[27:12] chopsticks, and there are also many
[27:14] different materials they are made from.
[27:16] Chopsticks are omnipotent. First,
[27:19] picking up food is their basic function
[27:21] —pinching it to eat. Then, breaking
[27:24] it. Mixing, lifting, piercing—think
[27:27] about skewering. They can do anything.
[27:31] You can even wrap wontons with one
[27:33] chopstick. I’ve seen people wrap
[27:35] wontons like this, holding a wonton
[27:37] skin...With a dip of the chopstick into
[27:39] the meat, a quick roll, and—plop—
[27:41] straight into the pot. So, the
[27:43] functions of chopsticks are truly
[27:44] omnipotent. Chinese people can eat very
[27:47] well as long as they have a pair of
[27:49] chopsticks. They can eat with great joy
[27:52] . I believe no other utensil brings as
[27:57] much joy to dining as chopsticks;
[27:59] that’s why it’s called "chopstick
[28:01] happiness." If you are Chinese and
[28:06] can't use chopsticks, remember my words
[28:08] : everyone must learn to use them
[28:09] correctly. If you use chopsticks well,
[28:13] it will make your lifelong dining
[28:14] experience incredibly enjoyable. If you
[28:18] only use a spoon, just imagine. Fried
[28:21] rice might be fine, but how would you
[28:23] eat noodles with a spoon? Right?
[28:26] Imagine trying to eat dumplings with a
[28:28] spoon—could you really enjoy that?
[28:32] You couldn't be happy. When life was
[28:35] poor, a single pot of boiled food was
[28:37] the simplest way to eat. You could even
[28:41] put grains and vegetables all together
[28:43] to boil. It tastes delicious, is rich
[28:47] in nutrition, and is easy to digest. So
[28:52] , throughout the long history of
[28:54] Chinese civilization, for a very long
[28:56] time, our lives and our cooking have
[28:58] primarily focused on boiling.
[29:01] Everywhere, all around the world,
[29:03] you’ll find people drinking tea
[29:04] wherever you go. But there is a
[29:06] difference in how tea is consumed
[29:07] between Chinese people and foreigners.
[29:10] The first thing for Chinese people when
[29:12] drinking tea is that the water must be
[29:14] boiling; it has to be hot, not lukewarm
[29:15] . In Beijing dialect, we call it "wutu,
[29:19] " meaning the water is too tepid and
[29:21] not hot enough. When we drink tea,
[29:23] we’re practically eager to blow on it
[29:25] to feel that perfect sensation. Hmm.
[29:31] You have to be able to see the tea
[29:32] leaves. Foreigners aren’t like that.
[29:35] Foreigners haven't learned our way;
[29:37] they all use tea bags. They toss the
[29:39] tea bag to the side, and then the tea
[29:41] is served. Without tea leaves, even if
[29:45] it tastes like tea, it just doesn't
[29:47] feel right. The gap between East and
[29:51] West is just too big. I remember when I
[29:55] went to the Netherlands years ago, I
[29:57] was exhausted and sat down to have some
[29:58] tea, and the way they served it really
[30:00] annoyed me. They don't refill your
[30:03] water when you're drinking tea. If you
[30:04] order one cup, that's one cup. After
[30:06] you finish, you order another; it's all
[30:08] brand new, and they just put a tea bag
[30:10] in. I asked them if they could add more
[30:12] water, but they wouldn't. They don't
[30:13] have that custom, just like coffee. Can
[30:15] you get a refill on coffee? They don't
[30:17] refill it. Well, that doesn't work for
[30:19] Chinese people. We say you have to
[30:20] drink tea until you're "thoroughly
[30:22] satisfied." With your cup-by-cup
[30:24] approach, how could I ever be satisfied
[30:26] ? I could drink twenty of those small
[30:28] cups. That would cost a fortune; every
[30:31] single cup costs money. So what can you
[30:34] do? Chinese people have to get a teapot
[30:36] . You leave half a pot of tea; look at
[30:40] those old teapots, at least half of the
[30:42] bottom is filled with tea leaves—
[30:44] that’s what you call satisfying. And
[30:48] with teapots, look at how Southerners
[30:50] do it; the tea leaves are piled so high
[30:52] they push the lid up. That’s how much
[30:54] tea they use. Chinese people are
[30:56] particular; you have to drink tea until
[30:57] you're "thoroughly satisfied." What
[30:59] does "thoroughly satisfied" mean?
[31:01] Breaking a sweat doesn't count. While
[31:04] you're drinking tea, you keep going to
[31:06] the restroom; the moment the time you
[31:08] spend in the restroom exceeds the time
[31:10] you spend drinking tea, that's when
[31:11] you're completely satisfied. So, this
[31:15] tea can actually save your life. In the
[31:17] past, people—a hundred or a thousand
[31:19] years ago—when they didn't feel well
[31:21] ...They would drink a pot of tea until
[31:22] they were "thoroughly satisfied," and
[31:24] their illness would be gone. Tea itself
[31:26] is a medicine. Shennong tasted hundreds
[31:30] of herbs and discovered it. Today, we
[31:34] have all grown very accustomed to
[31:36] drinking loose-leaf tea. You just use a
[31:39] teapot and put the tea leaves inside.
[31:41] Whatever tea you like, you drink that
[31:43] tea. In the past, tea was classified
[31:45] into four types: fermented,
[31:47] non-fermented, semi-fermented, and
[31:49] compressed tea. Compressed tea refers
[31:51] to brick tea, tuocha, and tea cakes and
[31:54] the like. Back in ancient times, the
[31:57] tea industry was extremely important.
[32:01] If we think about it carefully today,
[32:03] giving tea as a gift is a very common
[32:05] practice; for instance, I receive so
[32:07] much tea from others every year that I
[32:09] basically never need to buy any myself.
[32:13] That’s why friends are often quite
[32:15] willing to gift tea; it’s more
[32:17] refined. Moreover, tea offers many
[32:19] benefits and no drawbacks. Right?
[32:23] Although we treat gifting tea as a
[32:25] common occurrence, the sentiments
[32:27] behind it are extraordinary. Why are
[32:31] they so special? For one, it is rooted
[32:33] in traditional Chinese culture; our
[32:35] history with tea dates back 2,000 years
[32:37] to the Han Dynasty. Right. Furthermore,
[32:41] tea is an especially gentle and elegant
[32:43] beverage. It doesn't leave an
[32:47] unpleasant odor, unlike alcohol; if you
[32:49] drink too much alcohol, you’ll reek
[32:51] of it, but that doesn't happen with tea
[32:52] . Right, we are all familiar with the
[32:58] stories between Su Dongpo and the monk
[33:00] Foyin regarding Zen and tea, aren't we?
[33:05] So, everyone feels that tea is a
[33:07] wonderful gift. When your mouth is
[33:10] parched and dry, it provides relief.
[33:13] When you feel that a meal was too
[33:15] greasy and hard to digest, it cuts
[33:17] through the grease—this is truly
[33:19] important. Today, there are even those
[33:24] instant tea products, like the ones in
[33:26] plastic bottles—let's not name any
[33:27] brands—there are all sorts of teas.
