On Dec. 10, 2010, the striking image of an empty chair at the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony in Oslo, Norway, reverberated around the globe. The chair represented the absence of the prize’s imprisoned recipient, Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo.

Back in Beijing, another chair stood empty that night—the chair of Liu’s close friend and fellow democracy activist Yu Jie, the target of an outraged Chinese government lashing out against the Nobel winner’s closest associates.

The day before the ceremony, Chinese security officials had dragged Yu out of his home with a black bag over his head and taken him to a detention cell. There, Yu says, they tortured him—bending his fingers backward, burning his skin with lit cigarette butts, and kicking and beating him until he passed out.

During the torture, the head state security officer ticked off Yu’s crimes: working with Liu on projects such as the drafting of the Charter 08, a human rights manifesto; criticizing China’s former premier in his book China’s Best Actor: Wen Jiabao; and writing a biography on Liu’s life and work. Yu, who professed Christ in 2003 and became a founding elder of the prominent Beijing Ark House Church, had also stoked the government’s ire by fighting for religious freedoms.

That night, as medics scrambled to revive him, Yu recalled in his semiconscious state verses from Matthew Chapter 10: “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. … Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But even the hairs of your head are all numbered.”

“God didn’t allow me to become a martyr that night,” Yu recalled recently. Officials released him a few days after his arrest but closely monitored him and his family for a year. During that time, Yu threatened to seek asylum at the U.S. Embassy in Beijing unless the government allowed him to move to America. The government finally conceded, and on Jan. 9, 2012, officials escorted Yu, his wife, and their son to the Beijing airport, where they boarded a plane and set out for a new life in Fairfax, Va.

In the ensuing four years, the 42-year-old dissident has filled his schedule with travel, speaking engagements, and writing. Without the distraction of government harassment, he’s become an even more prolific author: Each year he averages three new books on topics ranging from politics to modern Chinese history to Christian faith, adding to the 45 titles he’s already written. While Yu and his writings are physically banned from China, he’s able to influence his homeland with the help of the internet—digital books and articles are accessible to tech-savvy Chinese citizens who scramble over the Great Firewall of China.

Yet in the past few years, Yu has found resistance to his work not just in mainland China but in the free world: Hong Kong’s freedom of the press is nearly nonexistent as China continues to encroach into the semiautonomous region, and even some publishers in democracies like Taiwan and the United States appear swayed by China’s clout and control over a colossal market.

I met with Yu at a hip coffee shop in Taipei as his wife and 8-year-old son sat at a nearby table, browsing through magazines. The family had traveled to Taiwan—the closest they can get to returning home—in order to promote Yu’s latest book, a collection of stories about Christians influencing society in Taiwan, and to interview eight more prominent Christians for his next book in the series.

A Taiwanese publishing house had published the book, Man Is Dust Illuminated by Light: A Series on Christ and Life. Across the Taiwan Strait, in Hong Kong, publishers currently refuse to print any book with Yu’s name on the cover. That wasn’t always the case: In 2014, the Hong Kong publishing house Open published Yu’s book China’s Godfather, Xi Jinping, a critical take on the country’s current president.

Last year, Open agreed to publish another of Yu’s works, titled Xi Jinping’s Nightmare, and intended to release it in early 2016. Yet on Jan. 3, Jin Zhong, the chief editor of Open, told Yu the publishing house had suspended those plans. “The difficulty of publishing political books in Hong Kong is already in the international spotlight,” Jin wrote to Yu in an email. “People in the industry are feeling great fear and pressure; they want to stay out of trouble so that they won’t be the next one [to disappear].”

Jin’s fears were not unfounded. Late last year five Hong Kong booksellers connected with Mighty Current Media went missing ahead of the planned publication of a book on President Xi’s love life. First, Gui Minhai, the owner of the publishing house and a Swedish passport holder, was taken by Chinese agents from his vacation home in Thailand. Then three staff workers disappeared while visiting the mainland. Finally, British citizen Paul Lee, the manager of Causeway Bay Bookstore, went missing from Hong Kong.

