The lapsang souchong, in that case, will clearly not do at all. Jin Guangyao quietly and without further comment about it tidies the tin away and, after another considering glance over his shoulder at Huaisang, selects an aromatic green instead. A bit lighter for the season, but anything stronger than that is likely to distract Huaisang a bit too much from his own fussing, and sometimes it's better just to let him get it out of his system. He brings the water on the wood stove to a boil and carefully dispenses the loose tea leaves into a small clay pot--then, after some thought, decides to add a few of the western-style pastries to the arrangement that Shen Yuan had brought over earlier. They're still quite fresh, and full of strawberry preserves beneath the flaky and buttery exterior, surely that will help as well?

...He adds several napkins, to be on the safe side.

"Xiao meimei has already had her lunch," Jin Guangyao remarks when he at last brings the perfectly arranged tray of tea and treats out to the table. He balances it precisely on one hand while clearing the prints to one side of the table, so that he can lower the tray without spilling anything on it. (He'd have been an excellent server in another life, and probably just as bitter about it.) Then, settling himself on the opposite seat from Huaisang, he flicks out his sleeves, pours his friend his tea first, and then reaches for the woodblock, not one of the prints, to examine it.

"This isn't pear wood," he muses aloud, turning it this way and that. He looks up at Huaisang. "Did you bring your tools with you?"