Ling Hua Zhou Pan Hu - 170ml

This teapot, in my eyes, is still a new one—though it was crafted in the year of Bingxu, and now, almost twenty years have slipped away unnoticed. I have never bothered to investigate in detail the maker of this, Lu Yiqun—his origins, his training, and everything about him remain a mystery to me. Yet those versed in such matters have spoken of him as a former artisan of the famed Yixing Factory No. 1, a man of seasoned skills and masterful technique.

What is most curious, however, is that among the few ''new-clay'' teapots capable of making me pause, draw closer, and lift them in my hands for a second look, more often than not, the base reveals the same four words—"Yi Qun Zhi Tao." Surely, this is no mere coincidence, but rather some unspoken accord between craftsman and beholder.

Upon closer study, I realized it was not merely the craftsmanship that captivated me, but the very clay itself. And as it happens, this particular clay is most often used for ribbed vessels, such as the one before me—this Linghua Zhou Pan pot. The Zhou Pan shape was originally one of the eighteen classic forms of Man Sheng, yet later artisans have taken its foundation and spun from it myriad interpretations—plum blossom, water chestnut, sunflower, chrysanthemum, each a world unto itself. This piece bears lines both rich and fluid, its spout, body, and handle perfectly balanced in harmony. No ostentatious flourishes, no unnecessary theatrics—simply standing there in quietude, it draws the eye all the same.

The clay, an effort to revive the famed Hei Xing (Black Star) clay of the old Yixing Factory, reveals minute black mineral flecks to the naked eye. Its texture is raw, unpolished, imbued with a cold, metallic sheen—giving the teapot an almost sculptural presence, as though shaped not by human hands but by time itself.

It holds 170ml, its pour swift and steady, emptying in precisely 7 seconds. This is far from the first time I have recommended a pot from Yi Qun Zhi Tao—ten or more have passed through my hands by now. Yet this one, of them all, has remained by my side the longest. I entrusted it with Wuyi rock teas, with charcoal-roasted Anxi oolongs, and from time to time, even a Phoenix Dancong. To me, this is a teapot of strikingly masculine character—unyielding, reserved, yet brimming with restrained power.