Zhong Wen: Yet surprisingly, everything for Ricci in Nanchang progressed extraordinarily smoothly. Thanks to the groundwork laid earlier by Qu Taisu and the introduction of the famous physician Wang Jilou, he came to know many local officials and scholars. At a banquet he even met imperial kinsmen—the Prince of Jian’an and the Prince of Le’an. The renowned scholar Zhang Huang, head of the White Deer Grotto Academy, also regarded him highly. His social circle expanded rapidly; after meeting him, Jiangxi Governor Lu Wangai warmly invited him to stay in Nanchang. From then on, the number of visitors grew day by day, so many that he had no time to read his prayer book during the day and had to make it up at night.

Bo Ya: Some came because of the “alchemy” attributed to him. That reputation had spread through Nanchang even before his arrival. The more he assured them he knew nothing of such things, the more convinced they were that he was an expert.

Zhong Wen: Ricci decided not to set up public chapels as he had in Zhaoqing and Shaozhou. Personal experience had taught him that missionary work needed to be done discreetly. Under the circumstances, gathering many people together was dangerous; spreading the Gospel through private conversations or small-group discussions was safer and more effective.

At this time, his superior Alessandro Valignano appointed him the head of the China mission and instructed him to reach Beijing as soon as possible. Although Ricci had only been to Guangdong, Jiangxi, and Nanjing, by the time he left Nanchang he had already made friends in 10 of China’s 15 provinces.

That attempt to reach Beijing again ended in failure, but it wasn’t fruitless. Based on his observations, Ricci guessed that this country was the same “Cathay” described by Marco Polo (a conclusion later confirmed by another missionary, Benedict Goës). On the return journey, during idle moments he and his companions continued studying Chinese and devised a system of Romanized phonetic transcription for Chinese characters.

Midway through the journey, the Grand Canal froze and navigation became impossible. Ricci left Guo Jujing and the others behind and continued overland alone to Nanjing—his third visit to the city. Although Nanjing had been far removed from the real political center for nearly two centuries, it still preserved a full administrative system identical to Beijing’s, and its grandeur remained intact. The atmosphere, however, was very different from his previous visits. Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the Japanese kampaku (similar to a chancellor), had ordered a full withdrawal from Korea before his death. The Ming army had defeated only the Japanese rear guard, yet magnified the small victory as a decisive triumph. Ricci’s friend Wang Honghui urged him to stay and sent two subordinates to help him find a house.

Bo Ya: Sometimes an enemy becomes a friend. Li Huan, commander of the imperial guards in Nanjing and Marquis of Fengcheng, now admitted that during Ricci’s first visit he had closely monitored him, ready to arrest this foreigner—he refrained only because Ricci had some high-ranking friends.

Zhong Wen: In April 1599, Guo Jujing and the other three arrived in Nanjing. Ricci quickly purchased a long-abandoned house rumored to be haunted. During his two and a half years in Nanjing, he befriended nearly all the high officials and nobles. Besides ministers of the Six Boards, he also got to know unconventional figures such as Li Zhi, considered a heretic by orthodox Confucians. Li Zhi, though arrogant, admired Ricci, gave him two folding fans, and included a poem for him (“To Li Xitai”) in his book Burning Books.

Ricci spent nearly all his days receiving guests. He emphasized to visitors that Christian marriage was monogamous and upheld a lifelong union. People greatly praised this, but “no one was willing to practice it.” They were astonished to learn that in Catholic countries the Pope’s dignity surpassed that of kings—something unimaginable in emperor-centered China.

Bo Ya: Ricci understood well that the Chinese took a pragmatic, often casual attitude toward religion: if it was useful, they believed in it. “When their wishes are not fulfilled, they will smash their idols without mercy. They also worship demons merely in hopes of averting harm.”

Moreover, Ricci’s revised and expanded editions of his world map, his debates with prominent monks—where he “at least won the sympathy of the audience”—all greatly enhanced his reputation.

