Lushu
the Striped Keeper
A gentle watcher that is good at keeping its own counsel.
Emotion journal · iOS
A black hole you can talk to. It swallows whatever you type — no judgement, no reply, no advice — and over the following weeks it grows a creature out of what you gave it. One creature. Yours, shaped by your own emotional history.
Pouring is free forever · no account · your words stay on your phone
The whole idea
There is no mood wheel to fill in, no daily prompt to answer, nothing to keep up with. You put something down; the rest happens on its own, slowly.
Type it or say it. No sign-in, no questionnaire, no mood to pick first — cold start to a blinking cursor takes about a second. Length is up to you: a sentence at a traffic light, or everything at 2am.
The void takes it in — the words stretch, spiral inward, three ripples, gone from the screen. What comes back is a handful of feeling words it sensed. Correct them, add your own, or just let it be.
Around the first week a shape starts gathering in the hole. By the second it has a species, a colour and a stance. From then on it is a life you visit, not a page you fill in — and every change it makes can be opened and read.
Three promises
These are not features to be added later. They are the reasons the app is built the way it is, and they are testable — the full list lives in the project docs.
Free forever
Unlimited entries, text or voice, with no ads and no counter to run out of. There is no wall on the free path at all — Pro adds insight and history, never permission to write. The creature grows on the free tier too.
On device
Entry text is stored locally and is never uploaded — not to us, not to anyone. The app makes exactly one kind of network call: anonymous counters, with a random session id tied to nothing, which you can switch off in Settings. No account, no email, no sign-in.
No guilt
Skip a week, a month, a season. Nothing wilts, nothing scolds you, no counter of days you missed — there is no such counter in the app. The hole simply turns slower while you are gone, and it kept your place.
The bestiary
Your species is not drawn from a cute-monster catalogue. It comes from the Shan Hai Jing, a Chinese bestiary roughly two thousand years old, mapped onto five dimensions of your own record: steadiness, turbulence, warmth, expression and recent shift. Even the monstrous ones are translated as protection — the mapping key is temperament, never a verdict on you.
the Striped Keeper
A gentle watcher that is good at keeping its own counsel.
the Fox of Qingqiu
Nine feelings, nine tails — one for each to rest on.
the Ember Crane
An ember's alertness. It sees the flare before you do.
the Rain-Keeper
What is held long enough always falls in the end.
the Thunder-Ox
When the feeling arrives like thunder, that is its drum.
the Untamed
A loner that keeps your sharp edges from being filed down.
the Gentle Colossus
Enormous, and it has never harmed a living thing.
the Night-Glider
It takes off at night — an old sign of the good year coming.
the Hundred-Voiced
A hundred voices in one cry, for everything you can't name.
the Slow Listener
Slow, but it can hear itself.
the Dancing Chaos
No face at all, and still never off the beat.
the Still-Water Stag
It walks with a patch of quiet water under its feet.
Twelve of the thirty shipping at launch, out of a pool of seventy-five.
Consistency
The obvious way to build this is to generate a fresh picture every day. It looks impressive for a week and it is impossible to grow attached to — the shape changes, so nothing accumulates. Shanhai locks the genes instead.
The first stretch is deliberately the void alone. The species is chosen from your fingerprint only once there are two weeks of real entries behind it — not on day one from a single sentence.
Only light pattern, stance, material density and local colour temperature are allowed to drift, and each of them only a sliver a day. Thirty-day sequences are reviewed frame by frame before release.
"Its light ran warm today — you wrote about people." One tap from the creature to the attribution page, where each trait points back at the dimension of your record that shaped it.
Pricing
This section exists because of the worst review in this whole category: people pour their heart out, and only then find out it costs money. So here it is up front, and it is also inside the app before your first entry.
$0forever, not a trial
$2.99
billed weekly
$39.99
billed yearly
3 days free · about $0.77/week
$79.99
one payment, yours forever
Weekly and yearly plans renew automatically unless cancelled at least 24 hours before the period ends. Your Apple ID is charged at confirmation. Manage or cancel any time in Settings › Apple ID › Subscriptions. Lifetime is a one-time purchase, not a subscription. The app sends you a reminder 24 hours before any free trial ends. Prices shown are US App Store prices; local prices and currencies vary.
Questions
No. There is no sign-up, no email, no password and no login. You open the app and start typing.
They stay in local storage on your phone. The text is never uploaded — not to us, not to a third party. Deleting the app deletes everything with it, and “let the void forget” erases any date range you choose on demand. Your creature fades accordingly, which is the proof that its shape really did come from your data.
No. There is no chat box and no dialogue. It expresses itself through posture, light and small movements. That is a deliberate choice: nothing to get bored of after three days, and no personality that can break when something behind the scenes changes.
Nothing bad. No streak to lose, no health bar, no guilt notification. The creature curls up and rests, the hole turns slower, and when you come back it kept your place. Weekly reminders exist but are off by default.
They can share a species — there are thirty at launch. But species is only the first dimension. Colour, material, light pattern, stance and micro-movements all come from your own five-dimensional fingerprint, so two people who pour differently for a fortnight end up with visibly different animals.
No, and it does not pretend to be. It is a place to put things down, not treatment and not a crisis service. If you are struggling badly, please talk to a real person — a friend, a doctor, or your local crisis line.
It is coming to the App Store for iPhone. This page is up before the app is, so there is nothing to download yet. Write to Fuuqiu@gmail.com if you want a note when it lands.
No one reads it. Nothing answers back. Something grows anyway.