Chapter 679 - Father Trigault's Mission
"Vice Lords!" His wife flung herself at the feet of the lead man, clutching his legs, weeping and pleading: "He hasn't plied that trade since he lamed his leg—it's been years! Please show mercy and spare this cripple."
"It's fine. We won't kill him," said the man with the blue collar tabs. "As long as he answers honestly, he'll be back in a few days. If he's not honest—" He paused deliberately. "Then I can't say."
Chen Lianjian was released from the office two days later, barely able to straighten his back. His eyes had gone glassy, his face rough with stubble.
"Your confession was very good. We hope you haven't held anything back—that you're not hiding anything..."
"I wouldn't dare, wouldn't dare." Chen Lianjian bowed and scraped, nearly in tears. "I told you everything. Didn't dare hide a thing."
"Go home and work hard. Don't mention what happened here. Understand?"
Chen Lianjian limped painfully away, forcing himself to walk as fast as his ruined leg would allow. The farther from this hellish place, the better.
In those two days, he had told them everything he knew: where bandits usually operated, what named bandits called themselves, their jargon and hand signs...
He felt as though he had been put through an oil press—squeezed drop by drop until nothing remained but a dried-out husk.
Anyone with connections to bandits received this treatment. These "conversations" weren't limited to former outlaws; they included ordinary people and local gentry alike.
The strategic village initiative continued advancing. Long-range survey teams arrived from Lingao, along with urban planning specialists from the Lingao Construction Company. They would assist Danzhou authorities in properly laying out the strategic villages, ensuring each one could flourish in the years to come.
"Father Trigault is in the waiting room," Aimbrois whispered.
"Show him in." Jerónimo Geranzani sat in his chair, gazing at the large panes of glass newly installed in the window—Australian glass, made so thin and light that it could be fitted without the dense lead-strip lattices formerly required.
The large windows flooded the room with light. Geranzani, who had spent most of his life working in dim chambers, initially found the brightness uncomfortable.
Trade with Lingao had made Macao increasingly prosperous. Large quantities of goods were shipped from here to Europe and West Asia. Lingao's large-format glass was even being re-exported to Europe—and even with the freight and losses over such distances, it still proved cheaper than Europe's crude, heavy small panes.
Then there were the steel-tipped dip pens: smoother than quill pens, requiring no careful sharpening. When a nib wore out, you simply replaced it. The Australians even said worn nibs could be recycled at half price.
And of course, Da Tang Gongzhu—the beautifully packaged huangjiu. The Society of Jesus had made untold fortunes on it. The porcelain bottles alone had become prizes among collectors. Every three months, the bottle's design changed, triggering collecting frenzies among enthusiasts.
But what worried His Excellency the Superior most was that the Australians had begun selling Latin editions of the Bible and Catechism to the Church.
The religious books they sold were not only cheap but beautifully printed, and they came in many editions: large-print, pocket-sized, and so-called "illustrated editions" filled with pictures.
Geranzani had personally reviewed every edition and found that they were not only doctrinally identical to the Vatican-authorized versions—they were more carefully proofread. More perfect, even, than the Holy See's own editions.
This is truly incredible, Geranzani thought. A lost church's scripture matching the Holy See's authorized text word for word—it was beyond strange.
But strange or not, Lingao's religious books were far cheaper than German-printed ones. Soon, Jesuit ships were carrying books back to Europe. Had Lingao not indicated their production capacity was currently limited, the business could have been far larger.
Lingao—a truly strange place. Geranzani's interest in it and its Australians grew by the day.
"My child, are you ready to go to Hainan Island?" he asked after the priest kissed his ring.
"Yes, Your Excellency," the man replied humbly.
Father Trigault's assignment to Lingao had been decided months ago. He and two other brothers were meant to reinforce the two brothers who had been called to the Lord while evangelizing in the Li regions in recent months. But the Ming army's punitive expedition against Lingao had delayed their departure.
They had originally planned to travel aboard one of the Huang Shunlong Trading Company's ships. But Huang Shunlong had received word: the Ming had moved against the Australians. The army had crossed to Qiongzhou, and Ming warships were blockading the strait.
