New Year's Eve 2026

Childhood Chengdu New Year Customs Inherited in Bamboo Branch Lyrics
Written by Wei Zi in San Francisco, New Year’s Eve 2026

（2）Core Theme: “New Year’s Eve”

Lunar month thirty, New Year’s Eve
Having waited all year, it’s finally time for the reunion feast. The first climax of the New Year arrives.
The core of New Year’s Eve consists of three movements: “Sending Gifts for the Year” (kuì suì), “Parting with the Year” (bié suì), and “Staying Up” (shǒu suì). The great Song Dynasty poet Su Shi from Meizhou, Sichuan, juxtaposed these three in his “Three Poems on the Year’s End” and its preface.

[Jìn] Zhou Chu’s Records of Local Customs: On New Year’s Eve, staying up—a custom of Shu. At year’s end people exchange gifts and greetings, called “kuì suì.” Inviting each other with wine and food is “bié suì.” On New Year’s Eve, staying awake until dawn is called “shǒu suì.”

Let us follow these poems and the vivid records of Chengdu New Year Bamboo Branch Lyrics as we spend Old Chengdu’s New Year’s Eve, progressing through its many customs from morning to night:

Early in the morning, Chengdu people followed the customs passed down from their ancestors and busied themselves step by step. Of course, they didn’t forget to dress themselves from head to toe in fresh new clothes before hurrying to “post the character Fú,” “replace door gods,” “prepare year wine,” “make New Year’s feast,” “kuì suì,” “bié suì,” “bid farewell to the year,” “give lucky money,” “light against pests,” “seal the well,” “welcome the Kitchen God,” and “stay up.”

“Posting the character Fú”
Peach charms half old, half new, the lunar calendar marks the New Year today.
The girl next door doesn’t know spring has come; winter plum reaches toward her window.

“Replacing door gods”
The guardians at the door are imposing; though made of paper, they show devotion.
As the year draws near, the host rewards their favor—all receive new brocade robes.

“Preparing year wine”—wine for the New Year’s feast and ancestral offerings. Over the years, customs have changed. Chengdu was originally the capital of white liquor; Wenjun wine, with “Wenjun at the counter, Xiangru washing vessels,” became an enduring tale.
Later spread the medicinal wine said to be created by the Han Dynasty physician Hua Tuo: “In ancient times there was one who lived in a thatched hut; each New Year’s Eve he gave his neighbors a packet of medicine to soak in the well. On New Year’s Day they drew the water and placed it in wine vessels; the whole family drank it and did not fall ill to plague.” Its formula included rhubarb, atractylodes, cinnamon, saposhnikovia, Sichuan pepper, aconite, monkshood, etc. Drinking this wine became widespread.

Particularly notable: when drinking Tusu wine, the youngest child drinks first, and the elders last, each drinking a little. Dong Xun explained: “The young gain a year, hence they are congratulated; the old lose a year, hence they are ‘penalized.’”

Su Shi in his later years was broad-minded; he believed that as long as one was healthy, he didn’t mind being last to drink Tusu. In his poem “Spending New Year’s Eve in the Wilderness Outside Changzhou” he wrote:
If only poverty and sorrow can buy lasting health, I won’t refuse to drink Tusu last.

Su Zhe also wrote in “On New Year’s Day”:
Year after year I drink Tusu last; I hardly notice I’m past seventy.

Because of this novel drinking order and sentiment, Tusu wine’s popularity replaced part of “year wine” and remained in vogue through the Qing.
We in America also follow the ancients at New Year’s, continuing the folk custom, making Tusu wine at home, and writing poems for fun:

【Seven Regulated Verses - Year Wine Tusu】 Wei Zi
New Year’s Eve Tusu wine at the wellhead, first dawn stars over the western tower.
Rooster crows, we toast the fledgling year; firecrackers raise cups to the elders.
Empty vigor, humble heart, weathered bones; light steps on waves, winter refinement.
Chanting plum stump, ancient simplicity as offering; singing pure heart incense softly lingering.

“Making the New Year’s feast”—the heaviest task of the day. Most Chengdu people know Sichuan cuisine by ear and eye. The feast, according to each family’s means, spared no cost—cold dishes: numb-spicy chicken, shredded rabbit, camphor-tea duck, cured meat and sausage. The head dish: whole braised fish, essential. Dozens of dishes large and small, fearing they couldn’t do enough.
Su Shi’s “Kuì Suì” records two customs that continue: first, rich and poor alike observe that the feast must include a large carp for “surplus year after year.” Second, at Spring Festival a pair of rabbits is kept in a cage—because rabbits reproduce so abundantly, a pair signifies “auspicious happiness” and “marital bliss.” Families without rabbits hung a painting of two rabbits in the house.

“Kuì suì”—prelude to the feast. Relatives, friends, and neighbors exchange gifts. Su Shi sent his “Three Poems on the Year’s End” to his brother Su Zhe as his “kuì suì” gift.

“Bié suì”—the main event, the reunion dinner. Wine and food invite the family to “gather young and old to drink.” It only begins when the whole family has returned, continuing until the evening’s vigil. As Chengdu New Year Bamboo Branch Lyrics records:
One feast sends off the fading year; cured delicacies and fresh dishes fill the tables.
Joy year upon year fills the hall; the whole family gathers in reunion.

“Bidding farewell to the year”—the moment children most anticipate: kowtowing to elders and receiving red envelopes.

“Lucky money”—money elders give to the young, placed under the pillow. Both are the grandest, most festive events of the day. Qing dynasty Xiao Ting’s Chengdu Bamboo Branch Lyrics captures it vividly:

Children perform rites and say farewell to the year; elders distribute lucky money.
Seeing a brand-new queue, they kowtow, receive it, and rejoice.