Gui resurfaced in January on Chinese state television, claiming he had turned himself in for a hit-and-run he committed in China 12 years ago. In February, Lee also appeared on Chinese television, renouncing his British citizenship and claiming he had traveled to China of his own volition to “cooperate in a judicial investigation.” Weeks later Lee ended up back in Hong Kong, where he refused to change his story.

Although many believe the confessions were made under duress, China accomplished its aim—to strike fear into the hearts of once-daring publishers and writers. Trading in gossipy books on China’s leaders was lucrative in Hong Kong, as Chinese tourists scrambled to buy items otherwise banned on the mainland.

But in recent days the atmosphere has shifted—about 16 bookstores in the Hong Kong International Airport have been shuttered, some replaced by luxury retailers or China-owned bookstores. The bookstores say they’ve closed for economic reasons, as more customers turn to e-books.

Yu sees it as the death of an era. The former British colony, he said, “has already lost [its] freedom of press.”

Yu later published his book on Xi in Taiwan, which he called “the last lighthouse of publishing freedom in Chinese society” in an op-ed in the Hong Kong newspaper Apple Daily. Yet he found that larger Taiwanese publishers were also reluctant to publish the book, fearing that such a sensitive title would jeopardize their relationships in China and cost them the opportunity to tap into China’s mammoth market. And although bookstores in Taiwan are willing to carry his book, Yu said he’s faced difficulties arranging book signings or talks at Taiwanese bookstore chains that also have locations in China.

China’s influence isn’t limited to Hong Kong and Taiwan. Recently Foreign Policy reported that in early 2015, the American Bar Association (ABA) rescinded its offer to publish a book by Chinese human rights lawyer Teng Biao, telling Teng in an email ABA leaders worried they would “run the risk of upsetting the Chinese government by publishing your book.” The email went on to say the organization feared publishing the book would put “commissions working in China” at risk.

In response, the ABA claimed it had decided not to publish the book because of economic considerations, and that the reasons were miscommunicated to Teng. The lawyer told Foreign Policy he was surprised to see such an influential American organization seemingly bowing to Chinese pressure: “Even if there is a little bit of influence on [the ABA’s] programs in China, sacrificing press freedom for this kind of self-censorship isn’t worth it.”

In spite of the obstacles, Yu has still been able to reach the Chinese people with his writings. German broadcaster Deutsche Welle made an audiobook version of Yu’s China’s Best Actor: Wen Jiabao available for free online in 2012, and since then the book has been downloaded 3 million times, Yu said.

“I don’t think any book nowadays could sell 3 million copies,” Yu said. “I feel very optimistic that even though I’m overseas, I can still influence the younger generation through these means.”

Sojourning in America

As a lifelong advocate for democracy, Yu Jie spent years studying how Christianity informed the creation of America’s government. When he came to America in early 2012, he was surprised to find how far society had strayed from its roots. As he closely followed the 2012 presidential election, he found himself in a dilemma. “Up until that point I had never voted before, even for a local official,” said Yu, who is not yet a U.S. citizen. “But I felt very sorrowful because I realized that even if I could vote [in America], I wouldn’t want to choose either candidate.”

This year, Yu said, the options seem even worse, as he believes that neither of the front-runners upholds biblical principles: “This makes my heart heavy and reminds me that I need to pray for America often.” Yu said his Christian faith has sustained him through government pressure as well as his exile from China. He’s seen many activist friends compromise their values as officials offer them cushy jobs and prestige as long as they vow to stop criticizing the government. He’s watched as friends “in the struggle” turn to tactics employed by the Communist Party—refusing to listen to dissenting opinions and squelching opposing ideas.

For Yu, the Bible reminds him that all men—including intellectuals and human rights activists—are sinful and in need of a Savior.

His faith also bolsters him as he continues writing, spending time with his family, and worshipping at a Chinese church in the suburbs of Virginia, far from the clamor of Beijing: “Most Chinese people feel homesick about China, but I know that on this earth I am a sojourner. So in Beijing I was a sojourner, and in America I am also a sojourner.” —J.C.