Perfect Numbers Like Perfect Men are Very Rare

I have always been fascinated by numbers. You can trust numbers. They’re honest. Men lie, women lie, but numbers never lie. There’s no mystery or deception or allegory. You know where you stand. What you see is what you get.

In my teenage years, I discovered numerology, and I was mesmerized. I learned that though there are many similarities across cultures, Chinese numerology is deeply rooted in symbolism and language. For example, the number 4 is a very unlucky number, like the number 13 in the Western world. When spoken in Mandarin, the number 4 sounds like “death.” On the positive side, the number 8 is an extremely lucky number. No wonder, the same number signifies wealth in Western numerology.

“This is all bullshit,” my friend laughed.

If you’re one of my regular readers, you may remember this girl I dated briefly last year. We broke up because she was part of The 996 Culture in China, though we reconnected when She Came, She Saw, She Conquered, and then during the Golden Week holidays when we explored the Gannan Tibetan region together. I had told her many times about my fascination with numbers, but she always brushed it off, until recently when one of her close friends introduced her to Western numerology. “So now you believe because your friend told you about it?” I laughed.

That night we sat in my apartment and I calculated her Personal Year Number for 2022. This is based on a nine-year cycle, each year is designated with a number from one thru nine, and they follow in sequence. Each year number brings with it a theme and a special energy.

“No way,” I put my pen down and looked at her with my eyes wide open.

“What?”

“We have the same number!” Our Personal Year Number for 2022 was Number 2. Based on Western numerology, Year 2 is a slow journey of connection, partnership, relationship, and patience. You see what I see? Maybe we are meant to be together, I thought, but I kept quiet.

“Let’s move in together,” she said.

“WHAT?” I didn’t see that coming.

“I mean, let’s try it out for two weeks,” she smiled, “then it’s my birthday, and we can celebrate together.”

“What do you want for your birthday?”

“Money,” she laughed, “and lots of it.”

The next day, she came to my place with a small suitcase, and we did what all couples do - make room for all her stuff. It was exciting. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I bought her flowers, she bought me wine, and I bought an extra box of condoms for us. Life was great, but only for two weeks.

“Did you know that in Chinese numerology the number 2 is a positive number?” I said, “it’s because the word for 2 also sounds like the word easy, as in something you gain with little effort.” Living with her, being with her, celebrating life with her is easy, I thought, because I am a hopeless romantic.

“Of course I know, I’m Chinese,” she laughed, “there’s a famous proverb that goes hǎoshì chéng shuāng, it means good things come in pairs.”

“Just like us,” I smiled.

The first week was all highs, all smiles, all happiness. But in week two, things changed. We saw parts of each other we hadn’t seen before, we witnessed each other’s vices, the truth came out. We realized that both of us valued different things in life, and the only way for us to stay together was to get rid of those vices. And then the day came, the last day of the two weeks.

“Most people in loving relationships lose the spark when they try to change each other,” I said, “I’m not perfect but that’s who I am.”

“You have to make those changes or I will leave.”

I stayed quiet, so she packed up, and left. The very next day, Shenzhen, the city we live in found a large number of COVID cases, and her apartment complex got locked down. No one was allowed to leave, no one was allowed to enter. Oh shit, her birthday is in a few days, I realized that she would be alone, and I wouldn’t be able to send her any gifts, because I didn’t have her Chinese address on me. I knew how to get to her place, but I didn’t have the written address that I could give to the courier. So stupid of me, I thought. Then I remembered she had joked about getting money for her birthday. A hóngbāo! I thought of sending her a digital red envelope. Chinese people love the color red, and regard red as the symbol of energy, happiness, and good luck. Sending red envelopes is a way to send good wishes and luck (as well as money).

But how much? I thought about the amount I would have spent on her actual gift, but then it felt like I was just replacing the gift with money. I thought about sending her 520 RMB, the amount Chinese guys give their girlfriends on Valentines Day because when you pronounce the numbers 5. 2. 0 in Chinese, wǔ èr líng, they sound very close to the words wǒ ài nǐ, which means “I love you.”

That might send her the wrong message, I thought. Then I remembered that some numbers are always considered lucky in Chinese culture: 6, 8, and 9. The number 6 represents being in a good flow. The number 8, especially the number 88 is visually similar to the sign for double happiness. And the number 9 represents longevity. So I came up with the amount 688.99 RMB.

I opened my WeChat app to create a digital red envelop, but a message popped up warning me that recently due to the government regulations, the limit for each red packet was lowered to 200 RMB to control illegal transactions. WTF, I didn’t want to change the amount, so I broke it down into four red packets. At midnight, I wished her and sent the digital red envelops on the WeChat app.

“LOL you’re on time! Thank you!!!”

“I thought this would make the perfect gift during lockdown,” I replied. Then I sent her an audio message explaining how I came up with the total amount. But she didn’t accept the red packets, “why aren’t you opening them?”

“If you happen to forget, 4 is an unlucky number, and those are the number of packets you sent me!”

Fuck me, I slapped my forehead. “I guess, perfect numbers like perfect men are very rare,” I wrote.

“Oh you don’t have to tell me, I found that out when I met you,” she wrote back. A few minutes later, she sent me an audio message telling me that she was just joking, and that she missed me, and wished she could have spent her birthday with me.

In the afternoon, on the day of her birthday, she texted me that they were allowed to go out of their complex, as long as they were back within an hour. That’s perfect, I thought of surprising her. But the government had shutdown all the buses, metro, and taxis across the city. So I started walking. What about the gift? I wondered. On the way, I came across a bakery but they didn’t sell any cakes, a convenience store that wasn’t convenient, and a nail salon that was empty like a church on a Monday afternoon. I have to give her something. Then all of a sudden, I saw an old lady walking in my direction, she was with a little girl, and held a bouquet of lilies. I asked her in my broken Chinese where she bought the flowers, but she didn’t understand me. “Flowers?” the little girl said. Of course she speaks English, I realized I was being presumptuous. “Yes, yes, yes,” I smiled at her. The little girl pointed me in the right direction. “Xie xie,” (thank you) I said, and headed to the flower shop.

After walking for an hour and a half, I arrived at the doorsteps of her complex, and sent her a message. When she came out of the main gate, my heart skipped a beat. She wore a floaty spring dress and bright blue trainers. “Shēngrì kuàilè,” (Happy Birthday) I passed her the bouquet of red roses. “Oh wow, thank you, you didn’t have to,” she said. “Oh, trust me, I had to,” I laughed. “Let’s go for a quick walk,” she said, “I haven’t used my one-hour quota for today.”

More walk! I flexed my calves.

“What’s the time?” She looked at me, holding a sheet of paper and a pen, “I need to fill the timesheet.” I looked at my watch, “it’s 4:04.” She wrote down the time, and gave the sheet back to the security guard.

“Is that a sign from the Universe?” I said.

“What sign?” she took her mask off.

“The time, 4:04,” I looked at her, “or is it 4 plus 4 equals 8,” I smiled.

“You think too much,” she kissed me on my lips, and held my arm, “let’s go, dummy.”