A Glorious Encounter with Mountain Tea’s Oriental Beauty

When the first infusion emerges from my gaiwan, the soft floral nose of Mountain Tea’s Oriental Beauty whispers of upcoming notes of honey, plum, rose hips, and spice. Gently unfolded thanks to my intention and care, each aromatic steep weaves itself into the next. The tea’s lineage, shaped by the meticulous bite of tea leafhoppers and crafted with precision by Mountain Tea, is breathtaking in its rarity and elegance. 

I have been buying from Mountain Tea, based in California but rooted in the traditions of high mountain oolong craftsmanship, for over ten years now. They have been dedicated to procuring high quality teas since 1987. Their devotion to  time‑honored artisan methods shines through in every cup.  This Oriental Beauty is hand‑picked just at the right moment—when the leafhopper’s touch triggers the tea plant’s own natural sweetness. That honeyed complexity, subtle yet profound, defines the cup. 

With each steep, flavors evolve: the first was delicate—soft florals and airy honey; as I moved through slowly towards the seventh, deeper plum and spiced honey notes emerge, yielding a medium-bodied finish that lingered with a huigan (a Chinese word for 'returning sweetness').

Final Pouring Thoughts

Mountain Tea’s Oriental Beauty is nothing short of luminous. Its gentle floral perfume, honey-sweet body, and plum undertones create a tea experience that feels handcrafted by nature and human dedication alike. My ritual—with the gaiwan, four grams, and seven steeps—allowed me to journey through its depths fully.

If you’re seeking a tea that balances refined delicacy with layered complexity, and a company whose passion and tradition pour as generously as the brew itself, this Oriental Beauty demands your attention—and perhaps, your awe.

Shi Ru Wuyi Oolong

 Steam rises from the small porcelain cup as the morning light spills across my table. I’ve measured the leaves — Shi Ru Wuyi Oolong, stone milk — and poured the water with the slow care the practice deserves. The aroma is mineral and warm, with a soft sweetness that deepens in the second steep. I drink, not for refreshment alone, but to watch how the tea changes from sip to sip, as if each infusion is a new voice joining the conversation.

This is how the day begins: not with rushing or scripting, but with something so simple it resists my habit of turning it into a story. The light doesn’t care about my urge to narrate it. The tea doesn’t ask to be explained. They both simply are — here, now — and the moment shifts before I can hold it still.

These flashes of unfiltered experience feel like small gifts from a generous world. The angle of the light on the wood grain. A bird landing and leaving again. The heat of the cup in my hands. All of it quietly suggests: just see.

And when I do, the constant commentary in my head softens. The moment reveals itself without my rearranging it into some private play with myself in the lead role. In that space, reality becomes open-ended, willing to surprise me.

This, I think, is my practice — to remain with such moments whenever they arrive, whether they’re as delicate as the scattering of seed husks below the feeder or as sudden as laughter in a quiet room. Each hints at the truth of interdependent origination, where nothing arises alone.

Of course, I lose it easily — pulled back into noticing the uneven paint on my porch, the stiffness in my knee, the list of errands. Samsara again. This is life.

So I steep the next round of tea. The stone milk’s creaminess lingers at the back of the tongue, now touched with a gentle floral note. With each cup, I return — to the present, to the meeting point of form and emptiness, where even a single swallow can be enough to wake me up.

 

If you’ve ever found yourself chasing the mineral whispers of Wuyi rock teas, or quietly wondering what the mountains taste like after a rain, then let me suggest something—Shi Ru (石乳), also known as “Stone Milk” Oolong. I picked mine up from Path of Cha, a vendor I trust for quality and integrity, and brewed it the way I always do—with my gaiwan, quietly, slowly, using the Gong Fu Cha method that gives a tea room to speak.

Shi Ru is not an everyday oolong. It’s rare, even among Wuyi Yancha, and it’s not flashy. No perfume, no fruit basket. What it is, is dignified. Rooted. Old in the best way.

From the first rinse, there’s a sense of presence—mineral-rich, as though the rocks themselves have leached their memory into the leaves. The flavor is full-bodied and creamy, yes, but not like dairy or dessert. It’s a subtle richness, more like stone-polished silk. There’s a sweet depth that appears after the second steeping, and the signature Yan Yun—the so-called “rock rhyme”—is unmistakable. If you’ve ever tried a Rou Gui or Shui Xian and loved the finish, imagine that, but quieter and more refined. Less cinnamon, more earth and bone.

I steeped it about seven times before the energy began to taper. Each infusion brought something new—wetter stone, osmanthus hints, a trace of toasted rice. By the third or fourth steep, it lingered in the throat and chest like a memory. The energy is grounding but alert. No jitters, just clarity.

Shi Ru dates back to the Tang dynasty and was once favored by the royal courts of the Song and Yuan dynasties. And I believe it. It has that imperial poise. It’s not trying to impress—it just is.

Should you try it?

If you’re just beginning with Wuyi oolongs, this might be a quiet place to start—perhaps too quiet. But if you already love the layered, mineral complexity of rock teas and are looking for something uncommon, something that doesn’t shout but insists, gently, on being remembered—then yes. Absolutely. Set aside an unhurried morning or late afternoon, warm your gaiwan, and give this one the space to charm you. and if you can't find honey and you wanna come visit Louisville, Kentucky let me know and I'll put aside a session just for you!