Setting: Two friends, Li Wei (superstitious) and Chen Hao (rational), are sitting in Li Wei’s living room in Shanghai, sipping tea a few days before Chinese New Year. The room smells faintly of detergent and incense.
Li Wei:
stretching his arms proudly Ahh… finally! I scrubbed every tile, every corner. Even the top of the fridge! No bad luck’s gonna find me this year.
Chen Hao:
raising an eyebrow You cleaned the top of the fridge? Impressive. That place is like the Bermuda Triangle of dust.
Li Wei:
You have to! If you leave a speck of dirt, you leave a path for misfortune. That’s why we clean before the New Year. But on New Year’s Day, not a broom touches the floor. Not even a single potato peel goes out the door.
Chen Hao:
laughs So if your garbage is overflowing and your aunt accidentally spills fish sauce everywhere, you’re just supposed to live with the mess and the smell for 24 hours?
Li Wei:
Yes! It’s not just superstition—it’s tradition. If you sweep on New Year’s Day, you sweep away your wealth and luck for the entire year. Why take that risk?
Chen Hao:
Come on, Li Wei, you have a degree in engineering! You design smart home systems. You seriously think the universe tracks whether you took the trash out on a specific Gregorian date?
Li Wei:
Hey, I also believe in Wi-Fi, but I still light incense for my ancestors. Two things can coexist.
Chen Hao:
Fair. But look—don’t you think these customs were practical back in the day? Like, cleaning before the New Year was a way to prepare for guests and show respect. And not cleaning on the New Year might’ve just been a well-earned break. No one wanted to do chores after cooking twelve dishes the day before.
Li Wei:
Maybe. But tell that to Auntie Lan next door. Last year, her son vacuumed on the morning of the New Year and BAM—he got food poisoning that night.
Chen Hao:
Or maybe he shouldn’t have eaten gas station sushi. Correlation doesn’t mean causation, buddy.
Li Wei:
Still. I’d rather be cautious. Why tempt fate? What if there’s some energy in the world, some invisible qi we don’t understand?
Chen Hao:
Okay, let’s say qi exists. Why would it care about your garbage schedule? Does it hover over your trash bin like, “Ah, he broke the rule. No promotion for him this year!”
Li Wei:
laughing Maybe it’s a cosmic janitor with a clipboard.
Chen Hao:
Seriously though—if your success or happiness depends on a day’s cleaning, that’s a fragile kind of luck. I’d rather invest in good decisions, hard work, and maybe… hand sanitizer.
Li Wei:
Spoken like a true modernist. But honestly, the rituals give me peace. They make the New Year feel special. It’s not about physics—it’s about psychology.
Chen Hao:
Now that, I respect. Rituals give structure and meaning. But maybe we can evolve the rituals a bit? Like, clean early, sure. But if you drop a dumpling on the floor on New Year’s Day, just pick it up and move on. No cosmic curse.
Li Wei:
Hmm. So you’re saying I can clean, just not panic about it?
Chen Hao:
Exactly. Clean your heart, not just your apartment. And maybe take out the trash if it starts smelling like dead fortune.
Li Wei:
You know what? I’ll keep my mop away on New Year’s Day… but if someone spills soy sauce, I’ll at least blot it.
Chen Hao:
Progress! The ancestors would approve—and so would your nose.
Both laugh and clink their tea mugs. The scent of incense mingles with lemon cleaner, and the TV hums in the background with a Lunar New Year gala ad.
Science Vs Superstition 
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