The knowledge to create simulacra with such life was lost in the fall of Surgajaya, meaning Tjong must come from the old Empire, though he has no recollection of it. Until recently, he’d spent his entire life on Tamanawan with Puri and Meridian, where he serves as a dwarapala in lieu of Yani. In a world that could fit atop a thumbtack, his ego chafes against the walls. Tjong thinks himself himself righteous, but he is ultimately a blind follower, foolishly naive about the purpose he serves. Then again, what else is there for him to pursue but his purpose?

Tjong is steadfast, stubborn, and starts swinging before he asks any questions – if he is to do something, he’ll do it with his whole chest. He leaves destruction in his wake, but his smile is devoid of malice. While a victory without honor is no victory at all, he is not shy nor humble about his power. Having spent much of his limited free time dueling with the great behemoths of the astral realm, he does not conceive of violence as humans do. Of course, he does not battle for wasteful purposes – he perpetuates the spinning of the wheel. As he returns a behemoth to essence, he can capture its image as a stamp on his hammer and craft a great weapon from it, which may be summoned by will from then on.

While he would never admit this, Tjong is sentimental and very much emotional, even when compared to those he thinks soft. If he doesn’t strike one as terrifying, he strikes them as comically melodramatic, surely influenced by his taste in media. Even as he prides himself on his formidable front, he’s jovial, amiable, and overly trusting. His worldview is romantic, idealistic, and simultaneously self-serving and self-destructive. When he doubts himself, he smashes that feeling with all of his strength. Even with the strength of a hundred men, Tjong is ill-equipped to handle the reality about to crash down on him. Sadness does not evoke violence or rage from him, only shame and grief.

Due to his origins, Tjong’s perception of time is very poor, something he initially struggles with in the material realm. As a simulacrum, he takes the form of a sheathed keris when banished. Drawing the blade will summon him; if he is unable or unwilling to be summoned, it will simply be stuck in the sheath. Compared to the other simulacra, he is very physical. Despite appearing like porcelain, his outer “shell” is very tough to crack. He can restore himself by consuming metal. Often, Tjong attributes his eccentricities to the fact that he is a spirit in the human world; in reality, he is much more humanlike than he realizes. Man creates in his own image, after all.

Tjong came with Meridian from Tamanawan, Puri’s domain, where they had spent what feels like an eternity together. They share an innate understanding due to their strange shared experiences, but they are stark opposites in personality. Mery is oft frustrated by his boisterous obliviousness and his constant need to hover and scold them. Tjong thinks Meridian is a small-time villain, trying and usually failing to curb their schemes. Still, he defers heavily to them as a guide to the material realm.

He probably could’ve killed Ivrel when they met. He didn’t, which incensed her. She humiliated him and incensed him in return. Upon becoming “dueling partners,” the tension quickly dissipated. Aside from jockish exploits, they are opposites in personality, but perhaps they can learn something from each other. Tjong encourages Ivrel to embrace her potential as a reliquary. Their dynamic makes Vita jealous; Tjong doesn't notice and Ivrel pretends not to.

Unsurprisingly, Zee is fascinated with him as a piece of lost technology from the old era. She’s itching to know more, but he doesn’t know much, either. He entertains her; the idea of revealing his own nature is intriguing. Whether or not he'll like what he learns is a subject for another day.

From an outside perspective, the relationship between Puri and Tjong is grossly codependent and surely outside the bounds of anything normal. Neither of them seem cognizant of this. Puri oscillates between treating him as her son and her manservant – she employs him to to do work unfit for a maiden. Although she frames him as the protector of a fragile pearl, Puri is unquestionably in control. He feels like defiance is akin to moral folly, even when he truly disagrees. She takes advantage of his naivety and ensures he stays that way despite the frustration it causes her. Puri despises his fondness toward Meridian. When the two of them are separated from her, she worries so much about losing control of him that she finally recognizes the resentment simmering within her.