Higher Fresh Leaf Standards, Better Tea? What Xinyang Farmers Say

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Foodthink Says

Now that the Grain Rain solar term has passed, the peak season for this year’s spring tea harvest draws to a close. During the Qingming Festival holiday, Foodthink shared a story about the climate resilience of a natural farming tea garden in Xinyang. We are now publishing the second part, which delves into a controversy surrounding Xinyang Maojian and the “small, cloudy, light” profile. It examines how the shift towards single buds as the highest fresh-leaf standard has impacted local growers, and explores how a new generation of tea professionals is navigating sustainable production and business practices.

*The first part of this series, “How is Spring Tea Faring Across Regions Amidst Extreme Weather?”, has been slightly revised by the author. You can click here to read. Our thanks go to reader “Yu Jing” for correcting some details in the article.*

Returning to the tea room from Deyi Tea Garden, both the hot water and our conversation resume. When serving guests, Zhang Chao brews the tea not in the straight glass mugs typically used for Maojian, but follows the Gongfu method, using a gaiwan, a fairness pitcher, and small tasting cups, decanting each infusion carefully. This approach ensures everyone at the table enjoys the same liquor (hence the “fairness” in the fairness pitcher), allowing one to fully experience the tea’s complete and layered sensory evolution from the first steep to the last. As the first infusion of Xinyang Maojian finishes, I pour out the spent leaves. They reveal uniformly bright, tender yellow-green foliage; upon closer inspection, each consists of a bud and a leaf, just beginning to unfurl.

I had heard that locally in Xinyang, Maojian is categorised into “small, cloudy, light” and “large, clear, strong”. The “large, clear, strong” classification carries various interpretations: some say it refers to large-leaf varieties, others to machine-harvested tea, summer and autumn picks, or county-level teas from expanded growing regions. In any case, it is generally not considered top grade. The “small, cloudy, light” profile is more clearly defined, typically comprising fresh leaves that are mostly pure buds. These are expensive and scarce, having once been highly sought after by the market.

Zhang Chao counters: “If a cup of tea is both cloudy and bland, would you find it pleasant to drink?”

The answer seems self-evident. Within my own limited experience of drinking tea, I am accustomed to hearing that a good cup should have a clear, bright liquor and a rich flavour.

The flavour profile of tea is, if anything, more complex than the Coffee Taster’s Flavour Wheel, which has long been standardised and widely adopted. Layer in cultural and aesthetic dimensions, and the complexity deepens further. The interplay of variables—cultivar, terroir, specific mountain plots, fresh-leaf grading, harvest season, processing techniques, and even brewing method—ultimately dictates how a cup of tea expresses itself on the palate.

Yet the appreciation of tea goes beyond the accumulation and refinement of taste; beneath the surface lies a complex interplay of culture, capital, and power, entangled with enduring myths. Among these factors, the grading of fresh leaves at harvest is relatively easy to identify, which is why it so often becomes a focal point for debate and marketing.

I. From “One Bud, One Leaf” to “Single Buds”

The picking standard at Deyi Tea Garden is “one bud, one leaf”. This is the traditional fresh-leaf standard for Xinyang Maojian, the very same grade stored in the galvanised iron tea buckets when Zhang Chao was a child. Yet it is not what the market currently venerates as premium Xinyang Maojian.
● Pure single-bud green tea enjoyed at a tea room in Xinyang.

Behind the emergence of “Xiaohundan” (small, cloudy, and weak), one pivotal historical event was the drafting and publication in 2008 of the *Geographical Indication Product: Xinyang Maojian Tea* standard, which remains the benchmark currently enforced across the Xinyang tea industry.

Within its grading framework, a new top tier, “Zhenpin” (Premium), was abruptly introduced. Harvested in spring, its plucking standard stipulates that “more than 85% must be single buds, with the remainder consisting of one bud and one newly unfurled leaf.” This is considerably more stringent than the former top grade, “Special Grade”, which required fresh leaves of one bud and one newly unfurled leaf.