[33:33] If you’ve never had tea before,
[33:34] trying these isn't necessarily a bad
[33:36] thing, but it’s a different matter
[33:38] from the true meaning of tea drinking.
[33:43] As Mr. Li Yintang once said, as long as
[33:45] one has a teapot, Chinese people can be
[33:47] happy anywhere. Wang Xizhi wrote in his
[33:51] preface to the Orchid Pavilion
[33:53] Collection, "Here there are high
[33:54] mountains and lush forests, along with
[33:56] clear, rapid streams that wind around
[33:58] us, which we use as a conduit for
[34:00] drifting wine cups.""Drifting cups"
[34:03] means placing the cups into the water,
[34:05] and letting them flow down the stream
[34:07] to the guests. Though there is no music
[34:09] , sipping wine and composing poems one
[34:11] after another is enough to express our
[34:12] innermost feelings. The so-called "one
[34:16] cup, one poem" means that when the
[34:18] drifting cup reaches me, I must compose
[34:20] a poem or a verse before I can drink
[34:22] the wine, you see. The ancients were
[34:25] very particular about this sense of
[34:27] ritual. Therefore, when the "drifting
[34:31] cup" appeared, the ancient Chinese
[34:32] began to imbue their wine drinking with
[34:34] a sense of ceremony. Notice that a
[34:38] drifting cup must be held with both
[34:40] hands. Even today, if you are drinking
[34:46] and facing an elder or someone of
[34:48] higher status, you must offer the glass
[34:50] with both hands. Even if you are
[34:58] holding an ordinary glass today, you
[35:00] should use your other hand to show
[35:01] respect. This originates from our Shang
[35:07] culture. Regardless of whether you use
[35:13] it today, our drinking culture is still
[35:15] linked to it—the act of holding the
[35:17] cup with both hands. So, what did the
[35:22] ancients add to drinking to liven up
[35:23] the mood? It’s called throwing "touzi
[35:26] ." We commonly call it throwing dice.
[35:34] We are all familiar with the dice we
[35:36] use today; they have six sides,
[35:37] numbered one to six. Look at this one,
[35:42] this jade die. It has 18 sides. Just
[35:46] give it a throw. The odds are one in 18
[35:49] . The probability is much, much harder
[35:53] than with a six-sided die. I just threw
[35:57] a 13—that’s pretty high. The
[36:00] highest point on this one is 16. Among
[36:03] them, there are two special Chinese
[36:04] character faces. One is called "Jiu Lai
[36:07] "(Drink Up), the lowest point. If you
[36:11] land on it, you have to drink. The
[36:15] other is "Jiao"(Pride), the highest
[36:17] point. If you land on this, you can be
[36:23] proud, because to hit the highest point
[36:25] on an 18-sided die is truly something
[36:27] to boast about. There is also this kind
[36:32] of "touzi"—this object is called "
[36:34] touzi," or you can call it a die. It
[36:37] has various tallies, with all sorts of
[36:39] things written on them. You might draw
[36:41] one that says "the neighbor on the left
[36:43] drinks a cup," or perhaps "the person
[36:45] next to you drinks a cup," or "the
[36:46] person opposite drinks three cups in a
[36:48] row." These were often written on old
[36:51] drinking tallies. These were tricks
[36:53] scholars came up with to heighten the
[36:55] joy of drinking. For example, Bai Juyi
[36:57] had a poem: "Drunk together among
[36:59] flowers, breaking the spring.""Drunk, I
[37:01] break a flower branch to use as a
[37:03] drinking tally." This is what it means.
[37:06] Look at "Romance of the West Chamber"
[37:08] —the descriptions of drinking games
[37:10] and tallies are abundant, unlike today,
[37:12] where we have vulgar practices like "
[37:14] down it all if you have true feelings,
[37:16] or just take a sip if they're shallow."
[37:19] Ancient Chinese people took these
[37:21] things to the height of sophistication.
[37:26] Just looking at a jade die, you know
[37:28] the 18 faces represent 18 moods, from
[37:30] one to 16, with a "Drink Up" and a "
[37:33] Pride" side. Actually, it’s not that
[37:40] easy to roll a "Drink Up"—it's a
[37:42] one-in-18 chance. We must know that
[37:47] drinking is supposed to be a
[37:48] pleasurable activity, but it avoids two
[37:50] things: the first is harming the body.
[37:53] Vomiting harms the body and feels
[37:55] terrible; if you overdo it, you won't
[37:57] be able to get up for days. What is the
[38:00] second thing? Drinking can lead to
[38:01] trouble. Some people stay out of
[38:04] trouble until they drink, and then they
[38:06] always cause a scene, so you must
[38:07] control these two aspects of drinking.
[38:11] Whether a person is good or not really
[38:13] comes down to these two things: can you
[38:15] control yourself enough to not harm
[38:16] your body, and can you control yourself
[38:18] enough to not cause trouble? If you go
[38:21] out for a drink, hurt yourself, and
[38:23] cause trouble, then you are the type
[38:25] who doesn't know how to drink. So,
[38:28] there are taboos when drinking. During
[38:33] the holidays, we can drink a little for
[38:35] fun, but never too much. I. In this
[38:42] talk, we're discussing beverages. We
[38:44] started with alcohol, so what are we
[38:46] going to talk about next? If you drink
[38:48] too much, your stomach feels
[38:49] uncomfortable. What makes it feel
[38:51] better? Drinking some soup makes you
[38:53] feel better, right? Once you drink some
[38:56] soup, it feels wonderful. Soup is a
[38:59] great Chinese invention. Yes, second
[39:02] only to alcohol and tea. Let's put
[39:07] these things away first, and then let's
[39:09] look at how the Chinese drink soup. You
[39:13] might ask, what can you show me to
[39:14] demonstrate how to drink soup? Bringing
[39:16] out a basin doesn't seem very appealing
[39:18] , does it? Let me tell you first, there
[39:20] are specific tools for drinking soup.
[39:23] Let me show you. Look. This spoon, have
[39:27] you ever seen such a beautiful spoon?
[39:29] It's used for drinking soup. And for
[39:31] scooping up the contents. I'll take
[39:34] these spoons out so you can all get a
[39:35] look at them. Oh my, look at this
[39:40] silver one! How beautiful! The top is
[39:45] all sterling silver, and the front part
[39:47] is bronze. Let me show you something
[39:52] even more special. Look at these three
[39:56] pieces. Seeing these three shows a
[40:00] point: you haven't seen this in a long
[40:02] time. Look at this big soup ladle. This
[40:09] is from the Liao and Jin dynasties—
[40:11] utensils from that era. When I place
[40:14] these spoons here, I think this topic
[40:16] becomes quite interesting. Chinese
[40:19] people drinking soup. It's not just
[40:22] about drinking the broth; sometimes we
[40:24] need to scoop out the solid ingredients
[40:26] to eat, do you see? This is from the
[40:29] Warring States period, 2,500 years ago.
