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Mohammad Saiyedul Islam (center) tries his hand at making leicha in Jiangle, Sanming city, Fujian province. CHINA DAILY

The most profound cultural discoveries often begin not with a grand monument, but with a sound.

This was how my journey in Jiangle county started.

On a quiet afternoon in Jiangle, in Sanming city of Fujian province, I wandered down an old stone lane. As I approached a small tea shop, I heard a rhythmic sound coming from inside — a steady, deliberate pounding, "dong, dong, dong".It wasn't loud or hurried — just persistent, ancient, and oddly comforting.

Drawn inside, I was surprised to be invited not just to watch but to try making leicha — a traditional local tea. The shopkeeper placed a heavy leibo (mortar) in front of me and handed me a leigun (pestle) — its surface dark, smooth, and warm from years of use.

My first attempts were clumsy: the pestle kept slipping and clattering against the bowl. A shop attendant gently corrected my grip, placing her hands over mine to guide the motion. "It's not just about force," she said softly. "It's about rhythm."

Leicha, also known as sanshengtang ("three-life soup"), is deeply woven into the daily life of the local Hakka community. Often hailed as a "living fossil of ancient tea culture", this beverage originated in the Han Dynasty (206 BC-AD 220) and flourished during the Ming and Qing dynasties (1368-1911).

In 2014, the Hakka leicha-making technique was inscribed on China's national intangible cultural heritage list, and in 2022, it was recognized by UNESCO as part of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

What fascinated me most about leicha was how natural and communal the making process felt. People in the shop talked, laughed, and encouraged one another as if a bowl of leicha were more than just food — it was a bond that brought them together, offering comfort and a sense of belonging.

To me, this was a small yet living example of how harmony grows from shared moments.

With this spirit of unity, leicha has also become a cultural bridge between Taiwan and the Chinese mainland, having been introduced to the island from the mainland during the Tang Dynasty (618-907). Each year, Jiangle hosts a cross-Strait Hakka leicha exchange event that brings together cultural groups from both sides, strengthening cooperation in culture and tourism and adding a new chapter to the "one family across the Strait" story between Fujian and Taiwan.

My encounter with leicha also reminded me of similar tea traditions in my own country.

In every corner of Bangladesh — from the bustling streets to the quiet riverbanks — tea flows as freely as conversation. We gather in roadside stalls known as cha-er dokan, sipping steaming cups of milky tea or black tea, dipping muri (puffed rice) or biscuits between stories, laughter, business deals, and friendly gossip.

At home, no guest is welcomed without the clink of porcelain and the fragrant steam of freshly brewed tea. It is our first gesture of warmth and respect. To refuse it is unthinkable; to not offer it, a serious breach of courtesy. Tea, for us, is hospitality, communion, and comfort.

My journey to Jiangle — and my first encounter with leicha — left me with a deep appreciation for this remarkable tradition. That day, when I finally poured hot water into the mortar and stirred the mixture into a smooth, creamy tea, I realized that the sound I'd heard earlier was not just pounding — it was tradition, hospitality, and history speaking all at once.