From a single garden above Wudong town
Chen Hui Yi sourced this lot from a small family garden on the southern face of Wudong, about 680m up, just below the famous high-mountain plots that command Fenghuang’s headline prices. The bushes here are roughly forty years old — not ancient by dancong standards, but mature enough to push real complexity into the cup. The variety is the Wu Ye type, locally called yā shǐ xiāng (鸭屎香) because the early growers refused to name the aroma honestly, hoping no one would steal cuttings of a tea that smelled, allegedly, like duck droppings. Anyone who has actually drunk it knows the name is a joke at the buyer’s expense.
Hui Yi is best known for her work with Guangdong whites, but she keeps a small Q4 dancong programme each year, partly because the same growers who sell her white-tea cultivars also tend dancong bushes a few ridges over. This lot was picked in early April 2026, sun-withered on bamboo trays for about two hours, then rested indoors overnight before light bruising and a slow oxidation. The roast is medium — three passes of charcoal over ten days, then six weeks of rest in sealed tins before the sample run was packed.
We receive a single 4kg lot per year from this garden. Once it is gone, it is gone — the next harvest will read differently, because Fenghuang weather is never the same twice.