● Above: Xinyang Maojian grading standards (1985); Middle and below: Xinyang Maojian grading standards, 2008 edition (GB/T 22737-2008). Source: *Xinyang Historical and Cultural Series: Tea Volume*

The so-called “small, cloudy, and mild” trend refers to three aspects. First, the “smallness” of the leaf, reflecting the pursuit of fine single buds. Second, the “cloudiness” of the liquor: the buds are densely furred, and the relentless demand for a “tight and straight” appearance leads to over-rolling during processing, which damages the leaves and yields a cloudy brew. Third, the “flatness” of the flavour, a consequence of picking single buds early, when their internal flavour compounds have not fully developed.

Today, in the appreciation of Xinyang Maojian, scarcity is equated with high quality, and visual appeal takes precedence in sensory evaluation. Beyond the dry leaf’s required “fine, round, tight, and straight” appearance, the infused liquor must be “tender green and bright.”

In the “small, cloudy, mild” style, the cloudy liquor means the “brightness” is already compromised; only the “tender green” hue can still be manipulated.

Since chlorophyll turns yellow at high temperatures, producers lower the heat during fixing, rolling and shaping to achieve a greener colour. Yet inadequate fixing compromises both aroma and mouthfeel, while also complicating preservation and storage. As for the fact that such tea may irritate the stomach, Zhang Chao says locals often joke that it “cuts through grease.”

Other explanations keep circulating, such as “‘cloudy’ simply means an abundance of white pekoe,” or “to appreciate green tea’s freshness, it must be refrigerated and brewed at a lower water temperature.” The rationalisations are endless. With the grading standards and price tags right there, one simply has to find a face-saving justification.

● In the aesthetic standards for Xinyang Maojian, both the 1985 and 2008 specifications emphasise “white pekoe”—the fine silvery down that covers the surface of tender tea buds.

It was the “light and cloudy” style that came first, followed by comparative labels such as “clear and strong”, and later “delicate and fragrant” and “large, cloudy and light”. One term spawned countless others.

When the market embraces “light and cloudy”, it inevitably produces more of the same.What began as a “light and cloudy” profile—born from subpar raw materials and processing flaws—has, buoyed by the market logic of scarcity and premium pricing, shifted from accidental cloudiness to deliberate cultivation, thereby driving its own cycle of replication.

The intrinsic qualities of tea, such as flavour and aroma, have gradually yielded to “appearance”. Or, to put it bluntly: looking good trumps tasting good. This pursuit of silvery down, early picking, and extreme tenderness in tea leaves can be seen as yet another manifestation of the “pale, young and slender” aesthetic. Every actor across the tea supply chain, whether willingly or unwillingly, has participated in shaping and interpreting this collective “gaze”.

● A bud with one leaf versus pure buds.

II. The “Light and Cloudy” Trend and Its Toll on Farmers

“small, cloudy, and light” may be hard on the stomach for the end consumer, but for upstream production, it takes a toll on the farmers. Within the Xinyang Maojian value chain, upstream tea farmers, acting as producers, are primarily engaged in tea garden management and the supply of fresh leaves.

The harvesting of Xinyang’s premium spring tea relies entirely on manual labour. Against the backdrop of a structural labour shortage, migrant pickers travel from region to region each year to follow the picking season. Beyond cash wages, employers must cover additional costs for local accommodation and meals, agency fees, travel, and insurance, meaning the cost of employing pickers rises steadily year on year.

● Top image: Minjia High-Mountain Eco Tea Garden on Cheshan Mountain. The pickers are having lunch in the courtyard, with accommodation provided in the farmhouses within the compound. Most of these workers hail from Nanyang in Henan province, having forged long-term, reliable partnerships with the tea-farming couples. Since Nanyang people favour wheat-based foods while Xinyang residents are accustomed to both rice and wheat, a dedicated senior woman from Nanyang is employed solely to manage the cooking. Bottom image: At a different tea garden, pickers finishing their shift board a motorised tricycle to descend the mountain and return to their village dormitories.

●At Deyi, most tea pickers come from nearby villages, often arriving on e-bikes, with some even carpooling in cars to drive up the mountain. Hiring local labour avoids extra costs, but does mean paying higher cash wages.
Demanding only single buds significantly increases harvesting difficulty and shortens the picking window—pickers must invest more effort over fewer days to gather less leaf. Yields per unit area fall, yet production costs climb: alongside rising labour costs, farmers must contend with increasing expenses for agricultural inputs and the threat of crop shortfalls from extreme weather. Even though single buds fetch a premium price, farmers’ overall returns are shrinking. Spring tea harvested as one bud with one or two leaves commands little value, and summer and autumn crops are hardly bought at all. Consequently, as soon as the 20-day spring bud season concludes, bushes are swiftly pruned, and farmers head out for seasonal labour elsewhere, piecing together a livelihood through supplementary work.

