The old teahouse in peng town, the top of the small green tiles, the mud brick wall, the wall is mottled, the wooden beam is a bit crooked.
The teahouse has no name and no sign, and covers about two to three hundred square meters. The front and rear doors are all long wooden planks. (or last July, when I came back from the mountain, and passed through chengdu)
Sitting in the bustling old tea house, sipping tea and smoking the old sweat, the sea and the sky, chatting and laughing, is the joy of life.
Tea house is a good place to relax and relax.
A ray of sunlight came in from the eaves, spilling over the heads and shoulders of the tea drinkers, and the tea houses, which were not very bright, were lit up, and the tea drinkers of the opera were getting more and more excited.