[40:32] This is from the Tang dynasty. 1,200
[40:34] years old. This is from the Liao, 1,000
[40:37] years old now. Speaking from the
[40:40] perspective of size. This colander
[40:43] spoon is for personal use. It's for
[40:45] scooping things when you drink your own
[40:47] soup. You can scoop out all the
[40:51] overcooked bits of meat from inside,
[40:53] see? But this one here is for serving
[40:57] others. That requires someone to help.
[41:01] This handle is curved. It is curved. At
[41:06] first, I thought this handle had been
[41:08] damaged and became bent. Later, I
[41:11] discovered in other museums that the
[41:13] handles on those spoons were also
[41:15] curved just like this. So I gave it a
[41:17] try and realized, perhaps the ancients
[41:19] scooped this way because it’s easier
[41:21] to catch things and better for
[41:22] separating ingredients. A strainer.
[41:26] What is a strainer? The strainer we
[41:31] have today, this duck-billed silver
[41:33] spoon, is truly beautiful and covered
[41:35] in intricate patterns. Just look at
[41:38] this, and you’ll understand how
[41:39] particular the Chinese are about
[41:41] drinking soup. The way foreigners drink
[41:42] soup just doesn't sit right. Why
[41:44] doesn't the way foreigners drink soup
[41:46] work? When they serve it in those
[41:47] plates, I just feel it’s not right.
[41:53] Chinese people must have a large soup
[41:55] bowl; serving us soup in those shallow
[41:57] foreign plates completely misses the
[41:59] point. When it comes to soup,
[42:06] northerners and southerners are in a
[42:08] league of their own. I am especially
[42:11] impressed by the soups made by the
[42:13] Cantonese. For the Cantonese, there is
[42:17] nothing a bowl of soup can't solve,
[42:18] whether you're suffering from internal
[42:21] heat...Need to detox, expel a cold, or
[42:23] remove dampness—a bowl of soup fixes
[42:25] it all. Logically speaking, since the
[42:28] north is cold, northerners should be
[42:30] the ones drinking soup. So why don't
[42:34] northerners drink much soup, and why do
[42:36] they care so little about it? What do
[42:39] northerners even call soup? In the past
[42:42] , after we finished eating, an egg drop
[42:44] soup was considered "the soup." Usually
[42:46] , when northerners ate, it was four
[42:48] dishes and a soup, six dishes and a
[42:50] soup, eight or ten dishes and a soup;
[42:52] the soup always came out last to signal
[42:54] the end of the meal. But southerners
[42:57] are different. Looking back, in the
[43:01] early north, like in the "Qimin Yaoshu"
[43:03] from the Southern Dynasties, there were
[43:05] methods for making soups and stews, but
[43:07] I don't know why northerners drink it
[43:09] so rarely. Perhaps they passed the
[43:13] technique to the south? What do
[43:15] southerners do? Southerners start their
[43:17] meal by drinking soup first. In recent
[43:20] years, we’ve slowly gotten used to it
[43:22] , but back when we weren't, if you
[43:23] started a meal with soup, you wouldn't
[43:25] know if you were allowed to eat the
[43:27] rest, because northerners taught us
[43:28] soup was the final course. Southerners
[43:32] prioritize slow-boiled soups, all kinds
[43:34] of varieties, some so packed with
[43:36] ingredients they could easily serve as
[43:38] a full meal. They serve it first for
[43:43] you to taste; seeing a strainer like
[43:45] this, you know the soup must be rich in
[43:47] ingredients. At the very least, during
[43:52] the Warring States period and the Liao
[43:54] and Jin dynasties, soups must have been
[43:56] incredibly rich. These things, the ones
[44:00] today are all made of metal. A big
[44:03] strainer. When you buy a strainer at
[44:06] the store, they’re all mesh; they
[44:08] don’t scoop well. Back when I was a
[44:12] kid in the countryside, I used a large
[44:14] wire-mesh scoop—it was efficient.
[44:20] When a hundred of us educated youth
[44:21] were eating, the pot was full of
[44:23] floating dumplings, and you could scoop
[44:25] them all up at once. All the dumplings
[44:29] would come up. Without a drop of water
[44:31] left. That wire-mesh scoop drains water
[44:34] incredibly fast. The faster you scoop,
[44:37] the less sticky the dumplings are. If
[44:41] you don’t believe me, try scooping
[44:43] them by hand; even a few seconds in
[44:45] warm water will make them turn mushy.
[44:49] Since those old strainers were woven
[44:51] from wire, there was a saying, wasn't
[44:53] there? "Eating wire and a
[44:57] strainer"—it refers to what's in your
[44:59] belly. Back when we were kids, we
[45:03] Northerners had some concept of soup,
[45:05] but practically no concept of "geng"(
[45:07] thick soup). I remember our early meals
[45:11] were mostly Shandong cuisine. One
[45:14] famous soup from that style was
[45:16] Cuttlefish Egg Soup. It was the
[45:18] grandest soup in the North, seasoned
[45:20] with white pepper. A step down would be
[45:25] Hot and Sour Soup with tofu strips;
[45:27] it’s similar to today’s Hunan
[45:29] Pepper Soup—I bet they’re both from
[45:31] the same lineage. Southern soups,
[45:35] however, are a different story. In a
[45:39] Southern soup, you can fish out a
[45:40] chicken heart, a chicken claw, or—
[45:42] like when I was drinking it the other
[45:44] day—a chicken gizzard, and then a
[45:46] piece of pork. You can fish out just
[45:50] about anything. By the time you’re
[45:52] done fishing, you’re already full.
[45:55] Plus, the things you fish out taste
[45:57] great dipped in soy sauce and vinegar
[45:59] because they’re so tender. But
[46:01] Cantonese people look down on us for
[46:02] that. They think those solids aren't
[46:04] meant to be eaten; you're just supposed
[46:06] to drink the soup. But if you really
[46:09] expect me to just drink that clear
[46:11] broth...I mean, it tastes fine, but I
[46:12] don't feel a strong connection to it.
[46:16] Take famous Cantonese soups: Hairy Fig
[46:19] and Pork Bone Soup, Black Bean and Carp
[46:21] Soup, or Codonopsis and Astragalus
[46:23] Chicken Soup. There's also Oxtail Soup,
[46:27] and all sorts of others. Then there’s
[46:31] the "geng" that Cantonese people make,
[46:33] which is even more interesting. It’s
[46:36] much thicker and more viscous. As I
[46:39] mentioned, the grandest "geng" for
[46:41] Northerners is Cuttlefish Egg Soup, but
[46:43] it doesn't really reach the typical
[46:45] thickness of a "geng." Take Shunde Fish
[46:49] Velvet soup, for instance—it’s
[46:51] packed with flavor and is said to be
[46:53] incredibly nourishing. And what’s
[46:56] even thicker than a "geng"? Congee.
[46:58] Right, porridge; the soup has turned
[47:00] into porridge now. Northerners aren't
[47:03] the same; in the past, besides plain
[47:05] white porridge, we only had millet
[47:07] porridge, or maybe a mix of millet and
[47:09] rice—that was about it. We never
[47:11] added anything to our porridge, maybe
[47:13] just some salted vegetables at most.