Even though everything seemed to be going smoothly, Ricci wrote cautiously to his close friend Father Goës: “It is not yet the season for harvest, nor even for sowing; we are merely clearing the land.” But he believed that soon the number of converts would grow, and their work could rival the best missions elsewhere—though reality still fell far short of ideal. After all, he had not yet reached “the imperial court of Beijing and the Emperor.” He was still waiting for divine providence.

Ricci seemed not fully aware of Christian history: had he known it better, he would have realized that “conversion” usually comes not through words but through decisive historical events—often war or plague.

Zhong Wen: At the center of the Zhaoqing chapel stood a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary. On the walls hung world maps with Western annotations, and around the room were displayed prisms, clocks, sundials, velvet, and other marvels. Not long afterward, Ricci built an 18-foot clock tower near the residence. Its chimes rang melodiously at each hour, delighting the locals. The “foreign monk” and his exotic devices drew crowds of fascinated officials and commoners.

Although Christianity strongly opposed Buddhism, Buddhist presence in China had, in a sense, paved the way—establishing precedent for a foreign religion to take root.

Bo Ya: Besides learning Chinese and translating The Four Books into Latin, Ricci also studied how to communicate with Chinese officials. In Goa he had learned metalworking from local craftsmen. In Guangdong he often cast celestial globes, terrestrial globes, and sundials from copper or iron, gifting them generously to friendly officials. In this way he introduced Western science and conveyed Christian doctrine and Western cultural ideas.

In Shaozhou he befriended the Jiangnan scholar Qu Taisu (Ru Kui). Qu came from a prestigious family but had abandoned official life, squandering his fortune in the pursuit of alchemy. Initially he sought Ricci out believing he possessed “the secret art of turning mercury into silver.” But gradually he became fascinated by Ricci’s European astronomy. Between this “wandering scholar outside the bureaucracy” and Ricci, a sense of kinship grew.

In 1583, when Ricci first arrived in Zhaoqing, he was unwelcome as a “Brahmin monk.” On Qu’s advice he shaved his beard, adopted the appearance of a Confucian scholar, “wore scholar’s robes, visited officials carried in a sedan chair, followed by attendants, presenting himself like a master teacher.” His new attire—“a dark purple long gown with light blue trim almost matching Venetian fashion”—won immediate respect from local gentry. He no longer needed to kneel before officials, exchanging bows instead. In Nanchang he traveled as a “Western scholar,” attracting attention. The Prince of Jian’an, hearing of Western etiquette, wished to know the “Western way of friendship,” prompting Ricci to write his famous On Friendship in Chinese.

After its publication, an enthusiastic reader paid to reprint it with a preface—Feng Yingjing, a well-known dissident imprisoned for opposing eunuch Chen Feng. He adored the book and once sent people searching for Ricci. In 1601, just days before being thrown into prison, he met Ricci in Beijing. Their one-hour conversation made them kindred spirits.

During his three years in jail, Feng Yingjing maintained contact through letters or messengers, discussing “the Way of friendship” and “the Heavenly Way,” and grew increasingly interested in Christianity. He strongly urged the republication of Ricci’s The True Meaning of the Lord of Heaven and resolved to be baptized. After his release, the priests decided it was safer to baptize him back in his home province—but “death outran them; he fell ill and died within days.”

Zhong Wen: Ricci often reminded believers: in China, “the power of the brush is immeasurable; writing is more effective than speech.” He believed moral truths would gain life through his writings. His literary activity enabled him to befriend scholars and collaborate on books, notably with Xu Guangqi.

Xu was first intrigued by Ricci’s Great Universal Geographic Map, which displayed European navigation and cartography, overturning China’s traditional “round heaven, square earth” cosmology.

