By the time he was twenty, after five years working in the palace abattoir, he felt his desire for vengeance might drive him mad, for he saw the head of Aga Kubalai on that of every animal he butchered, images that went on to fill his dreams. But he had a strong character and he went on hating, went on searching for the path that would lead him to fulfill the promise that, in the name of his parents, he had made when he was fifteen, the moment he first set foot on the island. Aga Kubalai must die and Kiang’Si, the city that had accepted him as governor, must be destroyed.
Ten years later, when he was thirty, he heard talk of a new religion preached by a beggar called Mohammed, and he saw at last the path he had sought for so long. It was a dangerous path and difficult to forge, particularly in its early stages, because it required him to escape from the city nearly every night and return before the sky was lit by the first star of morning. But he preferred to risk dying at the hands of the guards to dying, like certain snakes, poisoned by his own hatred.
It took him three years to achieve his objective. Then, sure that no one could stop him, he decided to leave the island forever and go to the mountains of Annam. There lived the men who would believe in him and who, later, would be the instruments of his vengeance. The days of Kiang’Si were numbered.
One moonless night, along a path that crossed the governor’s hunting wood, linking the abattoir with a small beach on the island, Wei Lie Deshang set off on his last journey. It was his usual route, the same one he had taken on each and every one of his nighttime escapes and he arrived without mishap at the rock where he moored the sampan he had bought three years ago in the city. A moment later, he was rowing toward the coast.
Kiang’Si, the most prosperous city on the Cathay Sea, was situated on a wide bay, built on the gentle hills that overlooked the beach. Beautiful by day, it was even lovelier by night when, by the light of the torches that lit it, the buildings seemed weightless, a succession of shining, red roofs. By night, Kiang’Si did not look like a city; it looked like a flock of birds about to alight on the sea.
But Wei Lie Deshang felt utterly indifferent to the beauty and kept his eyes fixed on the waves as he rowed. Once out in the bay, he steered the sampan toward the city’s great pagoda.
He disembarked near a flight of steps crowded with cripples and beggars and headed for the place where, for the last eighteen years, his god Siddartha had awaited him. He had not set foot in the temple since the day he had been taken to the island.
The gigantic image was covered with orange flowers. Beside it Wei Lie Deshang seemed but an insignificant man.
As soon as he had knelt down he heard a voice inside him say: “What do you want, servant?” Siddartha was speaking to him in the voice of a harsh father.
“I know I look like a servant,” replied Wei Lie Deshang in humble prayer, “but I come from a family of soldiers and the blood in my veins is still that of a soldier.”
“So why are you not a soldier?”
“Because my family rebelled against Aga Kubalai, the foreign governor. The punishment for them was death. For me, for I was only a child then, the humiliation of being a servant.”
Wei Lie Deshang closed his eyes and fell silent. It hurt him to remember all that had happened at the time of the rebellion. Why had the city of Kiang’Si surrendered to a man like Aga Kubalai? No one had wanted to hear his family’s call to arms, no one had wanted to struggle against the new regime. Not the merchants, not the priests, not even the captains in the army. But that betrayal would not go unpunished.
“Now I want to avenge myself, Father,” continued Wei Lie Deshang, prostrating himself before his god. “Everything is ready. All I need now is your blessing.” But Siddartha would not agree to his plea. His voice grew even harsher.
“Tell me first,” he heard the voice inside him say, “why you became a thief and a murderer. In three years you have killed more than thirty merchants.”
“I needed their gold, Father.”
“And why in that house in To’she do you keep a long list of names and numbers?”
“They are the names of all the traitors of this city, Father. And the numbers indicate the places where those traitors live.”
“You should not avenge yourself, servant. Hatred cannot put an end to hatred; only love can do that. That is an ancient law.”
“I want to kill those who broke another ancient law and allowed a foreigner to rule in Kiang’Si.”
“Silence, servant!” The mighty Siddartha’s voice changed, he grew angry. “Remove these malignant desires from your heart. Go back to the island and confess your sins.”
“Why do you speak now with the voice of Aga Kubalai?” shouted Wei Lie Deshang, standing up.
“Do not speak thus to your god!”
“You’re a traitor too!” exclaimed Wei Lie Deshang, retreating to the temple exit. He was perplexed. “I’ll burn this temple down, Siddartha!”
He ran out of the pagoda and did not stop until he had reached the house that he had bought, three years before, in the To’she district. He had just lost the protection of his god, but gazing upon the stolen golden bezants and on the parchments covered in names and numbers was enough to make him forget. That night, for the first time in many weeks, he smoked opium and saw, with all the detail and clarity of a vision, the end of that path he had imagined on the day he first heard talk of the beggar Mohammed. Kiang’Si would pay for its treachery: His vengeance would be terrible.
The following morning, dressed as a merchant now, he set off on his journey to the mountainous region of Annam, mingling with real merchants and following their noisy caravan of carts and horses. But very soon, as soon as they were away from Kiang’Si, he left the group — and, asking in the villages through which he passed — he began to recruit the people he would need in order to carry out his plans. From one place, where he saw that the houses were solidly built, he would recruit carpenters and stonemasons; from the next place, young girls and cooks. His gold opened all doors.
Fifteen days later, with his journey at an end, having reached the mountains of Annam, the former servant Wei Lie Deshang chose a small valley, the one that of all others seemed most hidden and solitary. Then, he began giving orders.
“Build five palaces,” he told the carpenters and stonemasons. “Make of the whole valley a beautiful garden complete with streams and fountains,” he told the gardeners. “Watch over the young girls and the cattle and let no intruder near,” he told the mercenaries.
After listening attentively, the whole group, made up of more than five hundred people, scattered throughout the valley and began to put up tents. “Your sorrow must be very great,” said one old mercenary, coming up to him. “I never saw anyone who, being rich and capable of finding happiness among others, chose instead the seclusion and solitude you have chosen now.”
The fraternal feelings shown by the old mercenary touched Wei Lie Deshang.
“I see you are a noble man, and from now on I want you to be my lieutenant. But this is not what you think. The paradise I am going to build in this valley is not intended for me, but for the Annamites who live in this region.”
The mercenary did not understand the meaning of those words, but he remained silent.
“What do you know of the Annamites?” Wei Lie Deshang asked, looking up at the high, craggy mountains surrounding the valley.
“Only that they are excellent warriors and are unrivaled as hunters of tigers.”
“Yes, that’s what I heard in the kitchens of Kiang’Si. And that they are like children, innocent and credulous.”