In Chengdu Bamboo Branch Lyrics lucky money is called “hanging money”:

Visiting relatives and friends, paying New Year calls—who treats most thoroughly?
Cheapest is returning to mother’s house; children collect the most hanging money.
Rice noodles delicate, rice leaves fresh; fruit and cakes arranged for the New Year.
To make all the children happy, they share out hanging money on New Year’s Eve.

Chengdu people had two more tasks before “staying up”:

“Lighting against pests”—lighting candles in the kitchen, bathroom, toilet, courtyard, well platform, etc., left burning all night. Elders said this drove away ghosts carrying disease and misfortune. When I was young we used electric lights left on all night; when I woke the lights were still on.

“Sealing the well”—each family filled their water vats from the well in the back yard, then covered the well. Elders said this honored the well spirit. Of course it was also fire prevention.

In fact, at year’s end all trades had their “sealing” rituals—merchants sealed their shops, painters sealed their brushes—this kind of ceremony was also called vacation. Years later I experienced “sealing the brush” at year’s end—a reverence for one’s craft. After painting all year, reserving a brief period to seal the brush was much like “leaving blank” in Chinese painting—gathering qi for a fresh start. Spreading rice paper in the first days to paint brought a special feeling of opening the brush for the New Year.

“Welcoming the Kitchen God”—at 11 p.m. (zǐ hour), ancients called “crossing zǐ.” Prepare cakes, fruit, tangyuan, and incense. Perform the ceremony welcoming the Kitchen God home: remove the old image, hang the new one, symbolizing the Kitchen King’s return from heaven. Offer worship, pray for favorable weather and ample food and clothing in the new year, and remind oneself to accumulate virtue and good deeds, praying that goodness be rewarded. (Bamboo Branch Lyrics, Welcoming the Kitchen God)

Yellow paper for soot fills the city; everywhere they cry “kitchen horse.”
Families offering sacrifice all come to buy—one sent off, one welcomed.

When the rites are complete, the vigil begins.

“Staying up”—said to have arisen in the Han dynasty. Children “stay up” to “pray for elders’ longevity.” Even emperors valued this custom. Tang emperor Li Shimin wrote one of the most jubilant “Staying Up” poems:

Evening light slants through the fragrant hall; the year’s glory fills the ornate palace.
Cold departs with winter snow; warmth brings spring breezes.
Steps sweet with plum blossoms; platters of flowers, candles rolled red.
Together we rejoice in old year and new, welcoming and seeing off the night.

[Northern Song] Poet Su Shi, “Staying Up”:
To know the fading year is like a snake toward a ravine.
Its long body half submerged—who can hold back its intent?
And if you try to grasp its tail, however hard, what use?
Children stubbornly refuse to sleep; together we watch the night in mirth.
Morning rooster, do not crow; we fear the watchman’s added drum.
Sitting long, lamp ashes fall; we rise and see the Dipper slant.
Will next year not bring another year? Our hearts fear time wasted.
Exert ourselves to the full tonight—the young may still be praised.

At the poem’s opening Su Zi reflects: the year’s end is like a great snake in a valley; its long body already half hidden. You want to seize what remains, but however hard you try, nothing avails. He continues the philosophy from the second poem of “Three Poems on the Year’s End,” “Bié Suì”:

“People parting may meet again; the year’s passage—who can pursue it?”

Friends parting temporarily will reunite; time passed can never be recovered. He issues a reminder: staying up is for people to cherish time, to tell the young how precious the hours are.

“Exert ourselves to the full tonight—the young may still be praised”

Understand the meaning of bidding the old farewell and welcoming the new. But on this night of family reunion, some drift far from home unable to return. At the vigil they cannot avoid mixed feelings of melancholy. The Tang poem “Staying Up Beyond the Mountains” captures this:

Winter departs as the night watch ends; spring returns with the Dipper’s turn.
Cold and warmth divide one night; the traveler’s temples age two years.

Chengdu people of old rarely traveled far; those away rushed home by the twentieth of the twelfth month. On New Year’s Eve they mostly sat around the fire telling stories until midnight firecrackers sent off the old and welcomed the new, or stayed awake until dawn. Children clutching lucky money soon fell asleep in elders’ arms; heating by the fire was essential for the vigil. In old times they mostly burned tree stumps—such fuel produced long-lasting coals that lasted until dawn. Qing Liu Yuan’s poem records:

The stump burns out, the year has ended; a thousand homes rush with firecrackers.
Incense lit, they compete to open doors early; today we welcome the gods—they should face east.

Later, playing mahjong while staying up became popular—lidded flower tea, midnight snacks—and before you knew it the year had turned in a daze. Sichuan Bamboo Branch Lyrics puts it thus:

Last night’s lamps and fires clearly remain, yet someone mistakes it for last year.

At the turn of old year and new, people reflect on time fleeting like a glimpse through a crack, wish each other to cherish the present, and place hope and spur in the future. [Tang] Shi Qing’s “New Year’s Eve” is this sincere, plain portrait:

This year ends tonight; tomorrow urges the new.
Cold departs in one night; spring follows the fifth watch.
Complexion shifts in the air; countenance returns in shadow.
People don’t notice the scenery—already it touches the plum in the back garden.

Poems on staying up, written by those who stayed up, their songs at the junction of new year and old—drowned by the crack of dawn firecrackers and New Year’s greetings.
Unknowingly, it is already the first day of the New Year.

[Childhood Chengdu New Year Customs Inherited in Bamboo Branch Lyrics] Part Two (First Half):
Please see “New Year’s Day” next.
Wei Zi, written in San Francisco, New Year’s Eve 2026
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