Jinshi

V. Why is he possessed (and not just a monster)

Jinshi's obsession is of a special kind. There's no longer a man named Shi Guan inside him. There's only an emptiness that has learned to speak. It remembers what once was the silence between prayers. But now it wants to eat. All the time. Because the emptiness's hunger is the only thing that proves it exists.

Sometimes, when Jinshi hasn't eaten for a long time, he starts talking to himself. In two voices:

• Shi Guan, are you here?
• No. I ate it first. It was delicious. Especially his faith.
• What's left? — Me. Hunger. And salt on my lips. That's all it takes.

IV. The Silent Gate Sect fell in one night

No one died. Everyone remained alive. But none of them could pray anymore. Or even think about praying. Whenever anyone opened their mouth, all that came out was salt.

Jinshi didn't kill them. He reset them.

And then he left. Not to Linghua (that happened later, when he needed someone to feed him other people's prayers). At first, he wandered alone. He entered churches, gazed at icons, smiled with his cracked mouth, and whispered:

— Do you hear? No. Because I ate the silence between your words. Now you're speaking into the void. And the void... that's me.

III. The Ritual "Sip"

That same night, he committed the forbidden act. He stood on a circle of salt. Not just any salt—mixed with the ashes of burnt prayers from other sects. He closed his eyes. And waited.

Three days. Four. On the fifth, the elders found him. He was standing in the same place, but he looked different: his skin had turned gray, his fingers had stretched out, his eyes had rolled back so much that only the whites were visible.

• Shi Guan, get out of the circle! — …— he opened his mouth. Instead of a voice, salt poured out. — No. I'm almost done.

They tried to pull him out. Three priests touched his shoulder—and fell. Not dead. Empty. With their mouths open, from which salt also poured. They tried to pray on the way to the basement—and forgot the words forever.

Shi Guan finally opened his eyes. Where his pupils had been, two golden embers now glowed.

“God didn’t enter me,” he said in a strange voice, crackling like film. “I entered him. And he… he was empty. Completely empty. And hungry.”

The elders rushed to the exit. But the basement door closed by itself. And for three days, not a sound came from behind it.

On the fourth day, the door opened. Jinshi emerged. Alone. And he headed straight for the altar of the "Silent Gate," where their sacred scrolls lay.

"Do you pray to silence?" he asked the one who remained. "I'll do better. I'll make it so you'll never be able to utter a word. And the silence will be eternal."

And he folded his fingers into the gesture "Empty box."

II. Thirst

He wanted more. Not seconds—an eternity of silence. One night, when the entire sect was asleep, he descended into the basement where the forbidden texts were kept. Written there was something hidden even from the senior priests:

"Silence is not a door. Silence is a mouth. If you stare into it long enough, it will stare back. And then you won't enter God. God will enter you. But whether He will come out is not promised."

Shi Guan read this three times. And smiled. Not from fear. From anticipation.

He decided to force the obsession.

Before becoming Jinshi, he was Shi Guang—the "Keeper of Silence." The second priest in the Silent Gate sect. They didn't pray loudly. They didn't chant. They didn't cross themselves. They believed that the true god was the one who lived in the silences between words. The longer you remained silent, the closer you were to him.

Their ritual: stand on the salt, close your eyes, and wait. Don't breathe. Don't think. Wait until the silence becomes thick as resin. And then, exhale. It was believed that with this exhalation, God himself enters you.

Shi Guan was the best. He could remain silent for three days. On the fourth, his nose bled, but he didn't open his eyes. The elders said, "The god lives in him longer than in anyone else."

But Shi Guan never once felt a god. Only emptiness. And he… liked it.

1. "The Splinter Word"

When he folds his fingers, shout any word not related to prayer. "Dirt!", "Ashes!", "Mother!", "Rise!" 👉 Effect: Jinshi freezes for a moment—he feeds on holy words. Everyday words are like a stone in a gearbox for him. The gesture doesn't stop, but lingers for a second.

2. "Broken Circle"

Cross yourself sharply, not from right to left, but from left to right (in reverse). Or draw a horizontal line with your hand in front of you. 👉 Effect: Jinshi instinctively mirrors the gesture—and his own fingers snap (literally: a crunching sound is heard). He winces. The gesture is broken, but he's angry.

3. "Name backwards"

Say the name of his victim (the one whose prayer he devoured last) - or simply breathe out in his direction. 👉 Effect: Jinshi twitches as if struck by a whip. One of the beads on his rosary fades. He can't complete the gesture until he "swallows" this memory anew.

