"Dong, this is for the old man." Qin Yi raised the two exquisitely packaged boxes of tea in his hand, which Liu Zhanyuan had just given him.
Dong Zhiping came back to himself, looked at the tea in Qin Yi's hand, and exclaimed, "Cloud Mist Tea from Lushan, isn't it a waste to let the old man at our house drink such good tea?"
"Uh..." Qin Yi was dumbfounded. How could there be someone who talks about their old man like that? But he could see that Dong Zhiping was not being disrespectful, just making a joke, so he smiled and said, "Is this tea really that valuable? I don't really understand tea."
"Haven't you heard? Lushan Cloud Mist Tea, an ounce is worth thousands. These two boxes have half a pound, worth at least a hundred thousand. Our old man is someone who pretends to know it all when he doesn't know a thing about tea, just putting on airs. It's truly a waste to let him drink this tea."