Between 1604 and 1607, Xu—then serving in the Hanlin Academy—frequently visited Ricci to learn Western science. The instruments and scientific texts amazed him. Realizing the value of Euclid’s Elements, he proposed translating it. Ricci initially doubted whether Xu, already past forty, could manage such a demanding task. Xu replied humbly, “To be ignorant of one thing is shameful for a scholar.”

For about a year Xu came daily in all weather. Ricci explained orally; Xu took notes. They deliberated over each term carefully, choosing the most precise Chinese equivalents. They completed the first six books of Euclid. Terms such as “point,” “line,” “angle,” “plane”—and even the word “geometry”—were established by them and are still used today in China, Japan, Korea, and beyond.

Bo Ya: In Chinese society, having local powerbrokers and connections is indispensable.

Zhong Wen: In the early mission, Xu Guangqi used his high position to petition that Jesuits be assigned to revise the calendar and cast cannons, opening the door for Ricci and the Society of Jesus. Ricci said, “It is impossible to describe how great a treasure he is to the Christian mission.”

After settling in Beijing, Ricci met Li Zhizao of the Ministry of Works. Li’s contribution to translating Western technical works exceeded even Xu’s. Over ten years they collaborated on many important texts, including Tongwen Suan Zhi and Illustrated Treatise on the Sphere and Astronomical Instruments. He sponsored the printing of Ricci’s world map and wrote the preface to Ten Essays by the Hermit.

Li Zhizao was the last person Ricci personally baptized. For a long time, their friendship remained on the level of “cultural exchange,” for Li still had obstacles—most notably, he kept a concubine. When she heard he would no longer visit her, she became furious.

In 1610, Li fell gravely ill in Beijing with no family nearby. Ricci, despite exhaustion, sought physicians and cared for him devotedly. Deeply moved, Li resolved to dismiss the concubine and accept baptism (Qu Taisu experienced something similar and also waited until achieving monogamy to be baptized).

Li donated 100 taels of silver to build a Jesuit chapel. But soon Ricci himself fell ill from overwork. Li paid for a fine coffin. On May 11, 1610, Ricci died in Beijing and was buried near Fucheng Gate—the first Jesuit permitted a burial in China.

Bo Ya: When I was young, I lived in new apartment blocks at Erli Gully. Adults said it was originally a cemetery. I remember that in the famine years of the 1960s, people planted sweet potatoes in the open lots. Sometimes digging deep you could still find coffin boards.

Zhong Wen: Ricci’s Italian memoirs, written in his later years, were edited and translated into Latin by the Belgian Jesuit Nicolas Trigault and published in Augsburg in 1615 as De Christiana Expeditione apud Sinas (The Christian Expedition to China), known in Chinese as Ricci’s China Journal.

Later scholars counted 129 notable figures Ricci befriended in China—ranging from imperial princes to monks, with the vast majority being scholars and officials.

Bo Ya: Ricci’s death also reflected Christian love—just as Xu Guangqi’s greatness stands out two centuries later compared with men like Wei Yuan, because Xu had received the grace of Christ and understood true measure.

Zhong Wen: For many years Ricci believed that spreading the Gospel in China required the emperor’s approval. He eventually saw that such efforts were futile. As long as the Wanli Emperor tolerated their residence, it effectively meant tolerating their mission. “Chinese politics differ from other nations… to seek explicit permission for free preaching here is impossible… We can live here peacefully and slowly build the church without imperial approval.” (Letter of Feb. 15, 1609)

In the 21st century this remains true—China is still, as some put it, an “eternal China.”

Ricci spent most of his time evangelizing, but his social obligations increased. He often received more than twenty calling cards a day and was obliged to return visits. He admitted most came out of curiosity, but “without leaving our home we can preach the Gospel to these pagans.” Frequent banquets tired him. One wonders whether he recalled walking through poor rural villages in his early years in China, speaking broken Chinese, eating farmers’ simple food—“which pleased us more for the kindness than for the dishes themselves.”