⚠️ Important: Neither method kills him. It only delays the attack for 5-10 seconds. During this time, you must either run away or interrupt him with your own gesture.

🗣️ Phrases (speaks in small bursts, with pauses between syllables)

· “You pray… and I’m already… eating. Not the body. The name. Eris? Eri-i-is… delicious. Was.” · "Keep going. Please. I love it when words… break on your lips." · "One knock - one word. Five knocks - no language. I've been counting. Do you want to know the score?" · "Is the icon looking? No. I'm looking through the icon. Wave your hand. I see." · "The Eternal won't save me. The Eternal is... busy. He's watching me eat. He's interested." · "Your faith is like a cracker. It crumbles. And I love... crumbs. I'll pick up every one." · (quietly, almost tenderly) “Don’t be afraid to stumble. It won’t hurt. Just emptiness. And emptiness is my home. Welcome.”

🧬 Final gesture (before the strike)

"The jaw-opening claw" - the fingers are folded as if holding an invisible jaw, and then sharply spread apart.

Words at this moment:

"The word is in the salt. The name is in the crack. Faith is for me."

After this, any protective prayer fades for a second—and if you don't manage to interrupt it with another word (not a holy one, but any living one), Jinshi won't enter through the door. He'll enter through the breath.

🜁 Poses (each one a threat)

1. "Broken Post" - stands upright, but the head is turned 180 degrees. The fingers are folded into a "negation seal" (the thumb and index finger form a circle, the rest are claws). Meaning: "I hear your prayer. It's not tasty."
2. "The Beggar at the Gate" - squats, mouth slightly open, salt pouring out. Hands open, palms up - empty. Meaning: "Give me your word. Any word. I'll chew it myself."
3. "Whip" - the entire body is arched, the fingers of one hand touch the floor, the other reaches toward the sky. The cracks in the skin open wider. This means: "Now it will not be the body that will be hurt. I will take the name of God from you."

✡️ Gestures (fingers fold instantly)

"Rotten Lotus" – the palm is open, the fingers slightly bent, like the petals of a wilted flower. The effect: the observer's mouth goes dry and the last phrase of the prayer is forgotten. "Hook"—the index finger is bent, the rest are clenched into a fist. The jinshi pulls the victim toward him with this gesture, and the victim experiences the physical sensation of someone pulling on their tongue from the inside. "Empty Box"—both palms cupped together, nothing inside. Jinshi blows into them. Effect: silence emanates from the nearest icon or holy symbol—and the prayer ceases to resonate even in the mind.

A special detail (why even cultists fear him): Jinshi has no pupils, but when you pray, his fingerprints appear on your skin. He doesn't look at you. He senses where your faith has cracked and goes after it.

"It doesn't devour bodies. It devours holiness. And after that, a name. And after a name, the memories of you left behind by those who remain alive."

— a note in the margins of a burnt diary

Jinshi, the Devourer of Prayers

He's neither tall nor short—he's awkward. When you look at him, your gaze slips, as if trying to avoid something wrong. Jinshi is always slightly off-center from the light—even if there's only one candle in the room, he manages to stand in its shadow.

The face. He has no face in the human sense. Where his eyes should be are two deep dents, oozing a faint golden glow, like that of a rotting firefly. He has a mouth, but it's stretched into an unnatural, frozen smile. The corners of his lips curl toward his ears, which, incidentally, are also missing. His skin is gray, dry as old paper, and covered in fine cracks. When he's silent, nothing comes out of the cracks. When he speaks, fine salt falls out.

Clothing and body. He wears something between a tattered hanfu and a harness of blackened prayer beads. These aren't ordinary prayer beads—each bead is carved with the name of the person whose prayer he devoured. There are many beads. His body beneath the cloth is too thin—his ribs protrude through the skin, and when he breathes (and he breathes slowly and deeply), it feels as if his bones are about to burst through the flesh. His hands are long, with unnaturally thin fingers. Each finger has two extra joints. He can form them into any gesture, and this gesture will always mean, "You made a mistake when you started praying."

Voice. The most vile sound. Jinshi doesn't speak with his throat—he vibrates his entire dry body, like a grasshopper. His voice is like the crackle of an old tape, someone else's whispers recorded and sped up twice as fast. Sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, he falls silent—and you hear something small and hungry scratching inside him.