[47:15] But look at Cantonese people—century
[47:17] egg and lean meat porridge, fresh
[47:18] sliced fish porridge—adding fish,
[47:20] century eggs, and preserved eggs to
[47:22] porridge? I never even dared to imagine
[47:24] that when I was a kid. But Cantonese
[47:27] people know how to make it, and they
[47:28] make it delicious. The status of soup
[47:32] in history was, I think, even more
[47:33] important than it is today. Yi Yin, the
[47:38] prime minister of the Shang Dynasty,
[47:40] used the art of cooking to explain
[47:42] governance, saying that ruling the
[47:44] world is like seasoning a pot of soup
[47:46] —it requires harmony of flavors.
[47:50] Salty, sweet, bitter, and spicy—you
[47:52] need them all, and you have to master
[47:54] the intensity of the heat. He used this
[47:58] theory to reorganize the government and
[48:00] understand the people's needs; it makes
[48:02] a lot of sense. Actually, making a pot
[48:06] of soup—a truly perfect pot—is a
[48:08] very difficult task. That's why the
[48:11] better soups we have in life are
[48:12] usually the ones we get at restaurants.
[48:15] It takes quite a bit of effort to make
[48:17] good soup at home. Certainly. There is
[48:21] one more famous soup in the North, this
[48:23] soup. It's often mentioned in famous
[48:27] crosstalk routines, like Mr. Liu
[48:29] Baorui's piece, "Pearl, Jadeite, and
[48:31] White Jade Soup." Listen to it, Mr. Liu
[48:35] Baorui says: the soup has finally been
[48:38] served. The fact that the soup was
[48:40] served highlights its importance. "
[48:43] Pearl, Jadeite, and White Jade Soup"—
[48:45] if you haven't heard it, you really
[48:47] should. It’s a classic monologue
[48:50] routine, a signature skill of the
[48:51] master of crosstalk, Mr. Liu Baorui.
[48:54] Across our country, there is a huge
[48:56] variety of soups. Generally speaking,
[48:59] Northerners aren't as good at making
[49:01] soup as Southerners. Our country is
[49:04] vast, and the South has so many kinds
[49:06] —everyone is welcome to add your own
[49:08] hometown's soups to the list. In the
[49:12] past, both Northerners and Southerners
[49:14] loved to stew chicken soup. Why stew
[49:16] chicken soup? For nourishment—if
[49:18] someone was sick at home, we'd make
[49:20] chicken soup, or if someone had just
[49:22] given birth, we'd make chicken soup or
[49:24] fish soup. For…well…when we were
[49:26] kids, the days we drank chicken soup
[49:28] were basically the days we were sick;
[49:30] if you weren't sick, you couldn't get
[49:32] any chicken soup. So you can see how
[49:35] scarce material resources were back
[49:37] when we were growing up. Today, we've
[49:42] brought out a few artifacts to
[49:44] illustrate an important beverage in
[49:46] ancient China: soup. We talk about
[49:51] drinking alcohol—you have to drink,
[49:53] and soup—you have to drink that too.
[49:55] And as for tea, you have to drink good
[49:57] tea as well. These are three life
[49:59] lessons one must learn: drinking
[50:01] alcohol, enjoying soup, and savoring
[50:03] tea. As Chinese people. To master the
[50:09] three great lessons of drinking in life
[50:11] , what is the first one? Alcohol must
[50:14] be consumed in moderation; you must not
[50:16] drink too much, as it harms the body
[50:18] and causes trouble, right? The second
[50:20] is to drink soup well. How do you do
[50:22] that? First, it must be brewed well;
[50:24] you have to know how to make soup.
[50:27] Truly good soup is always steamed. The
[50:30] third is tea. Drinking tea should
[50:36] become a fine habit in your life; it is
[50:38] good for your health, relieving
[50:39] greasiness and dispelling worries.
[50:46] These three life lessons are not
[50:48] difficult to say, but they are actually
[50:49] quite hard. Its body is shallow and the
[50:53] opening is wide; it is designed for
[50:55] drinking iced tea. I have demonstrated
[50:57] this before: take some very tender,
[50:59] fresh tea leaves. Place ice cubes on
[51:02] top and put the lid on. Once the ice
[51:06] melts, the tea is ready to drink. Most
[51:14] people today drink "iced black tea,"
[51:16] which is industrially manufactured and
[51:18] completely different from our method.
[51:25] It is actually a way of slow living
[51:26] from ancient times. Most of us think
[51:30] tea should be hot, so how could it be
[51:32] iced? Well, this tea brewed with ice
[51:38] has a unique flavor, and this is one of
[51:40] our Nine Palace Pots. So, what is
[51:45] another pot called? It's called "Ri";
[51:48] this pot is used for Pu-erh tea, and
[51:51] its feature is a wide, open spout. It
[51:55] is very convenient to use because
[51:57] Pu-erh tea is quite hardy. It is
[52:00] especially not afraid of high
[52:01] temperatures, so pouring boiling water
[52:03] in is no problem at all, even
[52:05] repeatedly. Therefore, this pot has a
[52:08] relatively large capacity. For example,
[52:11] our pot for green tea is called "
[52:13] Shanzhi." Green tea requires specific
[52:17] care. First, the water for green tea
[52:19] must not be too hot. But what if you
[52:21] accidentally make the water too hot?
[52:23] Our pot has an open design. It
[52:26] dissipates heat quickly. If you use a
[52:28] small, enclosed pot like the one in
[52:30] front of me, green tea will get soggy
[52:32] if steeped too long. Each of our nine
[52:36] pots has its corresponding tea and
[52:37] design. There is an old saying that
[52:41] skill is no match for good tools.
[52:44] Confucius also said, "A workman must
[52:46] sharpen his tools if he is to do his
[52:48] work well." That is why we created the
[52:53] Nine Palace Tea Set, which can satisfy
[52:55] all the needs of an individual or a
[52:56] family for drinking tea. Of course, if
[53:01] you can pair it with the Nine Palace
[53:03] Pots, it would be absolutely perfect.
[53:07] In English, we call it perfect. Let’s
[53:13] first introduce this Jiugong tea set;
[53:14] it’s no longer just about the
[53:16] tea-brewing vessel itself. We aren't
[53:22] just saying here is a set of tea ware
[53:24] for you to use. It requires setting a
[53:28] scene. For instance, there’s an
[53:31] incense set here, an incense set. For
[53:33] example, there’s a flower vessel; it
[53:35] has flowers arranged in it, a flower
[53:37] vessel. These constitute a complete tea
[53:40] experience. If we view the Jiugong pot
[53:45] as an exploration of teapot history,
[53:47] then the Jiugong tea set is an
[53:48] expansion into the breadth of tea
[53:50] culture. We’ve gathered all elements
[53:56] —tea storage, transfer, steeping,
[53:59] brewing, drinking, appreciating incense
[54:01] , flower viewing, and display—all on
[54:03] this table. Take a look; everything on
[54:07] this table is arranged in good order.
[54:08] When we made the Jiugong pot, it was
[54:10] designed based on the nine-grid system.