"No ship can get through now," Huang Shunlong had said. "Forcing through would likely mean losing both ship and cargo." Best to wait until the situation calmed.
The Church first learned of the Ming's military action from Father Rodrigues's letters. The news had made the Society of Jesus extremely anxious—the Lingao mission had only just begun to flourish. They did not want it cut short. To that end, Geranzani had immediately written to the mission in Beijing, asking them to see if any action could be taken.
Father Rodrigues, however, remained optimistic. In his letters, he expressed confidence that the Ming army would certainly be defeated, because the Australians had organized "the strongest and best-trained army in all the Far East."
Summer arrived amid tense waiting, and then came news of the Ming army's rout. The blockade of the Qiongzhou Strait had been lifted—the waters west of Guangdong had become Australian domain.
Geranzani returned to his desk. "I know you originally hoped to go to Hangzhou to carry on your uncle's missionary work there. But the future of China's evangelization does not lie there. It lies in Lingao."
Father Trigault heard this word again and lowered his head.
When he had been sent from Flanders to the Far East two years ago, he had assumed the Society would let him succeed his great distant relative—Nicolas Trigault, who had enjoyed the Pope's favor and had recently been called to the Lord's rest in Hangzhou. He himself had harbored intense interest in Marco Polo's "heavenly city" and longed to see the legendary place with his own eyes.
But after reaching Manila, Lingao had spread through the Church like a spell. This obscure little place had become the greatest excitement in the Far Eastern Church, far exceeding the earlier achievements of converting daimyĹŤ in Japan or establishing a church in Beijing. Many priests hoped to sow the seeds of faith in this land.
Everything about the Australians in Lingao had become an intensely discussed topic among local clergy and gentlemen. The gentlemen coveted Australian wealth; the Church saw the Australians' appearance on Hainan as divine guidance.
Manuscript copies of the Letters of Father Rodrigues had become sought-after items; everyone tried to borrow them. By comparison, Matteo Ricci and his successors' decades of achievements in China now seemed to pale into insignificance.
Many priests hoped to go to Lingao, but the Society of Jesus had firmly secured exclusive rights to evangelize Lingao and Hainan Island—a privilege that had received papal approval.
Going to Lingao meant accepting a high mortality rate. In three consecutive years, two priests had unfortunately contracted plague and been called to the Lord while evangelizing the "savage regions" en route. Father Rodrigues alone had remained healthy; he had contracted plague several times but miraculously recovered each time.
After learning he would be sent to Lingao, Father Trigault had studied Matteo Ricci's China Journal and every book and manuscript about China he could find. Apart from a few reports from missionaries who had entered Hainan Island in 1560, 1563, and 1584, he had learned that one of Matteo Ricci's greatest supporters in the Chinese court—the minister Wang Honghui—was a native of this island. His family still lived in a city called Ding'an. His son Paul maintained a small church there and occasionally came to Macao to consult on church matters.
The Society of Jesus had originally taken great interest in this small mission station in Ding'an, but the Australians' appearance had shifted all their attention regarding Hainan evangelization entirely to Lingao.
Superior Geranzani briefed him on Hainan Island and Lingao. The people currently controlling Lingao were a group of Chinese who called themselves "Australians." It was they who had invited Jesuit fathers to come spread the Lord's Gospel. The Australians differed from ordinary Chinese—clever and quick-witted, treating people with the courtesy of Europe's most elegant gentlemen. This conversation filled Father Trigault with confidence in his mission.
"The church in Lingao has already achieved considerable scale," Geranzani said wearily, rubbing his forehead. "But they are entirely under Australian control."
"I understand what you mean."
"No, you don't understand—" The Superior's lips curved into a smile as he studied the priest. "Your task is to expand the Lord's flock, not to create divisions within it."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Observe the Australians carefully. They are a different kind of Chinese altogether." Geranzani's face took on a strange smile. "Observe them well. Always remember to spread the Lord's Gospel to those without faith—but do not anger them."
"I understand, Your Excellency."
"Mr. Rando will accompany you to Lingao."