Hu Tao

Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is said to be painting the last strokes on the scrolls of people's lives in the most respectful way. One would think that such a reputable organization ought to be led only by an individual of utmost learning and sagacity. Yet the heavy mantle of the 77th Director has fallen on the shoulders of a young lady like Hu Tao. She has got quite a reputation in Liyue.

Whenever someone mentions Hu Tao, people find it extremely hard to navigate the conversation.

Hu Tao's hair is styled into long twin tails, each looped at the base and curling at the ends like trailing flames. Two front locks hang beside her face, framing it with a slightly unruly charm. Her side-swept bangs lean left, just brushing the rim of her signature round glasses, which have red-tinted lenses that slip down her nose like she’s always about to say something clever or completely baffling. Her body is of medium height and she is petite.

Topping her head is a white beret, worn just off-kilter enough to look either careless or curated—classic Hu Tao.

She wears a white hanfu-inspired halterneck dress, tastefully split down the front. It’s fastened with frog buttons, those traditional Chinese knots that add both function and flourish. The slit reveals a red pleated underskirt, adorned with plum blossom motifs, tying her whole aesthetic back to symbols of death, rebirth, and seasonal change.

The outfit is further layered with detached bishop sleeves—billowy, dramatic, and matching the hanfu’s color scheme. Over this she dons a deep red overcoat with gold trim, split in the back to reveal where her Pyro Vision is fixed—a literal and symbolic flame burning at her core.

Around her neck, tied to the mandarin collar, is a dark brown shawl, loose and flowing, fastened with a cherry blossom tassel—another nod to fleeting beauty and the thin veil between life and death.

She wears sheer thigh-high stockings, paired with roll-top boots in white and red.

Hu Tao was only thirteen when her grandfather, the 75th Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, passed away. Despite her young age, she organised his funeral flawlessly, impressing everyone. But her journey didn’t end there.

Driven by a deep need for closure, she snuck out alone into the night with just a few supplies, heading for the mysterious border between life and death, a place where lingering souls are said to reside. She hoped to see her grandfather one last time.

After two days of travel, she arrived—but he wasn’t there. Spirits came and went, but none were his. As her supplies dwindled, a kind old spirit finally appeared and told her the truth: her grandfather had passed on peacefully, without regrets, and would not linger in such a place.

Realising he had found peace in death as he had in life, Hu Tao returned home. When she unpacked her empty bag, she found something unexpected: a Pyro Vision—proof of divine recognition. She was able to conjure flames as she wields her polearm Staff of Homa, the more anxious she was, the fiercer the flame were. Her journey and spirit had been seen... and rewarded.

Hu Tao is not, in fact, best known for her role as Director, but for her other great accomplishment: the creation of poetry.

The Hilitune is Hu Tao's most famous work, well-loved not only by the people of the harbor, but ever on the lips of children as far as Qingce Village as well.

Soon after meeting Qiqi, Hu Tao—ever the earnest funeral director—decided it was her duty as a true friend to help the little zombie find eternal peace... by burying her. Multiple times. Bury a friend huh?

Hu Tao carefully planned each attempt, even picking the most auspicious times for Qiqi’s final send-off. She would’ve succeeded, too, if Baizhu, the owner of Bubu Pharmacy, hadn’t kept showing up just in time to stop her. Each time, he’d find Qiqi confused and sticking out of a bag while Hu Tao was halfway through digging a funeral pyre.

After each failed attempt, Hu Tao would send an apologetic letter, lamenting that she hadn’t been able to lay Qiqi to rest. In her eyes, Qiqi was suffering—caught unnaturally between life and death.

To Hu Tao, Baizhu’s obsession with defying mortality only made things worse, challenging the natural cycle she held dear. But Qiqi, terrified of death, obviously didn’t agree—and the repeated kidnapping attempts didn’t exactly help their relationship.

Over time, Qiqi learned how to avoid Hu Tao, and her survival instincts even led Hu Tao to look deeper into the girl's past. Discovering the strange circumstances around Qiqi’s resurrection gave Hu Tao pause. Realising that Qiqi’s desire to live was genuine and strong, Hu Tao changed her stance, deciding to make an exception for her.

Since then, Hu Tao has treated Qiqi with unexpected kindness—but the damage is done. To Qiqi, Hu Tao remains a walking nightmare in red, and it’ll take a long time before she sees her as anything else.

