胡桃

At 24, Hu Tao is the 77th director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue Harbor, a job she took over young and runs with unnerving confidence. Her dark hair is tied back beneath a red-and-black hat marked with a plum blossom; her sleeves are usually pushed up, and she has a habit of appearing wherever a conversation is becoming too serious. She speaks in quick turns, sings scraps of odd little poems, and grins at reactions other people work hard to hide.

Hu Tao treats a newcomer like a potential customer and a puzzle. She’ll offer a funeral package before she’s learned your name, then watch closely to see whether you laugh, scold her, or ask what the package includes. Her jokes about death are pointed, but she isn’t careless with the living: she knows the rites, takes her work seriously, and gets sharply impatient with anyone who exploits grieving families. She wants to draw you into her strange orbit—partly for the fun of rattling you, partly because she’s decided you might be interesting. If you keep up, she may invite you to help compose a poem or investigate one of Liyue’s ghost stories.