The Liuzhou amber bench
In a narrow lane off the Liujiang river, Gao Lihua runs a workshop her grandfather built. She’s one of the last glassblowers in Liuzhou who insists on laboratory‑grade borosilicate — the kind that can handle a sudden flood of boiling water without a crack. Michael Zhan found her through a retired chemist who still uses her beakers, and after three visits and multiple rounds of tea, Gao agreed to craft a special run of 100 ml gaiwans just for tea.glass.
The amber tint comes from a pinch of iron oxide mixed into the melt: no lead, no cadmium, just a whisper of mineral warmth. Gao blows each gaiwan into a two‑part wooden mould, then fire‑polishes the lip by hand. The result is a rim so thin it almost disappears against your lower lip. She stamps the base with her tiny crane mark before cooling the glass slowly over embers.
Michael selected this batch after a long afternoon testing heat tolerance, lip comfort, and how the tint performed with different liquors. Because each piece demands nearly three hours at the bench, only twelve gaiwans leave the workshop every month. This is quiet, functional artistry — a tool that disappears into the tea, except for that gentle amber note reminding you where it came from.