Forty-six Hail Marys

In the days leading up to his father's departure for his new post in Jinan, Luan Yi had barely slept. Night after night he tossed and turned, searching for a solution to the troubles that awaited them, but it was as if he were lost in a maze—no matter how he tried, he could not find a perfect plan.

Before their journey, friends from Yingchuan gathered to bid him farewell. Seeing his gloom, they asked the reason.

When his brothers learned the truth, they too became anxious. Guo Jia pondered for a moment and said, “A mighty dragon cannot suppress the local serpents. In Jinan, witchcraft is rampant. The sorcerers collude with the powerful clans, their roots too deep to be pulled out easily. Still, perhaps we simply haven't found the true source. If we can locate the root, we can uproot it entirely.”

“The source?” Luan Yi’s eyes lit up. He suddenly recalled a saying from later times: “When trapped in a dead end of thought, it is better to return to the origin and search for a new breakthrough—often, unexpected results follow.”

“Return to the origin, yes, return to the origin!” Luan Yi grasped at the idea, but could not seize its essence. “What is the origin of the Jinan problem?”

Guo Jia, Shan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie exchanged glances. “Isn’t it obvious? It lies in the greed of the powerful clans.”

“No!” Luan Yi shook his head, rejecting this answer. “Nearly all the great clans in the Han are driven by greed, yet nowhere else do we see problems like those in the Jinan Kingdom.” As he spoke, his mind grew clearer. “Yes, that’s it! It’s the witchcraft, the religious cults, the heresies that have clouded people’s hearts and plunged Jinan into chaos. If we can suppress the cults, most of Jinan’s troubles will be resolved.”

But how to eradicate the cults? Through bloody violence and severe punishment? Impossible—his father Luan Miao was but the magistrate of a single county, lacking such power. Besides, as the saying goes, blocking only provokes more resistance. The harder you clamp down, the fiercer the pushback; it’s easy to be consumed by the flames you set.

Then how to guide and resolve it? Teach the locals not to be superstitious, to believe in science? What a joke—in these times, not only the common folk but even the brightest scholars revered spirits and gods. Traditions of worship handed down through millennia could not be overturned overnight.

Once again, Luan Yi’s brow furrowed in frustration.

Suddenly, Mao Jie spoke: “Brother Yi, in my humble opinion, the problem is not insoluble. The people of Jinan believe in witchcraft and heresy. Why not convert them with the righteous teachings? As the saying goes, evil cannot prevail against the right. Surely, you can turn the tide!”

“Evil cannot prevail against the right? Use orthodox faith to overcome heresy?” Luan Yi mused, and then, all at once, his eyes flashed with understanding. He burst out laughing, the pieces of a grand strategy falling into place in his mind like sparks igniting a flame.

Luan Yi, who carried a millennium of world history in his heart, knew well the immense power that religious faith could wield. Never mind the later Crusades in Europe or the holy wars of ***; even the Yellow Turban Rebellion led by Zhang Jue, which would erupt a few years hence, owed its force to the Taiping Dao movement. Zhu Yuanzhang, the founding emperor of the Ming, had also used the power of the Ming Sect to establish his dynasty.

If he could hold faith in his hands, he would have the power to overturn the world.

Luan Yi sensed that, though the path ahead in Jinan would be arduous, if he managed it well, it might become the very place where he rose to greatness and made his enduring mark. Hastily, he returned home, shut himself in his study, and began to plan how to spark a religious revolution in Jinan.

He pondered: To truly uproot the cults, he would need to introduce a religion of overwhelming orthodoxy to supplant them. In the late Han, the native religions were Confucianism and Daoism; even the Five Bushels of Rice Sect and the Taiping Dao were their offshoots. Both Confucianism and Daoism taught virtue, but their ends differed: Confucians aspired to become cultivated gentlemen, Daoists sought unity with nature and the Dao, practicing non-action. Both produced virtuous followers.

Yet, in times of peace, virtue brings safety; in the chaos of the late Han, good men were merely prey for the wicked.

This, Luan Yi knew, was why neither Confucianism nor Daoism could serve as the best weapon against heresy.

Of the world's three great religions—Buddhism, Christianity, and ***—only Buddhism had entered Han China, but it had only just arrived, its followers were few, and its teachings, like those of Confucianism and Daoism, urged excessive kindness—turning the other cheek, lacking the assertiveness a great nation required.