Faced with shrinking profits, farmers are caught between cutting expenditure and lowering labour costs for garden upkeep, while simultaneously needing to boost bud emergence rates and per-unit yields. As a result, they grow ever more dependent on the convenience and purported “efficiency” offered by pesticides and synthetic fertilisers. Yet this is a vicious cycle. High prices for buds prompt farmers to force bud growth; the soil compacts, yields fall, so farmers force growth again, compacting the soil further… Coupled with soaring harvesting and input costs, and the increasing frequency of crop shortfalls driven by climate change, farmers are buckling under the strain. Leasing out their land or abandoning it altogether, a growing number are walking away from their tea gardens.

Buds set the pace, farmers chase the buds, and in the end, all that is left is compacted soil and barren bushes—a literal, poignant twist on the old saying that “once people leave, the tea grows cold”.

● Top image: A tea farmer encountered in late March on the tea-covered hills near Yide. When asked about the state of his garden, he explained that the buds simply would not emerge, let out a curse, and muttered, “Planting * bloody tea!” Bottom image: Tea bushes submerged in a tangle of yellowing weeds.

Historically, once the spring harvest concluded and the height of summer arrived, growers in Xinyang adhered to the traditional practice of “deep digging during the dog days” (often summarised as “summer digging is gold”). While the garden lay fallow and grass took hold, they would turn over the topsoil. This turned the weeds into natural compost, prevented soil compaction, gave the root systems a chance to breathe, and the intense summer sun served to kill off pests and pathogens.

Zhang Chao sighed. “These days, in the dead of summer, who is going to do this kind of work? Anyone with the time would rather head into the city for casual labour, where they can pull in a hundred or two hundred yuan a day.”

● Single buds harvested by pickers in a conventional tea garden. In the days leading up to Qingming, prices once surged to 300 yuan per jin (half a kilogram).

“However,” Zhang Chao’s tone shifted, “the authorities have recognised the issue in recent years and have been consistently calling for change.”

During the 2023 spring tea season, officials from relevant departments and representatives of leading tea companies did indeed champion “optimising the industrial structure” and specifically promoted the harvesting of one-bud-one-leaf and one-bud-two-leaf tea. It was also a stop-gap measure aimed at stabilising the market following drought-induced crop shortfalls.

Zhang Chao appears optimistic about this shift in sentiment, or perhaps, as someone working in the trade, feels he simply has to hope for change. Were standards to be revised at a policy level, it could well catalyse a transformation across the entire sector.

Yet years of chasing single buds have created a momentum of their own; reversing course and embracing traditional methods will not happen overnight. The “small, cloudy, and pale” trend has muddied the waters in the market, and Xinyang Maojian now needs to “restore integrity and trace back to its true origins”.

But who gets to “restore order,” and who gets to define what the “source” actually is?

● The hands of a tea picker.
Looking back at the history of standardisation for Xinyang Maojian, standards were drafted and the dominant narrative dictated by agricultural departments, research institutes, and tea associations. Tea farmers, pickers, and processors, who constitute the overwhelming majority of the industry, remain as voiceless as the tea bushes themselves. When the guiding principle of “government guidance, market leadership, and farmer benefit” was introduced, farmers could certainly reap the rewards; yet, the very notion of “benefiting” lays bare their passive standing. Whether we are discussing “stomach-harming” brews or “farmer-harming” practices, ordinary consumers and grassroots smallholders are treated merely as NPCs, entirely shut out from shaping the rules of the game.

3
Composite utilisation and flexible production
Zhang Chao is clearly no passive labourer in the fields; indeed, the term “tea farmer” may not even begin to capture who he is. He envisions Dayi Tea Garden as akin to a boutique French wine estate, cultivating its own distinctive character and enduring for generations to come. Perhaps “tea estate owner” is a more fitting designation. He possesses the vision, the conviction, and both the material means and social capital to bring his philosophy to life. Yet, his decade cultivating Dayi Tea and five years in tea processing have hardly been smooth sailing.

