After more than 20 hours, we finally arrive in Yong De, completely exhausted. It quickly becomes clear that the bus is not the best option for trips like this. Bus drivers are no longer allowed to drive overnight due to safety regulations, so there’s an 8-hour mandatory stop along the way. That meant sleeping in cramped, uncomfortable seats surrounded by 60 other passengers, a crying baby, and a snoring grandpa. To top it off, the occasional whiff of smelly socks from some farmers added an extra layer of authenticity to the experience.
In town, as expected, there aren’t many tea shops around, but we eventually find a tiny “tea market” with four small shops. The young tea shop owner is eager to let us sample all of his teas, and after a few hours, we end up pretty much “tea drunk,” completely losing count of how many brews we’ve tried.

His white tea is very interesting and we are comparing Yue Guang Bai processed by two different ways .

traditional ( left ) / new ( right )

The main difference lies in the final drying step. The newer method dries the tea quickly under the harsh sun, while the traditional way involves drying in a dark, dry place—according to the story, traditionally at night under the moonlight, which is where the name “yue guang” (moonlight) comes from, with “bai” meaning white. Places like Fujian use this newer technique and call the tea Bai Mu Dan.
The appearance differences are striking: the blackened leaves found in traditionally processed tea are absent in the newer version. In terms of taste, the sun-dried tea lacks the slight bitterness typical of the traditional method, giving the impression that it’s much sweeter. The tea shop owner is also experimenting with his own white tea processing, trying different steps like withering to refine the flavor.

We also compared two sheng pu-erh teas from the same area—both supposedly organic, though their definitions of “organic” seemed a bit flexible. The first tea comes from a garden where the soil hasn’t been treated with fertilizer, while the second has. The tea farmer explained that “organic” varies by region or vendor: non-organic teas are treated with pesticides, while organic ones are not—but using fertilizer on soil doesn’t automatically disqualify a tea from being called organic.
Simply put, one tea comes from arbor tea trees, the other from bush tea—known locally as “tai di cha”—and the difference is clear from the first sip. His interpretation of organic makes some sense, especially when considering pest treatments on bush tea (grown on flat land). Given the commercial trend of classifying trees as taidi, qiao mu, gu shu, dan zhu, mu shu, and so on, he chose to feature this tea.
The biggest problem lately, as he lamented, is how tea farmers pick the leaves. In Mangfei, the norm is a 1-bud-to-3 or 4-leaf ratio. But farmers often don’t leave a spare leaf on the stem—and worse, they sometimes rip off large chunks including the bark, known as “ma ti” or “horse hoof,” which harms the plants and affects tea quality.

That wouldn’t be an issue if it happened only occasionally—it’s quite common after all. But in recent years, the presence of “ma ti” and long stems has increased significantly. While this lets farmers fill their baskets faster and earn more money, poorly plucked tea leaves hurt the next harvest because the ripped areas are difficult for the tea trees to recover from. On top of that, these “ma ti” pieces are quite bitter, and having too many of them negatively affects the overall taste of the tea.

The other problem? Outsiders. Many tea makers and dealers from places like Menghai try their luck by “claiming” tea trees—just by slapping a sign next to the tree that says, “This tree belongs to…” Local farmers pulled out a few of these signs this year, but revenge sometimes sneaks back in the form of broken branches. To make matters more amusing, some tea business folks don’t trust the farmers’ claims about a tree’s age, so they hammer big nails into the trunk to check. Their verdict? If the wood under the bark is white, the tree is still young. Who knew tea tree age-reading was that simple (and a little painful for the tree)!

There have even been cases—not here, but elsewhere—where people try to steal entire tea trees overnight. Spoiler alert: it usually ends badly for everyone involved, with the tree just dying. On top of that, local tea farmers face financial headaches from customers who don’t pay. As we learned, many farmers are owed substantial sums by tea vendors, companies, or contractors. The typical story involves some “big boss” showing up, buying tons of tea with a promise to pay later. Trusting in a long-term partnership, the simple farmer takes the deal—only to end up unpaid more often than not.

After few hours of sitting in his tea shop being flushed by tons of information and the “tea shower” we are invited for traditional Dai people dinner.

The next morning, we decide to visit a local Yongde tea factory to see how the quality compares to that of smaller tea business owners. We’re also curious about the storage conditions here in Yongde, especially since the humidity isn’t as high as it is in places like Xishuangbanna.

We try their 2017 sheng pu-erh, but it’s not great—the “shui wei,” or watery taste, dominates throughout, which unfortunately characterizes most teas from last year due to bad weather. The 2014 batch was decent, but the traditional processing still leaves a smoky note on their 357g tea cakes. We really liked the 2011 sheng and considered buying a few tongs, but in the end, we decided to go for their last stocks of 2008 Ye Sheng sheng pu-erh and 2014 Da Xue Shan, which impressed us with a well-settled flavor, thanks to good storage conditions.

Getting hands on their 2010 shu puerh and like the the taste due to the unique fermentation and storage specific for this region.

In the afternoon, we head to Mang Fei village to meet the tea farmers, visiting a family with a proud two-generation tradition of tea making.

