Scene: It’s Chinese New Year morning. Firecrackers echo in the background. Li Wei and Chen Hao sit in Li Wei’s apartment, sipping jasmine tea and nibbling on sunflower seeds.
Li Wei: (gasps) Hao! Be careful with that teacup! If you break it today, my whole year is doomed!
Chen Hao: (raising an eyebrow) Doomed? Wei, it’s just a cup. If it breaks, we sweep it up and pour another tea.
Li Wei: “Just a cup,” he says! On New Year’s Day, breaking things brings bad luck. Haven’t you ever heard that? My grandma once dropped a bowl on New Year’s, and that year, she slipped and broke her ankle!
Chen Hao: Okay, but correlation isn’t causation. People slip and break ankles all the time — especially when the floor’s wet and they wear those silky socks like your grandma always did.
Li Wei: (suspiciously) Are you saying it was just a coincidence?
Chen Hao: Of course. Think about it. If a broken bowl had the power to curse an entire year, we’d be seeing emergency tape all over the porcelain aisle at Carrefour every January.
Li Wei: (seriously) It’s not just about bowls, Hao. Crying on New Year’s Day? Also terrible luck. You cry, and you’ll spend the whole year crying. You want that?
Chen Hao: But that’s… just sad. So what if someone watches a touching movie today and tears up a little? Are they cursed? Should we ban The Farewell from being streamed on January 1st?
Li Wei: Actually, yes. Ban it.
Chen Hao: (laughs) Wei, come on. Emotions are normal. If someone’s heartbroken or grieving, they should cry. Suppressing feelings because of superstition could be more harmful than any imagined bad luck.
Li Wei: (defensive) Well, traditions exist for a reason. You science people always want to dismantle everything with logic. What’s next? No red envelopes? No fireworks?
Chen Hao: I like red envelopes! Free money and minimal emotional baggage. Fireworks? Great fun—though a bit bad for air quality. But there’s a difference between celebrating culture and fearing it. Superstitions, especially ones that cause anxiety, deserve a little examination.
Li Wei: Easy for you to say. You didn’t grow up with Auntie Zhou whispering that every broken dish was a cosmic omen.
Chen Hao: True. But I did grow up with Uncle Ming insisting eating instant noodles would make me bald. I still have hair. See? (shakes his head proudly)
Li Wei: For now. You also have a stressful job.
Chen Hao: Touché. But here’s a better idea: let’s treat these traditions like metaphors. Maybe not crying today is just about starting fresh with positive vibes. But it doesn’t mean the universe has a grudge if your phone slips from your hand.
Li Wei: (hesitant) So you’re saying… these things aren’t magical rules, but just gentle reminders?
Chen Hao: Exactly! Think of them like moral-of-the-story fables. Just don’t let them turn into chains that weigh down your year. Life is already unpredictable without thinking a dumpling disaster can summon evil spirits.
Li Wei: (snorts with laughter) Alright, alright. I’ll try not to freak out if something breaks today. But if my boss yells at me next week, I’m blaming your scientific reasoning.
Chen Hao: Deal. And if it makes you feel better, I’ll help you glue the teacup back together… with scientifically tested adhesive.
Li Wei: Now that’s the kind of science I can toast to. More tea?
Chen Hao: Absolutely. But I’m holding it with both hands. Just in case.
[They both laugh, the room echoing with the warmth of old friendship—and the clink of intact teacups.]
Science Vs Superstition 
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