Gifting in sets of four is taboo

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[Scene: Li Wei’s apartment in Beijing. The living room is cozy, red lanterns hang near the window. Chen Hao walks in carrying a beautifully wrapped gift box.]

Chen Hao:
Grinning Happy birthday, Wei! Here’s something for you.

Li Wei:
Eyes widen Wait—what’s in there? And… is that four gift boxes stacked?

Chen Hao:
Yeah! A set of four teacups I found in that little boutique you like. Thought you’d love them.

Li Wei:
Hands to his face Chen Hao! Four?! Do you want to curse me?

Chen Hao:
Laughing Oh come on, Wei. It’s just cups. Not a voodoo doll set.

Li Wei:
You know that in Chinese, the number four, “四” (), sounds like “死” (), death! Gifting in fours is like inviting bad luck. It’s common sense!

Chen Hao:
Chuckles Wei, it’s common belief, not common sense. They’re just homophones. By that logic, we should avoid anything that sounds like anything remotely negative. Should we also stop eating pears because “分梨” (fēn lí) sounds like separation?

Li Wei:
Actually, yes! You never split pears among couples. Haven’t you heard the story of my cousin? She and her boyfriend split a pear on Qixi Festival, and two weeks later — gone, broken up, like the pear!

Chen Hao:
Teasing Maybe they split up because they were incompatible, not because of the pear. Did the pear whisper breakup advice to them?

Li Wei:
Laughing despite himself You’re impossible. But I just… feel better following tradition. It’s like an extra layer of protection. Why risk it?

Chen Hao:
I get that. But think of it this way: if we avoid everything that might bring bad luck, we’d be paralyzed! No fourth floor, no phone numbers with four, no four-course meals. And besides — isn’t the meaning we give to the gift more important?

Li Wei:
Pauses True… but the older generation would be shocked. My aunt once returned a set of four bowls to a neighbor, even though they were expensive. She couldn’t sleep for days after receiving them!

Chen Hao:
I remember. But your aunt also believes sleeping with a fan on will kill her — remember that?

Li Wei:
Grins Fair point.

Chen Hao:
Look, I’m not saying traditions are bad. They can be beautiful, and they connect us to our roots. But maybe… we can question which traditions still make sense today. Science hasn’t found any link between numbers and fate. It’s psychology, not destiny.

Li Wei:
Sighs, smiles I know, I know… but you try telling my grandma that when she insists on lucky red underwear for New Year’s Eve.

Chen Hao:
Laughs Hey, I’m not touching that conversation.

Li Wei:
Okay, okay. You win. I’ll keep the teacups. But next time, maybe just three or five? For my sanity?

Chen Hao:
Deal. And in return, maybe you’ll skip the jade charm next time you fly?

Li Wei:
Mock horror Whoa there, Hao — let’s not get ahead of ourselves!

Chen Hao:
Grinning Baby steps, my friend. Baby steps.


[They both laugh, and Li Wei unwraps the teacups carefully, placing them proudly on his shelf — all four of them.]

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