Ziyang Tea Legends

During the Northern Song Dynasty, around the 11th century, a Taoist scholar named Zhang Boduan journeyed from Tiantai Mountain in search of deeper truth. As he walked along the southern slopes of the Qinling Mountains, he was struck by a breathtaking sight—mountain peaks opening like lotus petals, shrouded in mist and the delicate fragrance of wild herbs.

At the edge of a forest path stood a weathered wooden sign, carved with the words: “From selenium-rich earth grow spirit herbs; in purple mist, the vessel of the void drifts free.” Intrigued, Zhang followed the trail of fragrance to a humble tea hut nestled on the hillside.

Under the thatched eaves, an old tea farmer was gently spreading fresh tea leaves in a bamboo tray. The leaves shimmered with golden flecks. “These are tea buds nourished by selenium soil,” the farmer explained. “A single cup can open the gates of body and spirit.” He handed Zhang a rustic clay cup. When the boiling water hit the leaves, they danced in the amber-colored tea like dragons playing in clouds.

Zhang took a sip. A soft orchid-like aroma filled his throat, followed by a warmth in his lower abdomen. He closed his eyes—and in the darkness of his mind, he saw yin and yang swirling like the tea in his cup. It was as if the energy in his body had been gently awakened by the very land beneath his feet.

Captivated, Zhang chose to stay. He built a small hut beside the tea house and spent his days drawing water from mountain springs and brewing tea in silence. With each cup, he meditated and reflected. On the seventy-ninth time he boiled tea, something miraculous happened—his calligraphy paper unfurled on its own, and words began to flow from his brush. Ideas that had eluded him for years now came freely, guided by the steam and scent of tea.

That very night, he wrote the opening lines of what would become “The Awakening to Reality” (Wuzhen Pian), one of the most important Taoist texts on inner alchemy. The characters, it is said, shimmered faintly with the glow of selenium—like the earth itself was writing through him.

Then came a fateful morning at the autumn equinox. As Zhang stood outside with his morning tea, he saw purple clouds rushing in from the east. The rising sun broke through the fog, casting golden light across the tea fields. Dewdrops on the tea leaves sparkled in rainbow hues. As the mist settled onto his robe, eight glowing characters appeared as if written in light: “Purple Qi from the East, Radiance Across the Land.”

In that moment, Zhang fully understood. This tea, born from selenium-rich soil, was a gift from nature. Selenium nurtures the body, just as the Tao nourishes the spirit. The two are not separate—they are one.

Years later, Zhang Boduan would be honored with the title “Ziyang Zhenren” (True Man of Ziyang). The valley where he lived became known as Ziyang, in tribute to the auspicious purple clouds and the nourishing tea born from its soil. The tea itself came to be known as Ziyang Tea, and every spring during the harvest, farmers still sing to the sunrise: “Purple mist covers selenium-rich earth; golden light warms tea buds.”