Managing the estate with natural farming methods meant limited early yields, persistently high labour costs, and a steep learning curve in market outreach. He once cut corners by outsourcing to another’s ready-made processing line, inadvertently mixing ecological and conventional production streams, which led to detectable heavy metal contamination. Ultimately, he chose to build a complete, self-sufficient supply chain, overseeing everything from cultivation and processing to sales.

Dayi Tea Garden had initially experimented with hand-processing, aiming to revive traditional techniques and capture the authentic character of Xinyang Maojian. But traditional hand-panning is labour-intensive, yields limited output, and places a severe premium on the pan-firing master’s skill and experience.

Zhang Chao reflects that during the hand-processing era, whether the tea tasted exceptional or fell flat hinged entirely on the master’s mood, resulting in wildly inconsistent batches. He came to realise that while the garden could be managed naturally, even with a degree of “whimsy”, production required compromise and hard-headed rationality. This understanding spurred a gradual transition to mechanised processing.

He now invests his patience in the garden and the tea bushes themselves, moving beyond a single-minded pursuit of a narrowly defined “authentic” Xinyang Maojian profile. Grounded in the reality of his 300-mu estate, he has begun to re-evaluate his own growing terrain and raw materials.

● Traditional handmade Xinyang Maojian follows a roughly defined sequence: the ‘raw wok’ stage (fixing and initial rolling) – the ‘mature wok’ stage (aligning and shaping) – drying (charcoal roasting) – and secondary roasting. This meticulous craftsmanship places a severe test on the tea master’s skill and experience. Because it keeps infrastructure costs low and meets the demands of handmade tea enthusiasts, the practice has been retained in certain small mountain plots and family farms. It was also officially recognised as part of the fourth batch of National Intangible Cultural Heritage representative projects in 2014. The photograph was taken at the Min family’s high-altitude ecological tea garden on Cheyun Mountain.
● A more widely adopted method is ‘semi-mechanised, semi-handmade’. It involves mechanical sifting, using a mechanical arm linked to a tea-handling tool for fixing in the raw wok phase, hand-aligning in the mature wok phase, charcoal drying, and machine sorting. This approach slashes infrastructure costs and significantly boosts output, all while preserving the ‘artisanal character’. The photograph was taken at the Min family’s high-altitude ecological tea garden on Cheyun Mountain.

Our second round was black tea, followed by white tea as the third, both hailing from the exact same tea plants that yielded the earlier green tea. I remarked how, in my experience, it is exceedingly rare to find a single estate and occasion where one can taste green, black, and white teas all produced from the same cultivar.

Zhang Chao noted that I would also get to taste ‘winter tea’, locally called ‘winter leaves’, which draws on oolong-style processing. Before the estate is closed for the winter, the tea plants are pruned. The tender leaves that have sprouted after the spring picking, before they have fully hardened, are gathered. It is essentially a way of putting otherwise discarded material to use, crafted mainly for the makers’ own enjoyment.

Modern tea science classifies tea into six principal categories—green, white, yellow, oolong, black, and dark—according to their oxidation levels, a framework that undoubtedly helps both producers and consumers navigate the market. However, the widespread misconception that ‘green tea comes from green tea plants, while black tea comes from black tea plants’ also reveals a certain cognitive rigidity imposed by scientific taxonomy. Whether in regional tea cultivation or in how consumers perceive tea, perspectives are increasingly becoming reductive.

Perhaps it is time to return to the individual mountain plots, crafting tea according to the specific leaf and the season. Honouring the right time and place does not mean we must be confined to choosing just one of the six categories.

Driven by a respect for the raw leaf and a commitment to sustainable estate management, De Yi Tea Garden has gradually developed its own system of ‘integrated utilisation’ and ‘flexible processing’.

Around the Qingming Festival, when the plants are at their peak budding stage, the finest one-bud-one-leaf picks are harvested for Xinyang Maojian, the estate’s flagship and benchmark offering. As temperatures rise thereafter, the foliage grows faster and broader, prompting a shift to alternating between black and white tea production.

At this stage, the one-bud-one-leaf harvest is suited to Mudan Wang-grade white tea; one-bud-two-leaf produces Mudan grade; and three leaves yield Gongmei grade. By May, the plants have largely stopped budding, and the larger leaves that emerge, locally termed ‘flowering leaves’, are used to make Shoumei. The processing techniques and quality standards for these white teas draw inspiration from those of Fuding white tea.