Bo Ya: In any case, Ricci’s influence radiated outward. Christianity gradually spread among the educated class, creating a favorable atmosphere for evangelization. His friends in various provinces protected the fragile church from destruction. “It was not European armies but Chinese friends who became the Church’s main protectors.”

Jesuit Wang Fengsu wrote to Europe: “Our good Father Ricci enjoys incredible reputation among the Chinese… When we say there are others in Europe more gifted than he, they do not believe us.” In distant Guizhou, Governor Guo Zizhang even printed Ricci’s map, calling him a geographer to avoid trouble, and noting that after living so long in China he could no longer be called a foreigner.

Sadly, by the eve of the Opium War two centuries later, the Chinese had forgotten all this precious international knowledge—no wonder the country suffered total defeat under Lin Zexu and others!

Zhong Wen: Financially, the mission was always strained. Support from the Pope and the Spanish and Portuguese crowns was minimal. The Jesuits rented houses in Beijing for years (often cheap “haunted houses”) before Xu Guangqi and friends helped them secure a loan. In August 1605, they moved into their own residence.

By 1608, the number of Chinese Catholics reached about 2,000. On February 17, 1609, Ricci wrote his final letter: “I am old and very tired, but my health is good, and my spirit is strong. Praise be to God!… The work is laborious and beset with trials, but improving. I need more missionaries—patient and learned men—for the people here are cultured and discerning.” He was clearly preparing for the end.

In 1610 he was exhausted by heavy work. Though not yet sixty, he sensed death approaching. He completed his memoirs, settled letters and documents, gave instructions for future work, and named his successor. He spent longer hours in prayer. Some heard him say his greatest contribution now was to die—that his task was finished, the field cleared, and it was time for sowing.

Ricci understood how to withdraw at the right time—unlike those who refuse to retire and cling to their positions.

On May 3 his condition worsened. Li Zhizao, also ill, still sent the best doctors. Friends and converts came to see him; he moved to a larger room. On May 8 he made his final confession; the next morning he took communion. Later he grew delirious, shouting repeatedly for the Chinese people and their emperor to convert. The next day he regained clarity and requested the last rites.

Then he suddenly turned to his companions, saying: “I deeply love Father Coton, who lives now in the court of the King of France. I intended this year to write to congratulate him for winning honor for the Lord and to tell him of our progress here. Please apologize to him for me—I can no longer fulfill this sacred duty.” Perhaps, even then, he dreamed of becoming the emperor’s confessor.

Bo Ya: To die with such a dream is a sort of happiness. Had he truly become the emperor’s confessor, it might have sullied him—just look at later figures like Adam Schall von Bell.

Zhong Wen: On the evening of May 11, as dusk fell, Ricci smiled and blessed his friends. At 7:00, seated upright, he quietly closed his eyes as though falling asleep.

For two days mourners visited in crowds. Li Zhizao petitioned the Wanli Emperor for a burial plot for this foreigner who had become Chinese. The emperor granted twenty mu of land and thirty-eight rooms outside Fucheng Gate, allowing the missionaries and their successors to build a chapel and bury him there. On November 1, 1611, Ricci became the first Jesuit buried in China. His death brought benefit: imperial recognition helped shield the religion he preached.

Bo Ya: In a broad sense Ricci may be considered a martyr—though he scarcely preached the cross.

His years in China resembled what Paul described in 2 Corinthians: “perils of rivers, robbers, his own countrymen, Gentiles, city, wilderness, sea, and false brethren.” Yet after his death some Christians criticized the modest scale of his mission compared to his personal fame.

Zhong Wen: Yes. Believing in the power of writing, Ricci had written: “Hundreds of generations hence, when people not yet born read these words, they will understand me as though we lived together in the same age. The sages of old are gone, yet through their writings we still hear their voices and see their world as clearly as those who lived then.”

Bo Ya: And some say he was right again. Four hundred years later, through his writings, we still feel a closeness that transcends space and time. Being a master of Sinology, he surely knew the Chinese ideal of the “three immortalities.”