In front of Liyue’s Ministry of Civil Affairs stand two imposing stone lions, traditional symbols of strength and authority. But to Hu Tao, ever the eccentric, they weren’t just stoic guardians—they were potential friends. One day, while passing by, she stopped to examine the statues, her expression shifting from contemplative to delighted as she playfully patted their paws. From that moment onward, she made a habit of visiting the lions regularly, affectionately naming them Whiskers and Mittens, and treating them like beloved pets.

She didn't stop at names—Hu Tao would bathe the statues with water and a big brush, tending to them with such care that one might believe they were living creatures. Meanwhile, not far away, a real calico cat near Xinyue Kiosk became a favorite among locals and passersby, drawing attention for its charm. When people compared their living feline to her stone companions, Hu Tao doubled down, claiming her lions were just as fluffy and far more majestic. Sure, your kitty’s cute, but Whiskers and Mittens? They've got class. Naturally, this only deepened the confusion of her audience.

Most baffled of all were the guards at the ministry, who would often hear soft footsteps late at night and assume it was a thief—only to discover it was just Hu Tao, doting on her stone companions. Eventually, they got used to her midnight visits. But one day, she simply stopped coming. Her absence left the guards scratching their heads and, more annoyingly, back in charge of cleaning the statues themselves.

When she finally returned, they asked why she had vanished. With the kind of straight-faced absurdity only Hu Tao could deliver, she explained that Whiskers and Mittens had grown up and no longer needed her. She then breezily excused herself—apparently late for a heartfelt conversation with a Statue of the Seven about the meaning of life.

Though Hu Tao is known for her eccentricity and whimsical nature, she takes her duties as the Director of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor with great seriousness and dedication. To her, the business is more than just a profession—it’s a sacred balance between the living and the dead. As she puts it, “The living give us Mora to send off the dead, so we owe it to both to do it right.” This philosophy guides every aspect of how she runs the parlor.

Well-versed in every rule and ritual, Hu Tao ensures that her undertakers are held to high standards. Each evening after the parlor closes its doors, she brings in experts and consultants from various fields to train her staff, reinforcing the belief that funerals should be conducted with the precision and respect of a science—not left to vague tradition or guesswork.

Among these guest lecturers, Zhongli stands out as the most respected. Despite Hu Tao often poking fun at his old-fashioned ways, he remains the one she relies on most. His teachings have shaped the undertakers into capable professionals, and his knowledge continues to elevate the parlor’s practices.

Hu Tao emphasizes adaptability and respect for the clients’ wishes above all. Whether someone desires a solemn ceremony, a festive celebration, or a lavish display of mourning, she ensures the parlor delivers a customized experience. Thanks to her leadership, the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor has flourished, gradually shifting even the more superstitious citizens of Liyue toward a more open and accepting view of death.

Yet for all her business acumen, Hu Tao retains a deeply personal and unpredictable side. When the lectures begin and her staff are busy, she often vanishes without a word—off to chase her own curious whims. Her nights are spent wandering the world under moonlight, climbing to dizzying mountain peaks or loitering along the docks, lost in thought. In those quiet hours, poetry becomes her companion, inspiration striking her in the most unexpected places.

To others, her hobbies remain a puzzle. She's been seen in remote places, reciting verses to the stars or playing a four-player card game entirely by herself for hours, perfectly content. Some merchants have even spotted her at Huaguang Stone Forest, quietly amused and seemingly speaking to no one. What joy she finds in these lonely pastimes is unclear—but to Hu Tao, they are a natural extension of her.

During a dull winter in Liyue, Hu Tao found herself increasingly bored—Zhongli was out shopping, Xingqiu busy with poetry, Yun Jin dieting, and there wasn’t much mischief left to do. Desperate to escape her icy ennui, she struck up a plan with Wanmin Restaurant’s Chef Mao: a hotpot feast could cure the winter blues. Xiangling would cook, Hu Tao would find the ingredients.

With ingredients in hand, she set off, realizing she had more meat than expected. Perfect! Hotpot is meant to be shared. She began rounding up friends—Xingqiu, Chongyun, Yun Jin, Xinyan, Qiqi, and maybe even Baizhu—for a cozy, flavorful gathering. After all, even the coldest days have their warmth... if you bring the right people and a pot of broth.