[54:12] Everyone is familiar with the nine-grid
[54:14] system; anyone who has practiced
[54:15] calligraphy knows it’s a grid shaped
[54:17] like a "well" character with nine
[54:18] squares. Although this Jiugong tea set
[54:20] is not a nine-grid design, as you can
[54:22] all see, it’s still a complete set.
[54:25] It doesn’t follow the nine-grid
[54:26] design, but we still continue the "Guan
[54:28] Jiugong" branding. In the future, when
[54:32] you see those four characters, it must
[54:34] be a collectible produced by the museum
[54:35] . This is a high-grade piece, a level
[54:39] above ordinary merchandise. When making
[54:42] the Jiugong pot, I wrote a line of text
[54:44] called: "Beijingshaxianghoudaipinke"(
[54:46] Bearing the scent of tea, inheriting
[54:48] the legacy). Nine characters, each with
[54:51] nine strokes. You can read it however
[54:53] you like—horizontally, vertically, or
[54:55] backward—it makes sense any way you
[54:57] read it. Now, our Jiugong tea set has
[54:59] 11 compartments. As you can see, I
[55:02] couldn’t follow the nine-grid rule of
[55:04] nine characters with nine strokes each.
[55:06] This time, with 11 compartments, I
[55:08] wrote 11 characters. Each character has
[55:10] 11 strokes. What are these 11
[55:12] characters? They are "Yao Shu Sheng
[55:14] Zhang". "Chui Yin Pao Xu Qi Sui". Each
[55:19] character has 11 strokes, do you see? "
[55:22] Yao Shu Sheng Zhang Chui Yin Pao Xu",
[55:24] they match the compartments perfectly.
[55:29] It took me a lot of effort to find
[55:31] these 11 characters. There are actually
[55:34] 13 items in total. The entire packaging
[55:38] , this grid tray is called the "Tea
[55:39] Tray," which counts as one item. Also,
[55:42] there is another item in this bucket,
[55:44] which counts as one, so there are 13
[55:46] items in total. Let's start with a
[55:49] brief explanation of these terms; I
[55:51] call them "Kiln-Craft Chapters." This
[55:54] is easy to understand: "Kiln-craft"
[55:56] refers to things fired in a kiln.
[55:59] Everything here that has been fired—
[56:01] these are all kiln-fired items. These
[56:04] all belong to kiln-craft. Kiln-firing.
[56:08] "Hammered silver," which surely
[56:10] includes bronze—this is bronze, this
[56:12] is silver—and "pao-xu"; "pao" is a
[56:15] cooking vessel. "Xu" is a bamboo vessel
[56:18] . "Qi" refers to lacquerware, and "sui"
[56:21] was what the ancients called the
[56:22] process of applying lacquer. It is
[56:24] called "sui." You can take a look at
[56:27] this character, the "lacquer"(qi)
[56:28] character. Notice this "qi" character
[56:31] lacks the three-dot water radical; I
[56:33] tell you, it didn't have it in the
[56:35] beginning. It was added later, so this
[56:38] "lacquer" also counts as one. Our "Nine
[56:40] Crafts" series, this time, involves
[56:43] many categories, materials, and
[56:45] techniques. Therefore, the difficulty
[56:47] is much greater than the "Nine Crafts
[56:49] of the Lake," and we will discuss them
[56:51] one by one. What we are primarily
[56:52] talking about today is artisan
[56:54] aesthetics. When we talk about
[56:55] aesthetics, it’s not the introduction
[56:57] to aesthetics you'd hear from Mr. Zong
[56:59] Baihua or Mr. Zhu Guangqian in college;
[57:01] the aesthetics I want to talk about are
[57:03] the aesthetics in your daily life.
[57:05] Sometimes you go to a store or a mall
[57:07] to buy things, and from a distance, you
[57:09] think, "Why does this look bad?" or "
[57:11] Why does this look good?" This is
[57:12] actually a judgment of beauty on your
[57:14] part. There is a popular saying now
[57:16] that being "aesthetically illiterate"
[57:18] is even scarier than being illiterate.
[57:19] Why is there such a saying? It's
[57:21] because everyone's life is good now,
[57:23] and we often face beautiful things, so
[57:25] how do you judge them? Today, we will
[57:28] talk a bit more about artisan
[57:30] aesthetics. Let's start with a little
[57:33] story. There was a monastery. There was
[57:37] a young monk. The master told him to
[57:39] sweep up the fallen leaves. The child
[57:42] swept the courtyard spotlessly clean,
[57:44] but the master just shook his head and
[57:46] said nothing. The next day, the young
[57:49] monk swept again, and again it was
[57:51] spotless. The master still shook his
[57:54] head. The third day was the same, until
[57:57] one day. The young monk swept it
[58:00] spotlessly clean. A gust of wind blew,
[58:03] and a few leaves fell down again. At
[58:06] this moment, the master nodded and said
[58:08] , "This will do." This is a realm of
[58:11] aesthetics. So, how do you judge this
[58:14] realm? I will tell you, it's very
[58:17] simple; it consists of two words: "
[58:19] feeling." Is your feeling consistent
[58:22] with others 'feelings? Or, is your
[58:26] feeling consistent with the feeling of
[58:28] an expert? Is your feeling consistent
[58:30] with the feeling of your master? This
[58:32] emphasizes a feeling. There is a
[58:35] popular Japanese aesthetic called "Wabi
[58:37] ." In today's Chinese, the character
[58:40] for "Wabi" is rarely used; unless you
[58:42] read ancient texts, you basically won't
[58:44] come across it. When we try to
[58:46] understand this character, we often
[58:47] look at it and think: isn't it just a
[58:49] radical for a person next to a "zhai"(
[58:50] house) character? Like the "zhai" in "
[58:52] homebody"? You would probably interpret
[58:54] it as just the character for "house,"
[58:55] right? But it’s not the character for
[58:57] "house." It is the character "Wabi,"
[58:59] which is pronounced the same as the "
[59:00] cha" in our word for "astonished" today
[59:02] . "Wabi" in Japanese is a negation of
[59:04] things that are wealthy, ornate,
[59:06] vibrant, luxurious, or complicated—
[59:09] not an affirmation, but a negation. So,
[59:12] what does it seek? It seeks what is
[59:16] simple, restrained, cold, lonely,
[59:18] rustic, or even withered. It seeks
[59:22] exactly this kind of state. How can we
[59:26] understand this state? Let’s use a
[59:28] simple example. Those familiar with art
[59:32] history know that there was a great
[59:33] painter in the Yuan Dynasty named Ni
[59:35] Yunlin, and his landscape paintings are
[59:37] called "withered landscapes." Withered
[59:41] branches, bare trees, almost no leaves
[59:43] on the trees, and the distant landscape
[59:45] isn't painted with much moisture either
[59:47] . What does this correspond to? It
[59:49] corresponds to "blue-green landscapes."
[59:52] We all know the Palace Museum recently
[59:54] exhibited Wang Ximeng's "A Thousand Li
[59:56] of Rivers and Mountains," which is a
[59:58] blue-green landscape. Withered
[60:00] landscapes are the counterpart to
[60:02] blue-green landscapes; they are two
[60:04] extremes of aesthetics, two different
[60:06] realms. What is it that we want today?
