FACAI-Chinese New Year Traditions: How to Celebrate with Lucky Decorations

The first time I experienced Chinese New Year in my grandmother’s house in Shanghai, it wasn’t just the red lanterns or the smell of jiaozi that struck me—it was the rhythm of it all. The careful placement of decorations, the almost meditative repetition of traditions, and the way every object in the home seemed to hum with intention. It reminded me, strangely enough, of a video game I recently played—Creatures of Ava. In that game, the protagonist doesn’t fight; she navigates, evades, and cleanses. There’s action, but no violence. And that’s what struck me about FACAI, the Chinese tradition of “getting wealth” or “making money” during the Lunar New Year. We often think of luck as something we chase or capture, but what if it’s more like a dance? A delicate, non-confrontational interaction with the world around us?

Let me explain. In Creatures of Ava, your goal isn’t to defeat enemies but to heal them. You dodge, leap, and roll—never dealing damage, only restoring balance. FACAI traditions operate on a similar principle. We don’t force luck into our lives; we invite it. We arrange decorations not as demands to the universe, but as gestures of alignment. Take the classic Chinese red envelopes, hongbao. We fill them with crisp new bills—preferably in even numbers, like 88 or 168 RMB, because the number 8 sounds like “prosperity” in Mandarin. But it’s not just about the money inside. The act of giving is a form of social evasion, in a way—a graceful sidestep around awkwardness, a way to maintain harmony while still facilitating flow. I remember one year, my aunt gave me a hongbao with a 100 RMB note folded into the shape of a gold ingot. It wasn’t the monetary value—it was the care in the folding, the unspoken wish for my success. That’s the “dodge and leap” of FACAI in action.

Then there’s the décor itself. Red lanterns, couplets with gold calligraphy, bowls of tangerines with leaves still attached—these aren’t passive ornaments. They’re active participants in the choreography of luck. In my own apartment last year, I decided to go all out. I hung up five different types of FACAI-themed items: a wealth vase near the entrance (filled with rice, coins, and semi-precious stones—I used 36 pieces of jade, to be exact, because 3 and 6 together symbolize growth), a gold-painted cat with a waving paw, a string of fake gold ingots over the kitchen doorway, a painting of a carp—since carp represent perseverance and success—and of course, the unavoidable red paper cuttings of the character 福 (fu), for good fortune, placed upside down because “upside down” in Chinese sounds like “arrive.” It sounds like a lot, and it was. But the process felt less like decorating and more like setting up a stage for opportunity to enter. Much like Vic in Creatures of Ava wields her staff not as a weapon but as a tool for cleansing, each decoration serves as a focal point for shifting energy, not dominating it.

I’ve noticed, over the years, that the most effective FACAI practices are the ones that mirror this nonviolent engagement. For example, the tradition of “sweeping” the house before New Year’s Eve isn’t just cleaning—it’s clearing space, both physically and metaphorically. You’re not attacking dirt; you’re making room for blessings. In 2022, I tracked my family’s spending on New Year decorations—roughly 1,200 RMB, which is about 15% more than the previous year, partly because of inflation and partly because my mother insisted on buying an extra wealth god statue. But the point isn’t the expense. It’s the intentionality. When you place a bowl of candy in the living room, you’re ensuring that the “sweetness” of life enters the mouths of your guests. When you display a plate of pomelos, you’re hoping for abundance and unity—the fruit’ Chinese name, youzi, sounds like “to have children,” but also promotes togetherness. Every item is a step in a dance, a dodge against misfortune, an invitation to prosperity.

Some people might say this is superstition. And sure, on the surface, it is. But having celebrated over 30 Chinese New Years—and having seen firsthand how these rituals affect mood, family dynamics, and even business opportunities—I’m convinced there’s a deeper design at work. It’s a system built on symbolic action, not literal transaction. You don’t bribe the universe; you align with it. In Creatures of Ava, the more you evade and cleanse, the more the world opens up to you. New paths appear. Hidden creatures trust you. The same happens when you engage with FACAI traditions mindfully. Last year, after I rearranged my wealth corner according to Feng Shui principles—placing a purple crystal tree in the southeast sector of my home—I landed two new freelance contracts within two weeks. Coincidence? Absolutely. But it felt like the universe was rolling out a red carpet, and I’d simply remembered to wear the right shoes.

What I love most about FACAI customs is how they turn the home into a living, breathing entity. It’s not just a place you live in; it’s a partner in your journey toward abundance. Every red envelope exchanged, every lantern lit, every dumpling eaten—it’s all part of a larger, graceful avoidance of lack. We aren’t fighting poverty; we’re dancing with prosperity. And in that sense, celebrating Chinese New Year with lucky decorations isn’t about forcing your way to wealth. It’s about learning the steps, staying light on your feet, and trusting that the music will carry you forward. Just like in Creatures of Ava, the real victory isn’t in the conquest, but in the connection. And if you ask me, that’s a tradition worth keeping alive.