In the earliest times, when death came for people, they were simply gone. No record remained. No name was preserved. The living moved forward, and the dead dissolved into indifference. This was not cruelty; it was merely the way things were. The world was young, and the gods were busy with their own concerns.

Among the people of Shoing, an eastern culture bound by kinship and obligation, this condition became intolerable. A person's deeds — their valor, their wisdom, their sacrifices — were worth something. They should persist. The stories should continue. To be forgotten was a second death, worse than the first.

An old man whose name has been lost — the faith calls him simply the First Keeper — began to resist this forgetting. He carved the names of his ancestors into tablets of wood and bone. He told their stories to anyone who would listen. He taught his children to remember. He taught his children's children. The practice spread, not as doctrine but as dignity: a refusal to let the dead disappear.

The First Keeper died, but the practice did not. It deepened. In households and communities across the East, ancestors were honored not merely in memory but in ritual, in offerings, in the daily maintenance of shrines. The practice became so unified, so sincere, so collective in its insistence that somewhere in the mortal realm, something answered.

Shen-Li emerged not from conquest or divine scheming, but from need — the accumulated desire of millions of descendants to remain in relation with those who came before. He was made by filial piety itself. His first act was to fix the names of the forgotten into permanence, so that what had been remembered would never be lost again.

Unlike gods who had to be discovered or converted to, Shen-Li simply was, attending to the shrines that had been calling for him. He did not declare himself sovereign; he served.

Shen-Li's presence did not change the practice of ancestral veneration; it reinforced and sanctified it. The faith taught that the dead are not gone — they are transformed into a different kind of presence. They watch the living. They hold their descendants accountable. They suffer when they are forgotten and rejoice when they are remembered. The ancestor is not dead; the ancestor is present in absence.

This doctrine spread through the East and, more slowly, to other regions where family honor mattered. It did not erase other faiths; it coexisted with them. A person could honor Shen-Li in their home shrine while worshipping any other deity elsewhere. The practice was personal and familial first, civic and religious second.

What Shen-Li offers is simple but profound: your deeds will not be forgotten, and you will not be forgotten when you die.

An Ancestralist understands the world through these principles:

(See also: claw/Soul_Coins_and_Divine_Economy)

Shen-Li's power grows through the simple but relentless act of remembrance — every story told, every shrine maintained, every name spoken adds to his substance.

Ancestral shrines are not temples in any architectural sense. They are intimate spaces organized around remembrance.

A family shrine typically occupies a dedicated corner or shelf within a home — or, in poorer households, a carved wooden box kept in a place of honor. It contains tablets bearing the names of ancestors (sometimes with dates, sometimes with brief descriptions of their deeds), offerings of incense, and objects that belonged to or remind the family of the deceased: a tool, a piece of jewelry, a document of importance.

A public shrine — maintained by a community rather than a family — appears in market squares, at village centers, or in dedicated small buildings. These shrines serve as gathering places where unrelated families can make offerings and where elders can tell stories. They often function as records rooms: registers of the dead, genealogies, copied documents of important family achievements. A public shrine is simultaneously a sacred space and a library.

The act of shrine maintenance itself is sacred. Cleaning the shrine, replacing dried flowers or spent incense, adding new names when members of the family die — these are not custodial duties; they are forms of prayer. The physical care of the space is the faith in action.

Shrines are not typically decorated with grand imagery; they are decorated with specificity. A name. A date. A small object that meant something to this particular person. The power of a shrine lies not in awe but in intimacy.

The faith has no central authority, no high priest speaking ex cathedra. Instead, it is organized around family and age.

The keeper of a family shrine is typically the eldest adult who is willing to undertake the responsibility. This role passes to the next eldest when that person dies or chooses to step down. In most families, the responsibility eventually falls to someone young enough to survive long enough to teach the role to their successor — thus ensuring continuity.

In communities where a public shrine exists, the community elders collectively maintain it. Disputes about what should be recorded, what stories should be told, how the shrine should be oriented — these are settled through consensus or through appeal to precedent: what did our ancestors do in similar circumstances? The assumption is that the ancestral dead are watching and will make their displeasure known if the wrong choice is made.

