The Musty Mystery of Xiaguan’s 2004 Nanzhao Tuo

Pour yourself a cup for this one: The Xiaguan 2004 Nanzhao tuo raw puer is a revelation—or a riddle. This is your first encounter with a traditionally Taiwan-stored sheng pu’er, and it’s doing something strange. No smokiness, no immediate wow factor, just a slow unraveling of flavors that feel more like a mystery than a masterpiece. The tea’s evolution is deliberate, its character shaped by decades in a paper box.

The first steep is a whisper of light sweetness, like a bakery note caught in a breeze. It’s clean, almost too clean, but the second steep introduces a musty basement vibe that lingers like a half-remembered dream. This isn’t just about the tea—it’s about the story the storage method tells. The paper box, it seems, isn’t just a container; it’s a character in the narrative. By the third steep, the funk deepens, molasses cookies and ash notes emerge, and the tea starts to feel like a living thing.

But here’s the rub: The storage flavor isn’t a flaw—it’s a fingerprint. It’s the wet cardboard funk that clings to the tongue, the astringency that sneaks up like a ghost. This isn’t a tea for those who crave boldness. It’s for people who enjoy the slow build, the way the sweetness evolves into something almost tender. The 2004 Nanzhao isn’t about immediate gratification; it’s about patience.

Key points: The paper box storage amplifies mustiness, creating a “musty basement” character. The sweetness is present but restrained, evolving into a creamy finish. Astringency and wet cardboard notes are present but not overwhelming—though they’re worth noting.

Let’s talk: Have you ever encountered a pu’er that felt more like a journey than a drink? What’s your take on storage flavors? Share your thoughts below.

Questions & Answers

Information sourced from industry reports and news outlets.