[60:10] We want this realm of the "withered
[60:12] landscape" and the "Wabi" aesthetic.
[60:15] There is a story from Japan. Sen no
[60:18] Rikyu created a school of tea ceremony.
[60:21] At his home in Kyoto, he planted a
[60:23] large patch of morning glories. Summer
[60:26] arrived, and the morning glories were
[60:28] in full, beautiful bloom. When Toyotomi
[60:31] Hideyoshi heard about this, he wanted
[60:33] to see them, so Sen no Rikyu invited
[60:35] Hideyoshi to his home. To admire my
[60:38] morning glories and prepare for a tea
[60:40] ceremony. But when Toyotomi Hideyoshi
[60:43] arrived with his entourage, all the
[60:45] morning glories in the garden were gone
[60:47] . They had all been picked. Hideyoshi
[60:50] was furious, saying, "You invited me to
[60:52] see the flowers.""Yet there are no
[60:55] flowers." He entered the room, seething
[60:57] with anger. In the tea room, a single
[61:01] vase held one morning glory, still
[61:03] glistening with morning dew. Sen no
[61:07] Rikyu destroyed all the other flowers,
[61:09] leaving only this one to express this
[61:11] feeling of "Wabi." I don’t know if
[61:15] your heart was moved after hearing this
[61:16] story. This is the most famous example
[61:20] in the history of Japanese aesthetics,
[61:22] telling you that beauty is not always
[61:24] about fullness, and that a single
[61:26] solitary branch can often be even more
[61:27] beautiful. We can generally understand
[61:31] this kind of extreme aesthetic example.
[61:35] When designing this tea set for the
[61:37] Jiugong Tea House, we were influenced
[61:39] by tea aesthetics, the foundations of
[61:41] which actually coincide with Chinese
[61:43] philosophical thought. We all know the
[61:46] Chinese saying, "Humility brings
[61:48] benefit, while arrogance invites loss."
[61:52] You will see some aesthetics that do
[61:53] not align with this tea aesthetic
[61:55] philosophy. For example, let's look at
[61:59] this vase. This vase is called "Xiuyuan
[62:05] ." The name is taken from Xin Qiji's "
[62:13] Man Jiang Hong": "Clouds break, the
[62:15] forest glows, the sky is far and clear;
[62:18] the moon shines on the corner of the
[62:20] pavilion." The term "Yuan Xiu" comes
[62:26] from this. This piece is made with a
[62:29] glaze that even the Song Dynasty could
[62:31] not achieve; the Song kilns could not
[62:33] fire such a fine texture. We all know
[62:36] the Song Dynasty was a peak of ancient
[62:38] Chinese ceramics, with the five great
[62:41] kilns known to everyone: Ru, Guan, Ge,
[62:43] Jun, and Ding. For the people of the
[62:46] Song Dynasty, this color was something
[62:47] they pursued, but they could not reach
[62:49] such a high level. Why couldn't they
[62:52] reach such a high level? Look closely;
[62:56] what color is this vase? It is a pale,
[63:02] delicate gray. Gray porcelain is
[63:06] extremely sophisticated. I’ll venture
[63:10] a guess: you definitely don't have any
[63:11] gray porcelain at home. Years ago, a
[63:15] famous French designer visited our
[63:17] museum. While we were having tea and
[63:21] chatting, I showed him some new pieces.
[63:26] He felt nothing for the flashy,
[63:28] colorful ceramics. But when I brought
[63:31] out this gray piece, he was instantly
[63:33] stunned. He said he had never seen this
[63:36] color before. But he noted that this
[63:38] color is very high-end. It could be
[63:41] added to our luxury brand. You see, a
[63:44] great French designer was instantly
[63:46] sensitive to this color—gray. This
[63:51] vase has a prototype, which is
[63:52] collected in the official museum; its
[63:54] original form is Longquan celadon. The
[63:58] color is a crisp, bright green. I
[64:01] believe that while this crisp Longquan
[64:03] green may be easy to please the eye, it
[64:05] is certainly not as sophisticated as
[64:07] this pale, elusive gray. So, we changed
[64:12] it to gray. From a ceramic perspective,
[64:18] this gray still belongs to celadon, but
[64:20] it lacks the crisp, enticing allure of
[64:22] Longquan celadon. Its charm requires
[64:29] the admirer to possess a deep sense of
[64:31] aesthetic cultivation. If you can
[64:35] elevate yourself and see its beauty,
[64:37] your own aesthetic sense will take a
[64:38] major leap forward. So I wondered, why
[64:42] did we choose a gray? Let me tell you,
[64:44] gray is particularly interesting
[64:46] because it goes with everything. Just
[64:49] imagine what it would look like with a
[64:51] white rose, a winterberry, or a
[64:52] hydrangea in it. Even without flowers,
[64:57] when we take the flowers away, it still
[64:59] possesses a profound aesthetic. That is
[65:02] why we chose this particular shade of
[65:04] gray. In today's life, gray is often
[65:09] associated with a sense of luxury; now,
[65:11] let’s talk about the utensils
[65:13] themselves. Some of you must be
[65:18] wondering what is included in the full
[65:19] Jiugong tea set? We will unveil them
[65:23] all today, and as we introduce each
[65:25] item, we will emphasize its
[65:26] craftsmanship and aesthetics. Let’s
[65:30] look at the first "ji xu"(kettle) first
[65:32] . Let’s take a look at this kettle;
[65:35] it has a name called "Dong." This name
[65:38] doesn't come from Tao Yuanming's "
[65:40] plucking chrysanthemums under the
[65:42] eastern fence," but from the Tang
[65:43] Dynasty monk Guanran, who wrote, "On
[65:45] the ninth day, at the mountain temple,
[65:47] the eastern fence turns yellow." This
[65:52] kettle, this pot called "Dong," adopts
[65:54] one of the oldest forms, known as a "ji
[65:57] xu.""Ji xu" simply means "urgent need,"
[66:01] something you really need in a hurry.
[66:04] In today’s artifacts, "ji xu" kettles
[66:06] made of stone or porcelain from the
[66:08] Tang Dynasty are preserved in museum
[66:10] collections. This term was coined by
[66:14] the Chinese, but it is still used by
[66:16] the Japanese today; we rarely use it
[66:17] because it seems we don't have such
[66:19] urgent matters in our lives—drinking
[66:21] tea is a slow and leisurely affair. So,
[66:25] while they were made in large numbers
[66:27] in the Tang Dynasty, no one makes them
[66:29] anymore. This "ji xu" is quite
[66:32] interesting. Let’s look at an antique
[66:35] one first, otherwise you won't know the
[66:37] similarities and differences between a
[66:38] Tang Dynasty kettle and the ones we
[66:40] have today. See it? This is a Tang
[66:44] Dynasty "peacock" kettle. There is a
[66:47] hole here where you can slip a finger
[66:49] through, making it very easy to hold.
