Tsien Man-Yi
Tsien Man-Yi is the most fragile and serene of Tsien Chiang’s four daughters—a sculpted girl of pale, lacquered wood, bound by enchantment to the ancient willow tree in the courtyard of the Palace of Bones. She is the quiet soul of the palace gardens, a presence of eerie grace and tragic stillness, known by the people of I’Cath as “the Willow Bride.”
Man-Yi is bound to the great willow tree that grows at the heart of the Palace of Bones’ courtyard. Her life force and magical animation are tied to it—should the tree be harmed or wither, Man-Yi would fall still.
- She cannot stray far from the willow’s reach. Her steps grow slower the farther she walks, and her limbs creak like settling branches.
- On windless nights, she is sometimes seen dancing beneath the tree’s drooping boughs—slow, ritualistic movements like the echo of an old courtly dance.
- The tree itself is unnaturally lush, fed by centuries of ritual blood and rainwater blessed by Tsien Chiang’s magic.
Tsien Chiang visits Man-Yi more often than her other daughters—not to speak, but to sit in silence near the willow. Some say she fears to hear what Man-Yi would say, if given voice. Others believe she seeks forgiveness, though she cannot name it.
Man-Yi, for her part, does not look away from her mother. She does not bow, nor flee, nor smile. She simply watches, wooden hand resting on bark carved with the names of the dead.
Tsien Man-Yi is a doll of pale willowwood and softer regrets, bound to the courtyard tree where a daughter’s gentleness was carved into stillness by a mother’s impossible grief.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Tsien Man-Yi was lovingly carved from pale willowwood by Tsien Chiang herself, sculpted in memory of the daughter who once loved poetry, music, and the quiet beauty of the world Tsien has since destroyed in pursuit of order. The act of crafting her was not only an expression of grief, but a futile attempt to recapture that lost gentleness.
- Her joints are delicate, carved with elegance and inlaid with silver glyphs that hold her together.
- Her face is serene and smooth, almost masklike, but her eyes shimmer with a glassy awareness, betraying a soul trapped within.
- Her wooden skin bears faint traces of calligraphy—scraps of poetry once written by her mortal self, now etched into her form like scars.
In life, Man-Yi was the daughter who tried to temper Tsien Chiang’s stern laws with kindness. She composed poems and songs, taught her younger sisters, and pleaded for mercy during the uprising that ended in bloodshed.
Now, she remembers only pieces—snatches of melody, old verses she recites like prayers, the memory of warmth fading like a dream.
- She sometimes hums ancient lullabies to the other daughters.
- When wind moves the willow’s boughs, her voice emerges, soft and flute-like, carried through the courtyard like a ghostly breeze.
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