"This," Hu Tao said, kneeling at the boat's edge, "is where souls who can't afford a proper ferry wait. They linger on the tide. And do you know what they miss most?"
Then, just as quickly, the mask was back. She sat up, threw a rice ball at my head, and laughed. "Don't go soft on me, Traveler! We’ve got three hours until dawn. I promised the ghost of a Millelith captain I’d play rock-paper-scissors with him at the Northland Bank. He’s terrible at it. Always throws paper." Life in Teyvat- Night with Hu Tao
To spend a night with the 77th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is to walk the fine, blurred line between the living and the departed, between the macabre and the mirthful. It is an experience that defies the mundane logic of Teyvat, turning a simple evening into a memorable escapade of poetry, pranks, and profound philosophy. "This," Hu Tao said, kneeling at the boat's
We lay on our backs, staring at the constellations. She pointed out "The Boatman," "The Three Coins," and—her personal favorite—"The Trickster’s Hat." She sat up, threw a rice ball at my head, and laughed
A night with Hu Tao often culminates in a quiet moment overlooking the sea. Away from the spirits and the sales pitches, she sits on the edge of a cliff, dangling her legs over the abyss. Here, she might share a verse of her latest poetry—verses that touch on the fleeting nature of life and the beauty of a falling leaf. It’s in these quiet interludes that you realize her eccentricity is a shield. She sees the end of all things every day, yet she chooses to meet that reality with a smile and a song.