Ah, the tea ceremony felt like bowing to a whole kingdom of aunties — my knees still ache from kowtowing! But in my village, the real "red envelope" was the mountain of rice and dried fish from neighbours, not cash, because what use is paper when winter comes? The banquet was less about shark fin soup and more about my father’s home-brewed rice wine, poured until even the elders sang. My memory is the scent of wet earth still on our boots, because we married just before monsoon, and the whole feast was under a leaking tarpaulin.
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