Mr. Zhai’s family owns a substantial number of young arbor trees, most of which are harvested by large companies like Mengku Rongshi for various blends. He has a decent selection from this year and last year’s autumn harvest (gu hua), but unfortunately, we didn’t find any outstanding flavors worth buying—except for one “dan zhu.” This single tree grows in a hard-to-reach spot and offers deep, sweet notes that linger at the back of the tongue before gently vaporizing through the nose. Truly exceptional! The catch? There’s only about half a kilo left because the tree simply can’t produce more—just 2 kg this year.
Back at the hotel, we try some older teas from a shop next door that recently closed due to the owner’s troubles. The boss had gotten into serious debt and was sadly found in the river. Taste-wise, there’s little difference between his 2007 and 2003 teas except in the intensity of wet notes, which gives a glimpse into how his business slowly unraveled.
Later, we explore other villages, tea farms, and makers around the area. In addition to pu-erh and green teas, they’re also trying their hand at white and black teas. Black tea processing requires extra skill and equipment, which they unfortunately lack, and it shows in the taste. Most of their black teas are “shai hong” style, and their “ye sheng hong”—a black tea from wild trees—didn’t impress us much either.

We enjoyed a pleasant dinner accompanied by local bai jiu (homemade spirit) and a lively conversation about the future of the tea business in the area. It seems the locals are well aware of the pu-erh tea boom and the overpriced market bubble that’s bound to burst—or maybe already is in some places. With no alternative sources of income, the roughly 60 tea-producing families in Mangfei village are likely facing tough times ahead. According to local stats, tea farmers haven’t been able to sell 30–40% of their harvest each season in recent years. Yet, they continue to keep prices relatively high, making it hard to compete with neighboring regions.

Apart from a few spots, most of the tea trees around are still pretty young. The locals have a habit of calling everything “gu shu” as long as it’s not just “tai di” (tableland tea) a small bush tea—but despite the creative naming, they’re still struggling to make a splash or compete in the national tea business. Guess you can’t fool the market with fancy words alone!

Lots of Chinese puerh tea drinkers tend to focus more on the age and size of the tea tree rather than the actual taste—and the vendors play into that mindset. During our conversation, we all agreed that organic tea is the future. Some tea gardens have already earned Chinese organic certificates, though international certification remains prohibitively expensive for them. That said, we’re not entirely convinced they need it, since exporting these already pricey teas (much more expensive than regular bush tea) could still be quite a profitable business without the extra certification.

Picking up the tea leafs from even very young arbor trees is done by hand and it is not easy labor as harvesting a bush ( table land ) tea by using tools or some machine.

Many big tea companies have cut down arbors to a more accessible picking size, which has, in effect, caused a kind of devaluation—after all, big trees are held in higher regard. Whether leaves from a tall, untrimmed tea tree are actually better or tastier than those from the same tree after trimming remains unconfirmed. We haven’t had the chance for precise comparisons yet, but according to how tea is traditionally evaluated in China, this “adjustment” definitely impacts the price.
After spending a week traveling through numerous villages and tasting various teas that all seemed almost identical, we’ve decided not to buy anything here this year. It’s a tough reality that tea lovers and traders searching for good quality at a fair price have to face. The dull, vegetal taste of most Mangfei sheng puerh this year stems from both the weather and processing methods. While “qing wei” (green taste) is normal in fresh teas, the essential qualities of “hui gan” (pleasant returning sweetness) and “sheng jing” (vitality) were largely missing. We tried teas from previous years which, despite a “shui wei” (watery taste), had a thicker body, a lingering sweet aftertaste, and “zhuang hua” (natural ageing) that gave the tea more depth and complexity.
The high prices stem from several factors, one being that tea farmers are contracted with local vendors and processing companies. They’re either unwilling or unable to offer wholesale prices—even for larger purchases, like a ton—because they know what local vendors sell their tea for and match those prices without room for negotiation. A common excuse we hear is that government price increases are meant to help farmers improve their lives, but that’s only part of the story. The price hike applies mostly to fresh leaves, not processed leaves or labor like picking, and the difference from previous years isn’t that large.
What we discovered is that vendors and contractors add massive margins on top of the tea price, keeping farmers believing that their tea is truly worth those prices when selling to “outsiders” like us who try to buy directly. Simple tea farmers often have little knowledge of the broader tea market or competitive pricing. They only know famous villages like Bing Dao or Lao Bang Zhan, where tea sells for thousands, so they just play along with the group of local vendors, processors, and contractors.
Some may argue, “The poor farmers are just trying to make a living,” and we agree. But tea business, like any business, revolves around supply and demand. Demand depends primarily on quality-to-price ratio and effective marketing—neither of which are sufficiently present here.

Mangfei tea is well known as a base tea for blending, prized for its low price and consistent taste and quality. However, the recent significant price increase isn’t driven by higher demand or improved quality but rather by the aggressive marketing tactics of retailers and processing companies, as mentioned before. Trying to explain that for the price of 1 kg of their tea, you could buy 2 to 3 kg of the same quality and grade from other villages in Xishuangbanna doesn’t get us anywhere. The response is always the same stubborn refrain: “But our tea is special.”

At that moment we “got a point” and decided to leave:-(