Scene: A small tea shop in Beijing. Li Wei and Chen Hao are sitting by the window, sipping jasmine tea.
Li Wei: (rubbing his head) Sigh… my hair is driving me crazy. It’s so long I can barely see my own eyebrows in the mirror! But I have to wait.
Chen Hao: Wait for what? The barber apocalypse to end?
Li Wei: (whispering) You know it’s the first lunar month. You can’t get a haircut now — or it’ll bring bad luck to your mother’s brother! My poor uncle — I won’t risk cursing him just because I want to look pretty.
Chen Hao: (grinning) Pretty? Please, your hair is one more week away from qualifying as a national treasure.
Li Wei: (laughing) Hey! I’d rather look like a hedge than risk Uncle Zhang’s fortune.
Chen Hao: Come on, Wei. You’re a smart guy. Do you really believe that scissors near your scalp are going to send bad vibes to someone living two provinces away?
Li Wei: It’s not about logic, Hao. It’s tradition. My grandmother used to warn us every year. Last time I broke it — when I was sixteen — my uncle sprained his ankle falling off his scooter. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Chen Hao: (raising an eyebrow) Wait, wait — so you think your teenage haircut caused your uncle to fall off a scooter?
Li Wei: (defensive) I’m just saying… why take chances?
Chen Hao: Okay, by that logic, I should also stop eating dumplings in case it rains in Shanghai. You know, when I was a kid, I believed if I stepped on a crack, I’d break my mom’s back. One day, I jumped over every crack on the way to school, and guess what happened?
Li Wei: What?
Chen Hao: Nothing. My mom was perfectly fine — just very confused why I came home with sore legs.
Li Wei: (chuckling) Well, maybe you didn’t jump hard enough.
Chen Hao: (laughs) Look, tradition has value — it connects us to family, to culture. But it’s also okay to question where these ideas come from. This haircut superstition dates back centuries when people believed evil spirits could enter through fresh cuts or broken skin. We know now germs, not spirits, cause disease. Don’t you think Uncle Zhang’s safety depends more on whether he wears a helmet than on your hair?
Li Wei: Hmm… maybe. But part of me feels… disrespectful to break the custom. Like I’m dishonoring Grandma’s memory.
Chen Hao: That’s fair. Respecting her memory is beautiful. But do you think she’d want you to suffer through split ends just for that?
Li Wei: (smiling sheepishly) Maybe not.
Chen Hao: How about this: you can honor the tradition in other ways. Call your uncle, check in on him, send him a small gift — show you care directly. That’s way more meaningful than dodging a haircut.
Li Wei: (thoughtful) Hmm. That’s… actually a good idea.
Chen Hao: Of course it is! I’m full of them. And bonus — you’ll stop scaring children on the subway.
Li Wei: (laughing) Fine, fine! But only after the month ends. I’m not ready to be the first rebel in generations.
Chen Hao: Deal. But when March comes, I’m dragging you to the barber myself.
Li Wei: And you’re paying for the haircut, scientist!
Chen Hao: Deal — as long as I get to watch the barber marvel at the wilderness growing on your head.
(They clink their teacups and laugh, the conversation drifting into jokes about haircuts and family stories, their friendship stronger for the debate.)
Science Vs Superstition 
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