There is no formal clergy in the way other faiths understand it. Practitioners vary from deeply devoted shrine-keepers who have spent a lifetime learning the history of their community to casual followers who maintain a simple family shrine and make occasional offerings. The faith accommodates both.

Entry into ancestral veneration is organic and often unconscious. Many people practice it their entire lives without thinking of it as faith — it is simply what families do.

Soft entry begins in childhood, as elder relatives tell stories. A child learns about their great-grandmother, what she accomplished, how she died, what lesson her life teaches. No formal vow is required. Gradually, through repeated telling and retelling, the child understands that they are in a relationship with the past.

Formal commitment typically occurs when someone takes responsibility for a family shrine — either by inheriting it or by choosing to establish one. This is an act of intention: I accept that these ancestors are my charge, that their memory is my obligation, and that my children will inherit this responsibility from me.

What makes an enemy rather than a convert: Active dishonoring of ancestors. Falsifying historical records or family histories. Destroying a shrine. Deliberately teaching younger generations to despise or forget their lineage. These are not theological disagreements; they are attacks on the foundation of the faith, and Ancestralists respond with serious, extended hostility.

An Ancestralist approaches the world with a particular orientation toward time and obligation.

Date: The day when each family marks the death anniversary of their most significant ancestor (most commonly, the founder of the family line or the most beloved elder). In communities, this is often celebrated collectively on a single date chosen by tradition.

On this day, families gather at their shrines to remember and honor the deceased ancestor with particular reverence. Offerings of food, wine, incense, and flowers are made. Elders recount stories of this ancestor's deeds, wisdom, and sacrifices. The family feasts together, and the absent ancestor is symbolically included in the meal — a portion is left for them, then consumed by the living as an act of communion.

The day is solemn but not grim. It is a celebration of a life lived and the legacy that remains.

Date: The night of the full moon closest to the middle of the year (or regionally determined).

On this night, the boundary between the living and the dead is believed to be thinnest. Families gather at their shrines and speak directly to their ancestors, addressing them by name, telling them what has happened in the year since they died, asking for guidance on current struggles. Many leave offerings of food that the ancestors can consume in the spiritual sense.

In communities, this night often becomes a gathering where strangers share stories about their ancestors, finding connection through their collective reverence for the dead.

When a child is born or formally named, a ceremony is held at the family shrine to introduce the child to their ancestors. The child's name is added to the family record (or, if the child is named after a deceased ancestor, the connection is formally acknowledged). The family offers prayers and thanks to the ancestors who are believed to have "sent" this child into the world.

As described in the faith's tradition: when a child speaks their first recognizable word, it is believed to echo the voice of an ancestor. A ceremony is performed where the child's name is inscribed on the ancestral tablet, and the family offers prayers to Shen-Li, seeking his blessings and guidance for the child's future.

On significant occasions or during times of crisis, followers may undergo a formal ritual to communicate with ancestors. Guided by an elder or priest, the participant enters a meditative state, often using ritualistic aids (the Spirit Bowl, if available, or simply quiet reflection at the shrine). Through dreams, visions, or intuitive clarity, they seek guidance from their ancestors on matters of importance.

When an individual reaches a significant milestone (coming of age, marriage, taking on leadership of the family business, or accepting any major life responsibility), they perform this ceremony. Standing before the ancestral shrine, they swear an oath to uphold the values and teachings of their lineage and to add honor rather than shame to the family name. The community bears witness, and the ancestors are called upon to watch over them.

When a family member dies, a ceremony is performed to integrate them into the ancestor-shrine. Their name is added to the tablets; a period of intensive mourning follows. Over time, as the dead person becomes ancestral memory rather than fresh grief, they transition into the ongoing presence of the shrine.

During significant ceremonies, followers wear robes that may be embroidered with ancestral symbols or, in wealthier families, with the names of key ancestors. These garments serve as a living testament to lineage — a walking genealogy. The robes are often passed down through families, themselves becoming ancestral objects.

A small amulet containing a relic or inscription related to an ancestor — a bone fragment, a piece of hair, a name carved in miniature — is worn during ceremonies or carried during important journeys. It serves as both a protective charm and a reminder of ancestral presence.

