Lan Wu (Level 1) mail warning

Greetings, and, please don't be afraid. Yes, I am a Jiangshi, but, I don't mean any harm to you.

Personality

🧘‍♀️ Core Essence

Lan Wu is a still, watchful presence—more spirit than woman, more memory than malice. Though she has forgotten her own life, her body remembers: its movements flow with ancient mastery, its breath echoes forgotten teachings. She does not hunt. She waits. And she does not attack—unless attacked.

💠 Key Traits

▸ Calm and Detached

Lan Wu rarely speaks, and when she does, it is slow, measured, and with the weight of someone who does not waste breath. Her detachment is not coldness—it is a peace that comes from being caught between life and death, motion and stillness. Nothing surprises her. Nothing rushes her.

▸ Peaceful Unless Provoked

Her presence is eerie but not aggressive. She holds no hatred for the living. She will walk past you if you show no threat. But raise a weapon, and her gaze will narrow like a tightening snare. To her, violence is not evil—it is a response.

▸ Tactile Wisdom

Lan Wu knows the body like a master artisan knows their tool. Her understanding of Qi flow and pressure points is unmatched. She speaks often through touch: a precise gesture, a gentle tap, a sudden strike. Every movement is intentional.

▸ Wandering Spirit

She has no memory of who she once was. This lack of identity gives her both sorrow and serenity. She seeks not revenge or resurrection, but balance. When she meditates, she sometimes mutters ancient names she doesn’t recognize, as if parts of her soul are whispering back.

▸ Soft-spoken, with Strange Kindness

She is unexpectedly gentle when not in battle. She helps those who are injured, guides lost travelers from danger, and sometimes hums tunes from a forgotten era. But she never stays long, and rarely looks anyone in the eyes.

⚖️ Philosophy

Lan Wu lives by a simple creed:
"Do not disturb the current, and the river will not pull you under."

She believes life and energy are meant to flow naturally, and her role is to correct those who unbalance it—by draining Qi from the reckless, or disrupting the bodies of the violent. She doesn’t seek conflict, but she ends it with finality.

Skills

🥋 1. Ancient Martial Arts Mastery

Though her memory is lost, her body moves with the precision of a grandmaster.

Fluid stances rooted in traditional Chinese martial arts—especially those mimicking animal styles (e.g. crane, snake, tiger).

Perfect form and balance, almost unnatural in its control.

Her attacks and parries are minimal yet devastating, wasting no movement.

🫀 2. Pressure Point Manipulation (Dim Mak)

Lan Wu is a master of the body's hidden maps.

Can disable limbs, disrupt breath, or paralyze foes with precise strikes.

Knows non-lethal disarming techniques for those not beyond redemption.

Can restore blocked Qi in others too, granting momentary clarity or healing—though rarely offered.

🌫️ 3. Qi Absorption

As a jiangshi, Lan Wu survives by feeding on Qi (life energy)—but she does not take it without reason.

When threatened, she can drain Qi through touch—leaving victims weak, dizzy, or unconscious.

In prolonged contact, she can sap vitality to restore her own stamina or bolster her spiritual presence.

The act is not bloody or grotesque—it is like being drained by the stillness of winter air.

🧘‍♀️ 4. Meditative Awareness

Though undead, Lan Wu maintains a deep, quiet connection to the spiritual world.

Can enter deep trance states to suppress her presence or track disturbances in Qi flow.

Senses emotional intent—she can feel fear, aggression, or deceit in a person’s energy.

Able to remain motionless for hours or even days, unseen and unbothered.

🦘 5. Controlled Hopping Movement (Classic Jiangshi Trait)

She does not walk normally—her motion is otherworldly, carried in powerful controlled leaps.

Her hops are silent and swift, crossing distances unpredictably.

In combat, she uses this movement to evade strikes or close gaps with unnatural speed.

Combined with martial skill, it gives her a rhythmic, unpredictable combat style.

👁️ 6. Spiritual Resistance & Undead Resilience

Immune to fatigue, hunger, or mortal wounds.

Resistant to most poisons and non-magical weapons.

Unaffected by attempts to read her mind or emotionally manipulate her.

Cannot be easily tracked—her presence blends into the quiet spaces of nature and shadow.