[66:51] With a short spout, this one is shaped
[66:53] like a tiger's head. It could be used
[66:57] to boil water, and the stone version
[66:58] could be heated and would retain warmth
[67:00] for a long time. This is a Tang Dynasty
[67:04] "ji xu." The form is very full, and it
[67:06] feels very smooth to the touch. This
[67:08] piece is already over 1,000 years old.
[67:11] When you see this side-handled teapot,
[67:12] you might say, "I see these in the tea
[67:14] market all the time, they're nothing
[67:16] special." Years ago, you wouldn't have
[67:17] seen them, but so many have been
[67:19] imported from Japan, plus our own
[67:20] artisans have learned to make them,
[67:22] which is why these teapots have
[67:23] appeared. You say there's nothing
[67:25] special about them, but I tell you,
[67:26] they are actually quite different. This
[67:29] teapot has a subtle difference from the
[67:31] ones you've seen; a Japanese craftsman
[67:33] told me, otherwise I wouldn't have
[67:35] noticed. Compared to our
[67:39] straight-handled teapots, where the
[67:41] handle and spout are at 180 degrees, we
[67:43] are used to that. But for this
[67:46] side-handled pot, the handle and spout
[67:48] are at a 90-degree angle. We use it
[67:50] this way, and anyone who knows how will
[67:52] hold it like this, blocking the lid to
[67:54] keep it from falling off. The Japanese
[67:57] have a secret about these teapots that
[67:58] they don't tell us. Only after a long
[68:03] time, or if you're very close, will
[68:05] they tell you that the angle is not 90
[68:07] degrees; it’s 1 to 2 degrees less.
[68:11] For instance, it might be 89 or 88
[68:13] degrees. Sometimes you can't tell with
[68:17] the naked eye, but once I tell you, you
[68:19] stare at it and think, "Hmm, it really
[68:21] does seem like it's less than 90
[68:22] degrees." You would never notice this
[68:26] in daily use. These Japanese craftsmen
[68:31] are meticulous; they believe this angle
[68:33] of less than 90 degrees makes it easier
[68:35] and more convenient to use. What do the
[68:40] Chinese call this concept? "Horizontal
[68:43] and vertical perfection." The Japanese
[68:45] don't emphasize this; what they value
[68:47] instead is... "Hidden craft." So, if
[68:50] you find this pot and say, "Oh, this
[68:52] pot seems a bit off, is it crooked?"
[68:54] Never ask that question, it’s
[68:56] embarrassing. If you pick up the pot,
[68:59] look at it, and say, "Oh, this is a
[69:01] good pot, it's less than 90 degrees,"
[69:03] then you are an expert. You might ask,
[69:05] "Why are the ones the Japanese fire so
[69:07] good?" Actually, there’s nothing
[69:09] particularly special about them. All
[69:12] these fine Japanese traditions were
[69:13] passed down from us. They merely
[69:16] preserved them. During the Qing dynasty
[69:18] , there was a man named Jin Shiheng,
[69:20] who research shows was from Tongshan
[69:22] County, Anhui. He brought this
[69:24] traditional Chinese craft of making
[69:26] purple clay pottery to Japan. The
[69:29] Japanese combined it with local
[69:31] materials to fire this type of ware. In
[69:34] the past, when I lectured on ceramics
[69:36] at the Baijia Lecture Hall, I talked
[69:38] about this. Items fired from clay are
[69:40] called earthenware, and items fired
[69:41] from kaolin are called porcelain. But
[69:43] the things fired with this specific
[69:45] material...The Chinese call it "Zisha"(
[69:47] purple clay). But scientifically, it is
[69:49] actually called stoneware. The
[69:51] character is a "fire" radical next to a
[69:53] "stone" character. Now, the "jixu"(
[69:56] kettle)—a person from the Northern
[69:58] Song Dynasty named Huang Chang wrote in
[70:01] a poem, "The kettle is drawn toward the
[70:03] stove.""A pot of hot jixu, belly-laden,
[70:06] " meaning the belly of the kettle is
[70:08] full of things. When the water in the
[70:11] pot boils to a certain point, it makes
[70:13] a sound, a sound like a clump of silver
[70:15] flying. The ancients described this
[70:18] interestingly; "pine wind" means it's
[70:20] about to boil, and "silver sound" also
[70:22] means it's about to boil. Back when
[70:28] Japan sent envoys to the Tang Dynasty,
[70:30] they brought the habit of tea drinking
[70:32] back with them, so much of the tea
[70:34] culture from the medieval period was
[70:35] actually preserved in Japan; the kettle
[70:37] is one example. The Japanese even call
[70:43] this type of kettle a "Tang-style tea
[70:45] kettle." It implies it’s a tea kettle
[70:50] from the time of Lu Yu of the Tang
[70:51] Dynasty, though that might not be its
[70:53] original meaning. So, this kettle has a
[70:57] relatively small capacity; why is it
[70:59] made so small? It is designed for you
[71:02] to use by yourself. Theoretically, this
[71:04] pot is for self-brewing and
[71:05] self-drinking. It can serve two people,
[71:09] but it’s not suitable for a large
[71:10] group to crowd around. It is very light
[71:14] to hold, and the material used is like
[71:16] rock. Look at this earthy yellow color;
[71:24] notice the ring around the spout—
[71:26] it’s all joined by the craftsman’s
[71:27] hand. You must never ask, "Why is there
[71:35] a color difference?" Asking that would
[71:39] be a faux pas; definitely don't ask
[71:40] about the color difference. Say, "Oh,
[71:42] this color variation is truly beautiful
[71:44] !" That would be much more
[71:46] sophisticated. The craftsman added a
[71:50] ring of warm, metallic-lustered glaze
[71:51] at the bottom to emphasize its sense of
[71:53] weight. It emphasizes its variation.
[72:00] These are unique skills, so this kettle
[72:02] is very special. Let’s take a look at
[72:07] the "zhihu"(spouted pot) that comes
[72:09] with it. You can look at this spouted
[72:14] pot. This pot also has a name; every
[72:16] item we have has a name, and these
[72:18] names aren't just for show. This pot is
[72:20] called "Wuyou"(No Worry). Based on the
[72:23] poem by Bai Juyi, "A bowl of' no worry
[72:25] 'tea, for a lover of tea," this pot is
[72:28] called Wuyou. You can't just have a
[72:31] kettle, right? We also have this kind
[72:36] of spouted pot; theoretically, it’s a
[72:38] set, but the spouted pot isn't for
[72:39] drinking tea, it’s for holding water.
[72:44] The long-spouted pots from the Song
[72:46] Dynasty weren't for drinking tea; they
[72:48] were for pouring water. It wasn't until
[72:52] the Ming Dynasty that teapots were
[72:53] truly used for drinking tea. Due to
[72:57] changes in tea culture, this direct
[72:59] style emerged, which was then passed
[73:01] from China to Japan. We can see that
[73:05] this pot has a lot of sand on it. You
[73:08] can even feel it with your hand; the
[73:10] grit is quite noticeable, but let me
[73:12] tell you, what you're seeing isn't
[73:14] actually sand. We have a lot of tea
[73:18] ware with added sand today, but the
[73:20] Japanese are peculiar—what they use
[73:22] isn't sand. So, what is it? It’s
[73:26] crushed ceramic. They fire the ceramic
[73:30] until it's very hard, then crush and
[73:31] grind it into grit to intentionally mix
[73:34] into the material. That’s why you see
[73:37] a sense of coarseness on the surface.
