The man before him was not like the other prisoners Zhao had guarded. This “foreigner,” a Catholic bishop named John Gabriel Taurin Dufresse, did not plead for mercy nor curse his captors. Instead, he radiated a serenity and courage that neither chains nor the looming threat of death could shatter. As the march continued, a strange friendship took root between guard and prisoner—a friendship that would alter the course of Zhao Rong’s life, and the faith of millions.
This is the story of Augustine Zhao Rong and his 119 companions: men, women, and children who chose faith over fear, and whose witness echoes across centuries and continents.
To understand Zhao Rong’s conversion and eventual martyrdom, one must first step into the world he inhabited. Christianity had a long, complicated history in China. While Nestorian missionaries arrived as early as the seventh century, Catholicism truly took root in the late Ming and early Qing dynasties, thanks to the efforts of Jesuit missionaries like Matteo Ricci. These missionaries, often scientists and scholars, won favor at the imperial court, but suspicion and persecution were never far away.
By the 18th and 19th centuries, anti-Christian sentiment surged. Foreign missionaries were viewed with suspicion, accused of undermining Chinese tradition and authority. Converts—often dismissed as traitors or “foreign sympathizers”—faced threats from both local officials and their neighbors. It was in this climate that Augustine Zhao Rong, born in Wu Chuan, Guizhou Province, around 1746, grew up and found himself serving in the imperial army.
Zhao Rong’s life changed forever on the march to Beijing. Tasked with escorting Bishop Dufresse, he watched as the bishop endured humiliation and hardship with gentleness and gratitude. Zhao, used to fear and resentment from prisoners, was struck by the bishop’s calm acceptance of suffering.
Moved by Dufresse’s faith, Zhao began to ask questions. Who was this “God-Man” called Christ? What was the meaning of suffering, sin, and redemption? What was the Eucharist, which seemed to be the source of the bishop’s strength? For the first time, Zhao felt a hunger for something he could not name—a longing for grace, for truth, for peace.
As the journey neared its end, Zhao made a bold request: he asked to be baptized. The former prison guard became a seeker, a student, and eventually, a brother in faith.
Augustine Zhao Rong was baptized, taking the name Augustine after the great North African bishop and convert. But his journey had only begun. Inspired by the courage of those he had once guarded, Zhao entered seminary and was ordained a priest in 1790, the first known Chinese soldier to become a Catholic priest.
For nearly thirty years, Father Augustine served as a shepherd to his people. He ministered to scattered Christian communities, often in secret, risking arrest and death. In his letters and sermons, he urged his flock to remain faithful, drawing from his own experience of conversion and persecution.
Inevitably, the authorities caught up with him. In 1815, Father Augustine Zhao Rong was arrested for his faith and subjected to torture. Refusing to renounce Christ, he was executed—one of countless martyrs who gave their lives for the Gospel in China.
His story, however, did not end with his death. Instead, it became a rallying point for generations of Chinese Christians, a testament to the power of conversion and the resilience of faith.
Augustine Zhao Rong was not alone. The Catholic Church recognizes 120 martyrs—87 Chinese natives and 33 foreign missionaries—who died between 1648 and 1930. These included bishops, priests, laypeople, women, and children. Some, like Franciscan Bishop Francisco de Capillas, were among the first to be martyred. Others, like 14-year-old Anna Wang, died during the Boxer Rebellion, refusing to trample the cross even under threat of death.
Their stories are diverse, yet united by courage. Bishop Dufresse, whose witness inspired Zhao Rong, was himself executed in Beijing. Little Li, a child martyr, was killed for her devotion to the Eucharist. Mark Ji Tianxiang, a doctor and opium addict, was denied Communion for years but died professing Christ.
On October 1, 2000, Pope John Paul II canonized Augustine Zhao Rong and his 119 companions in Rome, declaring them saints for the universal Church. Their feast is celebrated on July 9. In his homily, the Pope praised their “courage, sweetness, and charity,” holding them up as examples for all believers.
Their canonization was controversial in some circles, with critics fearing it might reopen old wounds between China and the Vatican. Yet for millions of Catholics—especially in China—the martyrs of China are a source of pride, inspiration, and hope.
Stories abound about the martyrs’ courage and faith. One popular legend tells of Little Li, who risked her life to consume consecrated hosts after her church was desecrated. Another tells of Anna Wang, who, when threatened by soldiers, replied, “I believe in God. I am not afraid to die.”
Augustine Zhao Rong himself is remembered for his transformation from persecutor to protector, a modern-day Paul. His life reminds us that grace can find a way into any heart, even one hardened by years of violence and suspicion.
What can we learn from Augustine Zhao Rong and his companions? Their stories remind us that faith is not a private comfort but a public witness. In a world still divided by suspicion and fear, their example challenges us to live with courage, to seek truth, and to love without counting the cost.
Every boy, every girl, every believer is on a journey toward truth and courage. Like Augustine Zhao Rong, we are called to walk that path, trusting that grace will meet us where we are and lead us where we are meant to go.
The story of Augustine Zhao Rong and his 119 companions is the story of the Church itself: a story of suffering and hope, of weakness transformed by grace, of death giving way to life. Their witness shines brightest not in moments of triumph, but in the quiet heroism of everyday faithfulness.
May we, too, find the courage to guard the faith entrusted to us, and to bear witness—whatever the cost.