● Sun-dried white tea. Image courtesy: De Yi Tea Garden.

The catalyst for the “alternation” between white and black tea is the weather.

White tea utilises a pure sun-drying process; crafting the tea demands appropriate sunlight. Should fresh leaves be picked only for rain to begin suddenly, or for the skies to remain overcast for consecutive days, this batch of raw material is directly diverted to black tea production—a seamless shift—with white tea manufacturing resuming once the weather clears. Zhang Chao refers to this as “flexible production.” It involves adjusting the production rhythm in response to weather fluctuations. By following nature’s pace, the work becomes comparatively relaxed. Although one relies on the weather for a living, it is not wholly a passive existence.

The 2024 spring tea harvest at Deyi Tea Garden commenced, as was the custom, on 29 March. Unlike the drought of the previous year, this year saw excessive rainfall.

No plucking takes place in the garden on rainy days. The day after rain, once the sun returns, the leaves are allowed to dry for a day to let the moisture evaporate. On the third day, just as plucking is scheduled to begin, rain falls again. Consequently, over the 22-day period from the opening of the harvest to the Grain Rain solar term—the golden window for the finest spring tea quality—plucking was conducted on only 11 days. This year’s green tea output has fallen by half compared to the previous year.

The pickers were even more anxious than Zhang Chao, calling the “boss” four or five times a day to urge him to commence plucking, concerned as they were for their own livelihoods and sighing at the garden’s reduced yield. Yet Zhang Chao felt no regret. While green tea production had declined, the output of black and white tea had risen. Where the tenderness of the fresh leaves had missed the window suitable for green tea, the material was diverted to produce black and white tea; in this way, even the heavens took part in shaping the product mix. This system of “flexible production” demonstrates greater resilience and elasticity in the face of climate change.

●20 April 2024, Grain Rain, torrential rain pours through the garden.

If De Yi Tea Garden were to pick only pure bud tips, the harvesting window would be just twenty days. This integrated utilisation model extends it to sixty days, tripling the picking season. Raw materials ranging from one-bud-one-leaf to the new shoots that emerge before the end of May are all put to full use, diversifying the tea garden’s product range.

Zhang Chao is candid: if they only sold green tea, the garden could not be sustained, nor could it even cover basic annual running costs. If the “integrated utilisation” model were to gain wider adoption and acceptance, it might well provide a much-needed boost to the livelihoods of ordinary tea farmers.

● Raw materials across all grades are put to full use. Image credit: De Yi Tea Garden
Zhang Chao’s recurring emphasis on “making full use, at the right time and place” stems from a firm confidence in both the raw materials and the ecological integrity of the mountain terroir. This stands in stark contrast to conventional tea gardens, which, driven by standardisation and high yields, often lean on fossil fuels to extract short-term value from soil and labour. Here, “making full use” is not about exploitation; it is about working in harmony with the natural growth cycles of the tea plants and the surrounding woodland.

Following the two-month spring harvesting season, the tea garden enters a summer period of natural recovery and growth, left undisturbed by human activity. Autumn is when the older, dry-farmed bushes naturally set seed. To maintain garden density, the seeds are collected, pressed into oil, and stored for consumption—ensuring complete utilisation of the crop, from leaf to seed. After the onset of winter, most plants in the area have completed their growth and reproductive cycles, with seeds and underground tubers fully mature. Workers are then sent into the hills to clear weeds and scrub. The cut vegetation is laid across the tea plots to insulate the bushes over winter and to decompose, building up soil nutrients for the following spring’s flush.

●Autumn: tea seed harvest; Winter: deep snow seals the garden. Image source: Dedie Tea Garden

IV. Slow-Growing Tea and Patient Growers

Drawing on Zhang Chao’s vision of “sponge agriculture”, let us characterise this plot as a “sponge tea garden”. In its vertical layout, forests cap the ridge, tea bushes cloak the slopes, and wetlands settle in the valleys. Heritage drought-resistant tea plants are shaded and sheltered from wind by taller trees above, mulched for winter protection below, and anchored by deep taproots underground. Horizontally, the tea bushes coexist and flourish alongside native flora and fauna. Through the turning seasons, green tea is harvested in the traditional manner, while red and white teas alternate in production. Spring picking, summer rest, mid-summer tending, winter closure: as the annual cycle concludes, the decade-long nurturing of the garden finally begins to take shape.