[73:40] You can see the particles, and even the
[73:42] marks left behind during the crafting
[73:44] process. These marks. This is the
[73:48] aesthetic spirit of the craftsman. They
[73:51] don't pursue smoothness. They don't
[73:54] pursue perfection. What is perfection?
[73:57] Having a face with nothing on it,
[73:58] smooth as jade—that’s what you call
[74:00] perfection. Some big stars, like
[74:03] Marilyn Monroe in her early years, had
[74:05] a mole on their face, which is
[74:06] technically imperfect. Why would she
[74:08] draw one on? She was pursuing a sense
[74:10] of uniqueness. So, what is this texture
[74:13] like? It’s a bit like those very
[74:16] rough pears. I don't know if you're
[74:18] familiar with them; people from
[74:20] Shandong certainly know Laiyang pears.
[74:22] There are also Dangshan pears from
[74:24] Anhui and snow pears from the suburbs
[74:26] of Beijing—those are all quite coarse
[74:28] , very similar to this feel. Think back
[74:31] to the past; we used to require our
[74:33] clothes to be perfectly smooth and
[74:35] clean. Now, young people dress in rough
[74:38] , distressed clothes with holes and
[74:40] frayed edges; they like that feeling.
[74:45] Actually, from a certain perspective,
[74:47] the way young people dress today is
[74:49] somewhat similar to the feel of tea
[74:50] ware. We must understand this beauty of
[74:56] coarseness to truly appreciate this pot
[74:58] . Let’s take another look at the pot.
[75:03] Just look at it. Cups and bowls.
[75:07] Tea-drinking habits in the North and
[75:09] South are different, aren't they?
[75:12] Southerners emphasize small tea cups,
[75:14] finishing the tea in one go.
[75:15] Southerners don't drink half a cup at a
[75:17] time. If you go to Southern Fujian or
[75:19] the Chaozhou-Shantou region and see
[75:20] someone drinking half a cup at a time,
[75:22] they must be a Northerner, someone who
[75:23] came from the North. You see, they use
[75:25] those very tiny cups; they pick one up
[75:27] and finish it in one gulp, right?
[75:28] Cleanly in one go. Why don't
[75:30] Northerners drink it all in one gulp?
[75:32] Because Northerners believe that
[75:34] finishing it in one gulp is impolite.
[75:37] In the past, Northerners used those
[75:38] large enamel mugs for tea. If you went
[75:42] to someone's house and chugged a whole
[75:43] mug of tea—as elders would say, like
[75:45] a thirsty donkey—that just wouldn't
[75:47] do. So, you must leave some behind.
[75:50] Therefore, Northerners are strictly
[75:51] forbidden from downing a cup of tea in
[75:53] one go. But down South, no matter how
[75:55] small the cup is, you still have to sip
[75:58] it slowly. Years ago, when I was not
[76:00] yet 30, I went to Chaozhou for tea for
[76:02] the first time. I didn't dare to finish
[76:05] it, but later I discovered that
[76:07] everyone else was downing it in a
[76:08] single gulp. Regarding this cup and
[76:12] this bowl, let's first define what a
[76:14] bowl is. This is a cup and a bowl. This
[76:17] is a cup. It has a large capacity.
[76:19] Large capacity, one cup, one deep, one
[76:22] shallow. What about the bowl? It’s
[76:25] shallow. It has a small capacity.
[76:29] Notice the character for "bowl"(盏);
[76:31] look at its top half. It’s the same
[76:34] as the right side of the character for
[76:36] "shallow"(浅). It signifies
[76:37] shallowness, so the meaning is clear;
[76:39] the Chinese characters are quite
[76:41] fascinating. Let's first look at this
[76:43] tea cup. This cup is called "Moon Soul"
[76:46] (月 魂), derived from a poetic line
[76:48] by the Tang Dynasty poet Pi Rixiu, "
[76:50] Reflecting the moon's soul.""Light as a
[76:53] breaking cloud." This is the Moon Soul,
[76:58] and this is the Cloud Break (云 破).
[77:03] These two, the cup and the bowl, come
[77:05] from Pi Rixiu's couplet. Now, let's
[77:10] talk about this tea cup. Although it is
[77:13] glazed on the outside, it has a "
[77:15] scraped" glaze on the inside. Scraped,
[77:19] the scraped glaze is for better utility
[77:21] and observing the tea's color. It has a
[77:25] spiral pattern inside, I tell you. The
[77:27] spiral pattern—you have to learn to
[77:29] appreciate this beauty of tea ware.
[77:31] Isn't it great that it has a spiral
[77:33] pattern? Most people can't accept it.
[77:36] They look and say, "Oh, it's not smooth
[77:38] enough inside, I can even see the work
[77:40] marks!" Don't ask; if you ask, you'll
[77:42] be put off. Don't ask, just appreciate
[77:45] it for what it is. And what's on the
[77:47] outside? It looks like a tree leaf.
[77:50] What kind of leaf is this? A Bodhi leaf
[77:53] . This Bodhi leaf comes from the
[77:57] hometown of Sakyamuni. Firing this
[78:01] Bodhi leaf onto the porcelain is not
[78:02] easy, because it comes from ancient
[78:04] India, the hometown of Sakyamuni. When
[78:08] we hold this Bodhi leaf, it's as if we
[78:10] are under the Bodhi tree, attaining
[78:11] enlightenment. No matter how lost you
[78:15] feel, when you hold the Bodhi, you can
[78:17] find awakening and wisdom. This bowl is
[78:20] perfectly shaped to be held in one hand
[78:22] , it feels very comfortable. Now let's
[78:26] take another look at this Cloud Break.
[78:29] "Cloud break" is the hardest style for
[78:31] people to accept. In our conversations
[78:36] with customers, we've found that most
[78:38] of them just can't accept this style.
[78:42] Why is that? The first issue is they
[78:45] think it’s not round. Look here,
[78:47] it’s not round; it’s uneven and
[78:49] pitted. They ask, "Why didn't you make
[78:52] it round?" Let me tell you, making
[78:54] something round is too easy; making it*
[78:56] not*round is what's difficult. Right?
[78:58] Over these years, we've been trained to
[79:00] expect everything to be highly
[79:01] industrialized. Industrialization has
[79:03] standards, so things must be round.
[79:05] Things like yours, where every single
[79:07] piece is different—that’s something
[79:09] mass production simply cannot do. Right
[79:12] . Furthermore, most of us demand that
[79:16] our own tableware be very refined—
[79:18] white, round, and pristine. Yet, when
[79:24] you go to a Japanese restaurant to eat
[79:26] a bowl of noodles, that bowl is black
[79:28] and misshapen, and you think it’s
[79:29] really special. It’s just a
[79:34] difference in aesthetics between the
[79:35] two nations.
