One leaf, a thousand roads: Gen Zers keen to sip and drive China's tea culture

Editor's note:

The United Nations has officially designated 44 Chinese traditions as world cultural heritage. This series examines how each of them defines what it means to be Chinese.

Tea. Cha. Chai. Thé. Tee.

The words may sound different, but they all tell the same story, a story that began in China.

China is the cradle of tea. By the Song Dynasty (960-1279), tea had already become an export. By the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644), it stood alongside porcelain as one of China's most prized commodities.

Tea left ports in southeast China's Fujian, where locals pronounced it "dei," and sailed with Dutch traders, who introduced "tea" to Europe. Meanwhile, the Silk Road carried "cha" across Central Asia, morphing into "chai" in Persian, Turkish, Russian and Hindi tongues.

A simple rule: tea if by sea; cha if by land.

But tea is far more than a word. In 2022, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) added "traditional tea processing techniques and associated social practices in China" to its list of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

It recognizes not just the drink, but the rituals, craftsmanship, plantations and philosophy steeped in every cup.

This recognition spans 15 provinces in China, covering 44 heritage elements and all six major tea types — green, yellow, dark, white, oolong and black — as well as reprocessed products such as flower-scented teas.

Tea masters rely on instinct, not instruments. Techniques like kill-green, fermentation, withering and scenting are passed from hand to hand, generation to generation.

From the elegant Jingshan tea ceremony in Hangzhou, Zhejiang Province, to the poetic kung fu tea (literally "making tea with skill") in Chaozhou, Guangdong Province, tea has much more meaning than just quenching thirsts for many Chinese, it is a kind of ritual and communication.

In the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region, the people of the Yao ethnic group drink youcha — a savory tea infused with ginger, garlic and puffed rice, brewed not just for nourishment but for the community. Tea accompanies life's biggest milestones such as weddings, funerals, births and birthdays.

Across time and trade routes, tea has woven itself into various cultures. It has become a bridge linking land and sea, east and west, and old and young.

When Gen Z meets tea-making tradition

It's another sleepless night for Gen Zer Chen Linze in Hangzhou's Fuyang District, but not because of video games or late-night scrolling.

Instead, he is hunched over a sizzling iron pan, hands dancing through piles of fresh green tea leaves, chasing the perfect aroma of spring.

It's tea season in Zhejiang. March to April is the busiest time of the year. In the mountains of Bashan Village, home to Hangzhou's largest tea plantation, Chen is part of a rare and quietly determined new generation bringing an ancient craft to life.

"I haven't even had time to drink the tea I made this season," Chen said. "Time's just not enough. One moment I'm roasting in the morning, and the next it's dark outside."

Born in 2002, Chen has been hand-roasting tea for eight years. Despite his youthful face, he's already earned a reputation as a rising star in local tea circles. He was recently acclaimed as one of Hangzhou's Top 10 Longjing Tea Roasting Experts.

Chen learned the skill at a local vocational school where he studied landscaping. But when master tea-maker Tao Yujun began teaching a hands-on course in traditional tea-making, Chen was hooked.

"Tea-making suits me," he noted, seated quietly in Tao's studio and surrounded by the earthy scent of tea leaves and the noisy sound of rotating machinery.

"You need to be calm. Only people who can quiet their minds can make good tea."

Long and delicate, Chen's fingers are more like those of a pianist, but flip his right hand over and you'll find blisters and calluses, earned through hours at the pan.

"It's no big deal," he shrugged. "Even if blisters form, I just pop them at night and keep roasting the next day."

The process of making green tea demands patience and precision. To make 1 kilogram of tea, it takes around 12 hours, according to Chen. Though machines are faster, Chen and his mentor Tao still insist on the old ways.

"There are no thermometers here," Tao pointed out. "We use our hands to feel the heat. Once you rely on tools, you stop paying attention. You have to trust your senses."

While many of his peers are still job-hopping or stuck at home unsure of their next step, Chen found his path early.

"I feel lucky," he said. "I found my lifelong career eight years ago."

Outside the workshop, he's not the typical Gen Zer. He doesn't game much, prefers traveling and billiards, and doesn't care what the Internet says about his generation. He's busy building something real: a craft and a future.

"I want to be the one who makes the first cup of Longjing (a variety of green tea) young people drink," Chen said. "I want to show the world that tea masters aren't just old men with decades of experience. We, the generation born in the 2000s, are here, and we're just getting started."