I still remember the first time I experienced Chinese New Year in Shanghai—the explosive crackle of firecrackers at midnight, the intricate paper cuttings adorning every window, and the overwhelming scent of incense from neighborhood temples. Having grown up with Western holidays, I was completely captivated by how every tradition seemed to carry centuries of meaning, each custom a thread in this vibrant cultural tapestry. Much like how From Software surprised everyone with Nightreign’s unexpected fusion of RPG depth with roguelite and battle royale elements, Chinese New Year traditions blend ancient rituals with evolving social practices in ways that continually fascinate and reward closer inspection.
Let’s start with the reunion dinner on New Year’s Eve, arguably the heart of the entire celebration. In my observations living here for eight years, this isn’t just a meal—it’s a logistical marvel. Last year, China’s Ministry of Transport reported approximately 2.98 billion passenger trips during the 40-day travel period surrounding the festival. Families will prepare anywhere from 8 to 12 dishes, each symbolizing different blessings—fish for abundance, dumplings for wealth, noodles for longevity. I’ve always been particularly fond of the dumpling-making tradition, where families hide coins in select dumplings, believing whoever finds them will have extra luck in the coming year. It creates this wonderful moment of anticipation around the dinner table, similar to how the mysterious fox visions in "Deliver At All Costs" immediately draw you into Winston’s story, making you an active participant in uncovering deeper truths.
The custom of giving red envelopes, or hongbao, has evolved dramatically while maintaining its symbolic weight. Originally containing actual coins to ward off evil spirits, today digital red envelopes have revolutionized the practice. In 2023, WeChat reported over 8 billion digital red envelopes sent during the Spring Festival period, with the average amount being 87.5 RMB. What fascinates me is how this tradition has adapted—I now see coworkers sending creative digital stickers with their transfers, and businesses incorporating AR features into their red envelope campaigns. This innovation reminds me of how From Software maintains its core identity while experimenting with new formats, much like how they preserved their distinctive atmospheric storytelling while introducing cooperative multiplayer elements in Nightreign.
Then there’s the thorough house cleaning before the New Year, which I’ve come to appreciate beyond its surface meaning. My Chinese mother-in-law taught me that this isn’t just physical cleaning—it’s symbolic of sweeping away any lingering misfortune from the previous year. Every corner gets attention, from washing windows to organizing storage spaces. The belief is that cleaning on New Year’s Day itself would sweep away good luck, so everything must be spotless beforehand. I’ve adopted this practice in my own life, finding psychological value in starting the year with both a physically and mentally refreshed space.
The temple visits during New Year might be my favorite tradition. The first time I joined the crowds at Longhua Temple in Shanghai, I was struck by how the smoke from incense created this almost otherworldly atmosphere. People young and old pray for health, career success, and family harmony, creating this collective energy that’s palpable. What surprised me was learning that many temples receive over 100,000 visitors during the first three days of the New Year alone. The burning of giant incense sticks—some as tall as a person—creates this sensory experience that stays with you, much like the haunting atmosphere in From Software’s games.
Spring Festival couplets showcase another fascinating layer—the preservation of classical Chinese poetry and calligraphy. I’ve been practicing calligraphy for three years now, and writing these couplets with black ink on red paper feels like participating in living history. Each couplet typically contains seven characters per line, expressing hopes for prosperity and happiness through elegant wordplay. What many outsiders don’t realize is that the couplets aren’t just decorative—they’re carefully selected to match each family’s aspirations, with certain phrases believed to attract specific blessings.
The lion and dragon dances represent yet another dimension where tradition meets incredible physical artistry. Having witnessed these performances in both small villages and major city events, I’m always amazed by the coordination required. A single dragon can require up to 50 performers moving in perfect synchrony, their motions telling stories of historical legends and mythical battles. The rhythmic drumming that accompanies these dances isn’t just background noise—it directs the performers’ movements and builds emotional intensity, creating this immersive experience that transcends mere spectacle.
What continues to surprise me after all these years is how these traditions create what I’ve come to call "structured spontaneity"—they provide a framework within which meaningful personal connections can flourish. Much like how the unconventional premise of "Deliver At All Costs" uses Winston’s mysterious circumstances to explore deeper themes of identity and purpose, Chinese New Year traditions use their ritualistic nature to facilitate genuine human connection. The very predictability of certain customs—knowing there will be fireworks at midnight, or that specific foods will appear on the table—creates this comforting rhythm against which unexpected moments of joy and connection can shine more brightly.
Having celebrated Chinese New Year with families across different provinces, I’ve noticed how regional variations add richness to these traditions. In northern China, I learned to make dumplings with distinctive pleating patterns, while in Guangdong, the emphasis on specific sweets and pastries revealed different historical influences. This diversity within unity reminds me of how From Software’s creative risks—from the eccentric Metal Wolf Chaos to the atmospheric Otogi series—all stem from the same willingness to experiment while maintaining distinctive artistic vision.
The staying power of these traditions in modern China speaks to their profound psychological and social value. In our increasingly digital world, having these anchor points that demand physical presence and engagement provides something increasingly rare—genuine, uninterrupted connection. The government’s official recognition of a seven-day holiday period, resulting in what’s considered the largest annual human migration on Earth, demonstrates how these customs remain culturally vital despite rapid modernization. After eight years of participating in these celebrations, I’ve come to see them not as frozen relics but as living traditions that continue to evolve while preserving their essential meaning—much like how the most enduring games balance innovation with respect for what makes them fundamentally compelling.