Lucky things, chosen in Taiwan for you

At wealth temples across Taiwan, like Honglu Di on the hill above Taipei, people climb hundreds of steps to ask the gods for good business. Shopkeepers come before opening a new store; taxi drivers come before the New Year. Nobody leaves without first asking with the moon blocks: two red crescents tossed to the floor, one up and one down means yes.

In Dadaocheng, the old harbor district of Taipei, a small temple holds one of the most famous matchmakers in Asia: Yue Lao, the Old Man under the Moon. Thousands of couples credit him with their marriage and come back with wedding cakes to say thank you. Singles bring their name, birthday and address so he knows exactly who to look for.

For two thousand years, emperors, poets and painters signed their work not with a signature but with a red seal. Taiwan still runs on them: people stamp bank forms and wedding papers with a seal carved just for them. Ours are carved for you in Taiwan, one character at a time.

In Taiwan, children practice calligraphy until their wrist learns the brush. A name written by hand is a gift: the stroke order, the pressure, the pause at the end of each line. We write yours the same way, in one breath, and sign it with a seal.

An old story says the Old Man under the Moon ties an invisible red thread between people who are meant to meet. In Taiwan, red string is worn for safety, for love and for exams. Ours is knotted by hand, and the last knot is tied with a wish.

In Taiwanese temples, charms (fu) are written in red ink on yellow paper and folded into a red pouch. People keep them in their wallet, car or school bag. Yours is drawn with your name and zodiac sign, then printed on heavy cotton paper.

Taiwanese grandmothers sew small pouches to hold a charm, a coin or a pinch of tea for a grandchild going far away. The knot on the front is the endless knot: a line with no beginning and no end, for luck that does not run out.

Every Lunar New Year, families in Taiwan paste red couplets around the front door and hang 福 (fortune) upside down, because 'upside down' sounds like 'arrived'. Fortune has arrived. Ours are printed in red and gold for the Year of the Goat.

Before a temple or a house was built in old China, a master walked the land with a luopan, the original compass, reading 24 directions and the eight trigrams. Our site is named after it. This small one really works, and looks good on a desk.

The pixiu is a mythical beast with a big mouth and, the legend says, no way out: it eats gold and never lets it go. That is why business owners across Taiwan wear one, to bring money in and keep it from leaking out.

The three-legged toad was once a greedy demon, until an immortal named Liu Hai tamed it with a string of coins. Now it spits out gold instead of eating it. Place it facing into the room, as if it just hopped in with your fortune.

These five coins come from five Qing dynasty emperors whose reigns were the empire's strongest years, when trade boomed. Their combined energy, the old saying goes, guards a home and draws in wealth. Hang them by the door.

The gourd (hulu) sounds like 福祿, fortune and prosperity. Old healers carried medicine in dried gourds, so it also became a symbol of health. In Taiwan you'll see brass gourds hanging by beds and on car mirrors.

Shopkeepers in Taiwan keep a citrine near the cash register and call it the merchant's stone. Its golden color is said to hold the warmth of the sun and to bring steady, honest income, not just luck.

Every Taiwanese home has a wealth corner, the diagonal corner from the front door. Families keep it bright and tidy and place a few chosen objects there. This set is the classic trio, with a card showing exactly where each goes.

In Taiwan you never give a gift empty-handed and never wrap it in white. Red means joy, gold means wealth, and a gift for someone you love carries their name. This box puts all of it together.