Zhang Chao approaches the future of this tea garden with a steadfast, long-term optimism and considerable patience.

The land lease for Deyi Tea Garden runs for 70 years, providing a relatively stable and secure environment. I joked, “You’re 50 this year, and only ten have passed. You could still work until you’re 110.” He replied, “I always feel that perhaps at 80, I could still start something new.” Hearing this, I was almost envious.

Yet, however self-contained the micro-environment of Deyi Tea Garden may be, it remains subject to broader forces: climate change, an ageing workforce, and market volatility. It also raises wider questions: as a “Xinyang tea”, how will it compete in the national market? And as a “Chinese tea”, how will it find its place and shape its voice amid the uncertain tides of globalisation?

● As a tea industry professional rooted in Xinyang, Zhang Chao is regularly sent to southern tea regions (particularly Fujian Province, where the industry is more advanced) for research and study. Every so often, another folder of reference materials from other tea-growing areas appears on his desk.

Zhang Chao says that gazing out over the tea gardens from the mountaintop evokes both a sense of achievement and a quiet desolation. Where does this desolation stem from? The tea is spent, the unspoken words exhausted, leaving only a faint, lingering aroma at the bottom of the cup.

Alongside “heritage drought-resistant tea”, the indigenous Xinyang cultivar is also called “humble local tea” in some villages. In academic literature, however, “traditional tea garden management” usually denotes practices reliant on pesticides, synthetic fertilisers, and herbicides. Agrochemicals have, in effect, become the new “tradition”.

It turns out we have long drifted away from that much older “tradition”—the empirical knowledge of a pre-modern era. The new tradition is scientific dogma. To work in harmony with nature has, ironically, become a rebellion against convention.

In that light, the local tea is indeed slow-growing, and those who cultivate it are truly patient growers.

In an era defined by erratic acceleration and sudden stops, they grow at a measured pace and respond gradually. Patient hands nurture the soil, while the tea plants send their roots deep underground. They may not keep up with the times, yet they withstand climate change. Through deliberate slowness and steadfastness, enduring both drought and frost, they achieve a kind of miraculous survival.

References
[1]https://www.tianqi24.com/xinyang/history202303.html[2] *Xinyang History and Culture Series: Tea Volume*

[3] *Journal of Tea* 1994, 20(3): 8–11. Huang Daopei, Lü Lizhe, Wei Hui (Xinyang Prefecture Tea Experiment Station, Henan Province 464100). Research Report on the Breeding of the New Tea Cultivar Xinyang No. 10.

[4] Analysis of Changes in Xinyang’s Climatic Resources and Their Impact on the Yield of Xinyang Maojian Tea, Lu Yiyan, Key Laboratory of Tea Meteorology of Xinyang City, Xinyang Meteorological Bureau, Xinyang, Henan 464000. *China Tea*, January 2024, Vol. 46, No. 1.

[5] Harmful Climatic Conditions Affecting Tea Production in Shihe District, Xinyang City, and Countermeasures, Wang Qingzhi, Zhai Shumei, Kong Qian, *China Agricultural Technology Extension* 2020, Vol. 36, No. 1.

[6] Research on Benefit Distribution in the Tea Industry Value Chain of Xinyang City under Sustainable Development: A Case Study of Village H in Shihegang Town, Wang Junpeng.

[7] One Bud and One Leaf: Returning Xinyang Maojian to Its Essence, Yang Changxi, *Xinyang Daily*, 10 April 2023, p. 1.

Foodthink Contributor
Zhang Xiaoshu
An unrooted young creator working on impulse, wandering everywhere. Graduated from the Nanjing Academy of Fine Arts in 2016. Focuses on issues such as art intervening in rural communities, eco-feminism, and sustainable food and agriculture.

 

 

 

 Acknowledgements

De Yi Tea Garden, Zhang Chao

Working Group, First TBB Community Architecture and Culture Festival

Zhao Min, Wang Hao, Yan Fangfang

Unless otherwise stated, all other photographs were taken by the author.

Editor: Ze En

Published by Foodthink