Near West Lake, our family learned herbs the slow way.LunarSip is our way of turning that daily practice into tea that fits modern life.
On a side street near West Lake, the shop is quiet in the morning. Wooden drawers line the wall. The labels are worn at the edges. A brass scale sits behind the counter, beside paper bags, string, and a calendar from an old herb supplier in northern Zhejiang.
In Chinese, this kind of shop is called a 中藥鋪 (zhōng yào pù), a traditional herbal apothecary. It is practical, familiar, and very ordinary to the people who grew up around it.
A person walks in with a handwritten herbal prescription. The herbalist reads it, opens the right drawers, weighs each ingredient, wraps the bundle in brown paper, and ties it with string. At home, the herbs are simmered slowly. That rhythm shaped how we think about care: quiet, steady, and built into ordinary life.
Our grandparents opened the shop. Our father trained under them, became a licensed TCM practitioner, and still keeps consulting hours most mornings.
Most of his patients aren't sick in the way a Western doctor would define it. They come for what TCM calls 調理 (tiáolǐ) — small, ongoing adjustments. A woman whose cycle has changed. A father whose sleep is shallow. A student who can't shake a winter cough.
In China, this is just what you do. You drop by the apothecary. You drink the tea your doctor told you to drink. You feel a little better. Nobody calls it wellness. Nobody calls it self-care. It's just how families have looked after themselves for centuries.
GENERATIONS
YEARS OF PRACTICE
HERBS IN 本草網目
Every formula in LunarSip is drawn from 《本草綱目》— the Compendium of Materia Medica — a reference book compiled in 1578 by the Ming Dynasty physician Li Shizhen. It catalogs 1,892 herbs and over 11,000 formulas.
For four hundred years, Chinese practitioners have used it the way Western doctors use the Merck Manual — not as scripture, but as a starting point. Our father keeps a copy at the counter. He's been using it since he was an apprentice.
We didn't write new recipes for LunarSip. We picked formulas that have held up in our family's practice over decades, adjusted them slightly for sachet brewing (Western kitchens don't tend to have clay simmering pots), and left the herb ratios alone.
LunarSip began with simple messages from people who felt out of rhythm, but did not want another complicated routine.
A friend felt drained for months and wanted a gentler daily ritual.
A man in his forties noticed lower energy and slower recovery.
A woman with restless sleep wanted something warm, calm, and simple.
At first, we mailed small bags of herbs with handwritten brewing notes. LunarSip became the clearer, simpler way to share that care.
LunarSip isn't a wellness platform. It isn't a hormone-balancing app. It isn't personalized medicine. It's our family's formulas, packed into sachets, shipped to people who want them.
Our father refuses to work with concentrates. He says the body recognizes whole plants. We didn't argue.
We sell tea. Your doctor is your doctor. If something's actually wrong, please see one.
The herbs in your sachet come from the same regional growers our father has worked with for decades. We didn't switch suppliers when we started shipping abroad.
Just the formulas our family has been making for our own neighbors, made available to yours.
Traditional Chinese wellness has always paid attention to rhythm: seasons, rest, digestion, energy, and the way the body changes over time. Lunar reflects that slower way of listening.
Because care does not need to feel complicated. One sachet, hot water, a few quiet minutes. A simple cup you can return to every day.
Our father is still at the counter most mornings. The wooden drawers are still stocked. The brass scale still works. The calendar on the wall is still from a supplier in northern Zhejiang.
LunarSip doesn't replace any of that. It's a way for the same formulas — the ones our family has been making for our neighbors — to reach someone in Brooklyn, or London, or Sydney, who heard about Chinese medicine and wondered where to start.
If you're ever in Hangzhou, come by. We'll pour you a cup.
Until then — a sachet, hot water, ten minutes.