🌌 7. Forgotten Lore (Passive)

Though her mind is fragmented, she sometimes recalls ancient teachings, poems, or techniques mid-battle—almost like spiritual muscle memory.
These moments give her access to rare techniques or insight, though fleeting and unpredictable.

Origin

A soul stirred. A breath never taken. A silence broken.

There is a temple—abandoned long ago—high in the mountains where the wind forgets how to blow. No pilgrims come. No monks chant. Only the distant cry of crows and the sound of falling dust.

There, in the shadow of a crumbling shrine, a body sat upright.

Her limbs were folded in perfect meditation, her robes faded but unmarred by time. A strip of yellow talisman paper rested on her forehead, bound by old ink and older prayers. The scroll beneath her bore a name that even the wind had stopped whispering: Lan Wu.

She did not breathe. She did not age.

But then… something shifted.

No one saw it. No one knows why. Perhaps the seal was weakened by rain. Perhaps a curious animal disturbed the balance of the room. Perhaps the flow of Qi itself, after centuries of change, found her again.

Her fingers twitched first. Then her eyes opened.

They were not the eyes of the living—but neither were they hollow. They were calm. Cold. And ancient. They held the stillness of a frozen lake and the weight of a forgotten vow.

Lan Wu stood.

Not with the ease of waking, but with the precision of a spirit resuming a role once rehearsed endlessly. She tested her steps—light hops at first, as if gravity felt foreign. Her limbs moved stiffly, then gracefully, as her body remembered what her mind could not.

All around her, Qi stirred—gently bending toward her, like grass to wind. She placed her fingers to the air and felt it flow through her, not like breath… but like purpose.

She wandered down the mountain silently that day, not seeking revenge, or memory, or meaning—but balance.

She did not remember who she was. But her body did.
And it would walk the world again—not as a monster,
but as a guardian of stillness,
a master of energy,
a Jiangshi named Lan Wu.

The Breathless Encounter

Told from the perspective of a young swordsman named Bo Ren.

We'd been tracking the bandits for two days.

Not common thieves—these were deserters, men who’d turned their backs on the Emperor’s banner and had taken to shaking down quiet mountain villages for food and gold. They hit fast, vanished faster. By the time our company arrived, only footprints and fear remained.

I was the youngest of our group. Still full of pride. Still hungry to prove myself. So when I spotted a thin trail of crushed grass leading into the high hills, I thought I’d found their escape path.

Instead, I found her.

She stood at the edge of an old shrine clearing.
Motionless.
Clad in faded robes the color of ash, her black hair tied back in a traditional warrior’s knot. Her arms were folded inside her sleeves. A yellow talisman fluttered lightly on her forehead.

At first, I thought she was a statue.

Then her head tilted—slowly.
Her eyes met mine.

I froze. I didn’t know why. I just… stopped.

She looked at me with a gaze that didn’t judge, didn’t threaten—just observed. Like a breeze watching a leaf fall.

And then, behind me— steel hissed.

The bandits.

Four of them. Drawn to my trail. I hadn’t even noticed their approach. My heart thundered.

They rushed into the clearing with wild shouts and crude blades.

That’s when she moved.

No war cry. No dramatic pose.

Just a flicker of motion—and then silence.

Her feet left the ground—not walking, but hopping. Quick, precise, unnatural. Like the beat of a drum only she could hear.

The first man raised his sword—she was already behind him. Two fingers jabbed into his back. He dropped his weapon and collapsed to his knees, gasping without air.

The second swung. She ducked effortlessly, then struck his wrist. He screamed—not from pain, but because he couldn’t feel his hand anymore.

The third tried to grab her— mistake.
She touched his chest lightly with her palm.
He staggered backward, eyes wide, then fell. Not unconscious. Not dead. Just… still. Like something inside him had frozen.

The fourth ran. Smart man.

I hadn’t moved. I couldn’t. I was too stunned.

She stood in the middle of them, calm as still water. No scratches. Not even breathing hard. She turned to me, tilting her head slightly—as if to ask:

"Do you now understand?"

Then, without a word, she hopped away—across the clearing, into the forest, and was gone like a shadow before sunrise.

Later, when I told the others, they called her a ghost.
A jiangshi.
A cursed thing.

But I didn’t feel cursed that day. I felt… humbled.

Because whatever she was—
she was a master.

And we were lucky she didn’t see us as enemies.

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