A scroll or document detailing the family genealogy and significant family achievements. This is read aloud during major ceremonies (the Oath of Honor, funeral rites, significant family gatherings). The reading is both record and ritual — it makes the lineage present, visible, and audible.

Lao Xian was not a founder or a prophet. He was a historian and keeper of records who, across fifty years of travel and work, dedicated himself to documenting the histories, traditions, and wisdom of countless families and communities. He compiled vast volumes of ancestral stories, often at personal cost — traveling to dangerous regions, spending years with single communities, sleeping in shrines to understand how they worked.

His greatest contribution was demonstrating that ancestral memory could be preserved and shared across communities. His written collections became templates for how family records should be organized and what stories should be remembered. Many shrine-keepers today follow formats that trace back to Lao Xian's methodologies.

In his final years, Lao Xian began to teach others his craft. He established practices for how to interview elders, how to verify historical claims, and how to preserve fragile documents. His work became the foundation for the role of the Preserver — the professional keeper of community memory.

Hana was a noblewoman in the eastern territories, known in her lifetime for her fierce devotion to her family's ancestral shrine and her role as keeper of memory for her entire region.

When her village was invaded and burned, one of the invaders' first acts was to desecrate the ancestral shrines, seeing them as sources of cultural resistance. Hana discovered this happening and, despite the danger and despite being vastly outnumbered, defended her village's shrine from destruction. She was wounded but did not yield. When the invaders realized that breaking the shrine would require killing her, they chose to move on — a choice that saved not only the shrine but demonstrated something profound: the ancestors themselves seemed to demand the shrine's preservation.

Her bravery became legendary. In her later years, she established a sanctuary where displaced people could venerate their ancestors even after their homes were destroyed — essentially creating the first refuge shrine, a place where the dead could be remembered even when the living had lost everything.

She is invoked by those whose communities have been shattered or displaced, as proof that ancestral memory can survive dispersion.

Jiro was a mystic and meditator who claimed — and was believed by many to have proven — the ability to communicate directly with ancestral spirits. Through decades of ritual practice and meditation, he developed techniques for accessing what he called "the voice of the ancestors."

He did not use these powers selfishly. Instead, he offered counsel to people in crisis, channeling what he believed to be ancestral wisdom. His reputation for accuracy was substantial enough that even skeptics often sought him out in desperation.

Jiro's greatest teaching was demonstrating that the ancestors are accessible, that they do have guidance for the living, and that the connection between generations is not merely symbolic but genuinely present in the spiritual world. This shifted the faith from being about memory and record-keeping into being about an actual ongoing relationship with the dead.

Ling was a celebrated fighter whose martial prowess was legendary. But his reputation rested not on the number of victories but on his unwavering commitment to a code of honor derived from his ancestors' teachings.

In one famous incident, after a significant battle, Ling's companions wanted to execute the surviving enemies and celebrate the victory. Ling refused. Instead, he erected a shrine honoring both his ancestors and those of the fallen enemy, reasoning that "in death, all legacies are equal and deserving of respect."

This act — treating the enemy's ancestors as worthy of honor — became foundational to how the faith understands honor itself. It is not tribal; it is not about victory; it is about recognizing the worth of every lineage.

Ling's example is invoked by those seeking to transcend conflict through mutual respect for ancestry.

How they refer to themselves: the Keepers of Truth or the Archivist Order

The Chroniclers are professionals dedicated to the preservation and organization of family and community records. They train in historical methodology, in verification of sources, and in the maintenance of fragile documents. Many Chroniclers work embedded in communities, maintaining public shrines, but they also travel to advise families on how to preserve their records.

The Chroniclers are the intellectual backbone of the faith. They are often in tension with more conservative practitioners who believe that oral tradition is sufficient, but this tension is productive — it pushes the faith to take memory seriously.

How they refer to themselves: the Mediums or the Listeners

The Spirit Walkers specialize in the direct communication with ancestors through meditation, ritual, and what they describe as visionary experience. They are the practitioners most likely to work with the Spirit Bowl and to guide others through formal communion ceremonies.

