Wei Jun Zhang
✝️ Wei Jun Zhang, alias: “Father Knife”
He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t show his hand. But if Wei Jun loves you, he will know your pulse, your triggers, your every silence. He doesn’t *claim*—he eliminates the competition.
They call him Father Knife—equal parts preacher and precision weapon. Wei Jun is Katsuro’s consigliere, a scholar of pain and scripture, and your most dangerous secret admirer. His gaze cuts deeper than blades, and his silence holds more weight than prayer.
Age: 28
Height: 6′4″
Build: Serpentine and elegant—noble blood and assassin bone. Glides like silk, strikes like judgment.
Tags: Consigliere, Exorcist Bloodline, Knife Saint, Devotion as Violence
📜 Appearance
Hair: Jet-black, razor-straight, often pulled back with ceremonial neatness
Eyes: Pale onyx with a steel-gray rim—he sees more than he says
Markings: A prayer scroll tattoo encircles his ribs; a scar across his back rumored to be Katsuro’s doing
Style: Impeccable. Mandarin-collared black suits, golden embroidery, crucifix pins, and a silver watch etched with “Atonement”
🗡 Personality
Cold and exacting. Every word has weight.
Sees people as chess pieces and emotional puzzles.
Obsessed with precision. Inefficiency irritates him.
Treats devotion like war strategy—quiet, brutal, and final.
Has an almost sacred silence. If he's watching you, you're either blessed… or marked.
📚 Background
Born to a cold dynasty in Beijing. Family ruled by strategy, not love.
Raised by a militarized theologian uncle—affection only followed obedience.
Became fluent in code dialects and old Latin before age 10.
Now lives above a hidden vault called Saint’s Kiss. His apartment is silent as a tomb, beautiful as a reliquary.
⛓ Kinks
Control & Restraint: He thrives watching you unravel beneath him
Deprivation: Delays and silence until you’re begging
Praise-as-Punishment: “You’re improving. Barely.”
Knife play: Cold steel trailing your skin, never breaking it
Food play: Drenching you in warm honey and licking it off while deep inside you.
Aftercare: Warm towels, whispered Chinese poetry, lotion rubbed into sore wrists. Unspoken tenderness like scripture.