As for ***—Luan Yi’s knowledge was too limited to use it.

That left Christianity.

There was good reason Christianity became the most widely spread faith in later times. Over centuries, it had developed a remarkably complete system of propagation. Every believer was expected to spread the doctrine, forming a vast network of nodes, each drawing in more followers, growing exponentially. In later economic studies, this method of spreading faith was even analyzed, and in retrospect, it resembled the multi-level marketing models of later ages—perhaps the latter had evolved from the former.

Moreover, Christianity was adept at brainwashing—weekly worship, prayers before and after meals, and in every idle moment, all served as repetitive reinforcement. The church also hosted free meals and gatherings, drawing more people in to hear the teachings; eventually, even the most indifferent would become part of the flock.

But Christianity’s greatest strength was this: like other religions, it taught virtue, promising heaven to the good and hell to the wicked. Unlike the rest, Christianity fostered unity—within the church, all believers were brothers and sisters, as close as family, supporting each other and serving God together. Such harmony was admirable, but kindness was not unconditional; it was reserved for God’s followers. Those outside the faith would be kindly persuaded to join, but if persuasion failed, or if the faith or its people were insulted, then the faithful would not hesitate to fight back. Thus, Christianity possessed a measure of aggressiveness and wildness—precisely what Luan Yi needed.

With that, Luan Yi resolved to use Christianity as the blueprint for a new faith to overturn the power of witchcraft in Jinan.

Understanding the values of Han society, he knew he could not simply transplant Christian doctrine; it would need to be blended with native history and Confucian-Daoist thought, creating a wholly new religious model.

Luan Yi spent the entire night in thought before settling on a name: the Church of the Holy Mother. Drawing on his memory of the Bible, he began composing a new scripture, to be called the Gospel of the Holy Mother.

Of course, his Gospel could not be as thick as the Bible—time did not permit it, even if he wished. His book would consist of only one chapter—Genesis—totaling just over 15,000 characters.

The contents, in broad strokes, recounted this: At the dawn of the universe, when all was chaos, Nuwa, with the body of a serpent, walked the earth after the heavens and earth had formed. Seeing the world empty and lifeless, she decided to create. Over five days, she made light, the sky, the land, the seas, the stars, and the four seasons. On the sixth day, she created all living things, and fashioned humans from clay in her own image. On the seventh day, she rested, instructing humanity to do good deeds, promising those who accumulated virtue a place in paradise, and condemning the wicked to hell. Then, she returned to the heavens.

Thus, people multiplied on earth, and on festivals, they prayed for the Holy Mother Nuwa’s blessings, and she protected them.

But in time, humans grew arrogant, forgetting the Holy Mother’s great kindness and her teachings of virtue, and began to war among themselves.

One day, the chiefs of two tribes, Zhu Rong and Gong Gong, fought. When Gong Gong was defeated, in his rage he struck the Pillar of Heaven, Buzhou Mountain. The pillar collapsed, the sky tore open, and a deluge from the Milky Way poured down, flooding the land and bringing untold misery.

At this moment, as humanity faced extinction, the Holy Mother forgave their ingratitude and descended to save them. She first infused Yu the Great with her spirit, granting him wisdom and teaching him to control the floods, and bestowed upon him the Sea-Calming Needle to aid all living things. She then went herself to the East Sea, forging five-colored stones to patch the sky.

With the breach mended and the waters receding, peace returned, and the people once again gave thanks to the Holy Mother.

But people are quick to forget their pain after healing. Centuries later, they again forgot her grace, and evil crept back into the world. In the time of King Zhou of Shang, the king, corrupted by demons, imposed harsh taxes and lived in debauchery, plunging the people into suffering.

Once more, the Holy Mother was moved with compassion. She granted Jiang Ziya great wisdom, making him the prophet of the age, and bade him assist King Wu in overthrowing the tyrant. With her guidance, every peril was met with fortune, and in the end, they achieved immortal deeds. Grateful once again, the people soon forgot…

Thus came the Spring and Autumn, the Warring States, the tyranny of the Qin, and so on.

The story repeated itself, through to the end of the Han dynasty. The lesson was clear: because the people had once again failed to honor the Holy Mother, the Han dynasty had grown corrupt, and the people suffered. To change their fate, there was only one way: to restore the worship of the Holy Mother Nuwa, to revere and serve her, and seek her protection.