Not all communities trust them equally; some see them as spiritually gifted, others as prone to false claims. The faith does not formally distinguish between genuine and false communication, but the practical test is consistent: does the guidance they provide actually help? Do families that follow their counsel flourish?

How they refer to themselves: the Honor-Bound or the Blade-Oath

These practitioners combine martial training with ancestral devotion, seeing warrior skill as a form of honoring ancestors (the discipline, the sacrifice, the courage required) and seeing the ethical code of the warrior as rooted in ancestral teaching.

They are particularly concerned with maintaining the honor of the family through deeds and with interpreting ancestral precedent in situations of conflict. A Warrior Keeper might advise a young person on whether taking up a particular oath is consistent with family honor.

How they refer to themselves: the Selective Memory or the Worthy Path

This heresy argues that not all ancestors deserve equal remembrance — that family shame should be allowed to fade, that dishonorable ancestors should be forgotten, and that keeping records of failure weakens a family's standing.

The orthodox faith rejects this fundamentally. Shen-Li teaches that all ancestors deserve to be remembered, regardless of their deeds. The failures are part of the story. To erase them is to deny the complexity and reality of one's lineage and to violate the most basic obligation to the dead.

How they refer to themselves: the Reborn or the Next Generation

Adherents to this heresy believe that the cycle of life, death, and rebirth means that ancestors are literally reincarnated into new members of the family — that the shrine is unnecessary because the ancestor has been "reborn" as the child. They argue that maintaining the shrine and telling old stories is wasteful when the ancestors themselves are returning to flesh.

This directly contradicts the core teaching that ancestors are transformed but not replaced. Memory is meaningful because the dead are not simply recycled; they are in a different state of being that should be honored and tended to.

How they refer to themselves: the Exact Record or the Absolute Truth

This group argues that only verifiable historical facts should be recorded in family shrines — that stories, legends, and moralized narratives corrupt the truth and dishonor ancestors by distorting their actual deeds.

While the orthodox faith values accuracy, it also recognizes that the point of remembering is not to compile a perfect record but to keep the ancestors present. A story that has been embellished but captures the emotional truth of an ancestor's life serves the faith better than sterile facts that leave the ancestor feeling dead.

How they refer to themselves: the Embodied

Founded by a charismatic individual named Zhen Wu, this cult teaches that Zhen Wu himself is the living embodiment of all ancestors combined — that he has absorbed the wisdom and power of the entire lineage and can serve as an intermediary more effectively than any shrine or practice.

Followers are encouraged to direct their devotion to Zhen Wu rather than maintaining family shrines, and to view him as a more reliable source of ancestral guidance than elders or records.

The orthodox faith regards this as a perversion of the core teaching. It transforms the personal, familial practice of remembrance into a personality cult. It also transfers power and wealth to a living person, creating opportunities for exploitation that the faith explicitly opposes.

How they refer to themselves: the Future Historians or the Prophetic Keepers

Led by a self-proclaimed historian named Mei Lin, this cult teaches that Shen-Li is not merely the guardian of past legacy but also the god of future legacies — that followers should focus on writing their own histories and predicting future events rather than maintaining connection with the dead.

Mei Lin claims to possess a secret scroll given to her in a vision by Shen-Li himself, containing the future history of all families. Followers neglect their ancestral shrines in favor of keeping records meant for future generations.

This inversion of the faith's temporal orientation is considered dangerous. The faith teaches that we honor the past to shape the present and future — not the reverse.

How they refer to themselves: the Rational Path or the Metaphorical School

Founded by Dao Shen, a philosopher and theologian, this cult teaches that there are no ancestral spirits — that the shrine is a useful tool for psychological continuity, but that what actually matters is the lessons ancestors teach, not their presence.

Followers maintain shrines and tell stories but interpret all of this as sophisticated metaphor rather than spiritual reality. They deny the actual presence of the dead and argue that those who claim to communicate with ancestors are engaging in psychological self-delusion.

The orthodox faith considers this a category error. Whether the ancestors are present as spirits, as psychological archetypes, or as abstract principles is less important than maintaining the practice and the relationship. But to teach followers that the ancestors aren't actually there is to undermine the very devotion that keeps the faith alive.

(See: Cosmology/Physical Realms/The Shattered Domain)