Guest Blog: Ruth Wong and Zenith of Tea *Giveaway to All who Subscribe to Her Newsletter

ChristinaSinisi-Author
4 hours ago
5 min read

My name is Ruth Wuwong, originally from Hong Kong. Since a young age, I cultivated a

profound love for reading and writing. I would spend hours at the library, devouring every book on a single shelf before moving on to the next. It seems I have a longing that can’t be satisfied by reality. Immersing myself in literature allows me to escape into worlds where I could become someone graceful, witty, and popular.

Currently, I work for a small biotech company and have published 120+ scientific books and papers. As a latecomer to the world of creative writing, I’ve released several books under different pen names. Fiction titles were published under R. F. Whong, while non-fiction books were published under Ruth Wuwong.

I was chosen as a featured author by the Minnesota Anoka County Library in 2025 and by the Suffolk Virginia Authors Festival in 2026.

I’m married to my wonderful husband, a retired pastor who encourages me to pursue my dreams. We served together at three different churches from 1987 to 2020. Our adult son works in a nearby city.

Tell us about your book—title and back cover blurb.

Zenith of Tea (romance, https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GNNFT2XM). Paperback released on 3/3/2026, eBook released on 3/30/2026.

Here is some information about the book:

Words: 43,000

Blurb:

A cookbook, a glimmer of fairy tale, a spoonful of history, and a teacup of hope.

In the early 1920s, accomplished martial artist Wang Mijen is haunted by her past and the red birthmark that she believes prompted her family to abandon her at six. She survives by robbing ancient tombs and living in a cave concealed from the soldiers. When she saves Joseph Cheung, a Chinese Christian educated in Canada, from bandits, her insecurities whisper that such a man could never love an “ugly” girl like her. Growing up in San Francisco’s Chinatown, Joseph experienced anti-Chinese prejudice. Still, he helps Mijen move to Canada to avoid danger. In Vancouver, amidst anti-Asian riots and the looming Chinese Exclusion Act, Joseph helps Mijen open a teahouse. As they work together to rescue young women trafficked into brothels in North America, Joseph’s unwavering faith and fight for equality challenge Mijen’s hardened heart.From China to Canada, can Mijen and Joseph overcome their challenges, rediscover their identities, and open their hearts to each other?

A stand-alone novella in the Apron Strings Tea series, inspired by The Nightingale.

Share an excerpt.

Moonlight slashed through the trees, casting erratic shadows on Wang Mijen as she ducked under low bushes.

“Over here!” a man bellowed.

The ground crackled under heavy boots. The night awoke in a cacophony—the cries of alarmed crickets, the gurgle of a nearby stream, the rustle of dry leaves… Mijen’s heart drummed. She spun sideways, narrowly avoiding a soldier’s hand.

“There they go!” another shout pierced the darkness.

Armored footfalls echoed. Her breath mingled with the wind. She pushed onward beside Sifu Liu Yue. The forest closed in on them and swallowed their path. Behind them, the soldiers’ noises grew faint. She reached into the folds of her tunic to touch the tiny gold bird she’d snapped from the ancient tomb, a symbol of their audacious theft.

“Keep up, Mijen.” Her sifu’s voice cut through the quiet.

Although Sifu Yue’s tone sounded rough, it comforted Mijen. The woman had been the only constant in her life since Mijen was six years old.

“Yes, Sifu.” She quickened her pace. Her mind raced back to the tomb, to the moment her gaze alighted on the bird. Destiny, wrapped in bygone eras, must’ve led them there.

A faint floral aroma from night-blooming jasmine sweetened the nocturnal air. Sifu pushed a low-hanging branch aside. Her tall and wiry silhouette belied her age and exuded perseverance.

“Tomorrow, they’ll mention us in whispers. Two men who dared to disturb the dead and escaped from the soldiers’ clutches.” Sifu chuckled. “You played your part well.”

Mijen smiled in the silvery moonlight. They always assumed the guise of men, a necessity in post-Qing society, to avoid the pressure placed on women due to roles and expectations.

They hurried into a secluded clearing. Behind dense foliage hid the cave they called home. Sifu exhaled, then switched on a dim electric torch they’d stolen from a Westerner in a nearby port. Mijen followed her inside and plopped down on a mat.

A cool, earthy scent enveloped her. The torch revealed intricate rock formations and a well-worn path leading deeper inside. As she settled, her fingers grazed the bird in her palm. Each curve in the metal showcased its beauty, almost enough to overshadow the gravity of the theft. Almost.

Was it a nightingale? Someone, perhaps her mother, had bought her a fairy-tale book for her sixth birthday. A story inside it, “The Nightingale,” told of an emperor who longed to capture the bird’s delightful song in his garden.

The tale’s message of freedom and hope resonated with her even at that young age, and the feeling persisted long after the person who had gifted her the book was forever lost to her. Many nights over the past twelve years, she’d sit outside their cave, straining to hear any nightingale that might call out in the darkness.

“Do you ever wonder about the people before us?” Her question drifted with the breeze that blew through the cave. “Those we steal from?”

“Not really.” Sifu’s gaze flickered in the faint light. “History forgets many things. It forgets the struggles, the tears, the laughter—everything that defined our ancestors. We seize what we can because life offers us nothing. Remember that.”

Her harsh philosophy, a familiar mantra, had guided them through numerous moons. Besides making sure Mijen studied medicine, kung fu, and any books they got hold of, Sifu had taught her to read between the lines society drew, to find beauty in their unconventional lifestyle.

A comfortable silence, born of shared battles and victories, reigned between them. Their strong bond needed no words, yet was understood with the certainty of the sun rising each morning.

“We should rest.” Sifu unfolded their blankets. “Tomorrow holds new challenges.”

Mijen stretched out on her bed of mats, squeezed her eyes shut, and begged for slumber to overtake her. Yet, sleep eluded her tonight. Did the bird cause it? She caressed the treasure in her pocket again, trying to dim the painful memory of that day she remembered in every detail.

She’d clutched her mother’s hand tight on a busy street when thunderous noises erupted.

Panic swelled. Her tiny fingers slipped from her mother’s grip. Her parents’ whispers faded away, lost amid the crowd’s roar. She’d cried out. Passersby blurred. Tears rained down her cheeks, and she wandered through the streets until sunset. Exhausted, she sank to the roadside. Then, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Little girl, are you lost?”

Sifu’s touch was the first warmth Mijen had felt after hours of chilling despair.

She opened her eyes, pulling herself back to the present. Sifu lay nearby, her breathing rhythmic.

Without Sifu, what would she have become? A relentless guide, a constant presence, and a fierce protector, Sifu was family in every sense that mattered. Mijen reached over and touched Sifu’s leg with all the love that bridged the gap between their past and present.

Even though the nightingales didn’t sing tonight, they might tomorrow.

Note: See the book trailer at this link, https://youtu.be/uA22giijcf0

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