Zhang woke that evening, just as he had for many evening before.  His eyes opened, and he was simply fully and completely awake.  He felt refreshed, and could sense that night had only just fallen.  It was rare that he did not rise at sundown, but there were times when he felt a very mortal need to simply remain in bed, and enjoy a moment of peace and quiet…as well as his soft sheets, and thick comforter.  It was his hidden bed, but he felt it undignified to sleep on a slab, just because he required neither blankets nor comfort to get his rest.  His mind went over the week, counting the days, and then sat up suddenly.  It was September, and the Moon would be full…if he were in China , there might be a Moon Festival.  The Teahouse will have Moon cakes.  He sighed, he cannot really enjoy them as he once did, but that was fine, because more importantly, tonight he would be enjoying the company of someone who could.  Selena was back, and as she had promised, would be meeting him at The Seven Cups, for tea.<br/><br/>He climbed out of bed with a smile on his face, exited what amounted to his sleeping vault, and went straight to his room and the shower to get ready.  Zhang was very well groomed; it was a trait he had developed in the Shaolin Temple .  Even then, bathing regularly was seen as somewhat eccentric, frigid mountain stream, meditation or not.  He chuckled softly at the memories, as he washed his hair, which was always the last step.  He checked the time, and then set about the remainder of his preparations, which began with drying his hair, and brushing it out, before he bound it into a ponytail for the evening, tied at the top with black ribbon, and near the end with a silver clasp in white, bearing the image of a hare.  Zhang dressed elegantly, as he always did, always pleased to wear modern suits, as it seemed Oriental style was in vogue, with high ‘mandarin’ style colors, and rich fabrics.  His suit was custom tailored, and taken from the Armani collection; today’s jacket was purest white and made of silk, with a modern style high collar, and deep black button, in this case made from polished stone, accenting it nicely.  His pants were also silk, loose fitting and comfortable, but tailored to the right length. Zhang wore black slipper shoes, with a soft sole, as snow white as his jacket.  He checked his appearance, thankful that being a vampire allowed him to wear such nice things year round, with no concern of perspiration ruining the impact of his attire.  He called his driver, made certain that nothing was out of place and with a smile, entered his garage and climbed into the car.  Charles knew where they were headed, asking only once to make certain he had it right, before they pulled away from Zhang’s home.<br/><br/>The Seven Cups teahouse was one of the Chinese Vampire’s favorite places to spend time in, when he had free time to do so.  He had brought other friends there, though he did not often take a woman there on a day, so few could appreciate the culture behind a genuine Chinese teahouse.  Selena was one of those few.  He smiled, and found that he was looking forward to making her tea, shedding the concerns of the night before, and hopefully assuaging hers as well.  The teahouse got its name from an old poem that translated poorly in English, Zhang found, but the owner, and Zhang’s business partner, had it hanging near the door in three languages; Mandarin, Cantonese, and English.<br/><br/><em>The first cup refreshes your lips and throat,<br/>The second elates you from your lonely mood,<br/>The third searches in your arid intestines* and you realize that you have only 5,000 volumes of literature in your memory,<br/>The fourth makes you perspire lightly, and evaporate through your skin the pent-up grievances in your life,<br/>The fifth causes you to feel your muscles are relaxing, and bones losing weight,<br/>The sixth leads you to go on the path to meet fairies,<br/>Oh! The seventh cup! Better not take it! If you had it, the only feeling is an air current passing under your armpits.</em><br/><br/>If Zhang recalled, it was by a fellow named Lu Tong.  He detested the translation, it was too literal, but the owner had insisted, despite the curious looks, or laughter of his American patrons.  It mattered little to Zhang, the owner could have hung the head of a cow in the lobby, and he would still have gone.  The tea was – exquisite.  He could tell by the scent, if not the sip, though he dared that fairly often.  They arrived at the Teahouse in good time, and Zhang advised Charles to park the car, and enjoy the public room at his expense.  When he entered the building, which was small and modest, carved out of a small patch of land, with a rock garden to the left of the door, and a water garden to the right, with a façade reminiscent of Chinese pagoda architecture.  Inside, the furniture was of fine Chinese style, and the room itself flowed easily.  The lighting was soft, the music was subtle, and the décor often made Zhang forget he was in California .  As soon as he entered, he was conducted to a private tea room, with a small side table for preparing the tea, a table and two chairs for enjoying it, and a window with a lovely view of the rear garden.  And, as he had expected, on the table was a fresh box of Moon Cakes, unopened, so that even Zhang could not catch the sweet scent of them.  He knew that Selena would be timely, so he set about washing his hands in the small sink, and preparing the tea pot and water for the tea.