"One night we stopped at a caravansary near Bukhara, which is in the heart of Asia. This caravansary was run by a crafty Uzbek named Khoja Khan, whose wine it was said he concocted himself.
"At this place I ate well, as did my father. I met many travelers there. All was new and wondrous. It was here I met the first Mongol horseman I had ever beheld. And it was here I saw my first round-eyed, ghost-faced, club-footed, big-nosed white. The very sight of this travesty of humanity struck me dumb with horror, and I flew to my father's side, who assured me this was but a barbarian from the unimportant Western lands beyond Gaul, where the civilized virtues of rice, kimchi and ancestor worship were unknown.
Where men behaved like dogs and curs and bit even the hands that fed them—"
"Okay, okay, I get the point," Remo growled.
Chiun sniffed doubtfully and resumed his tale. "Now, this Khoja Khan had trained a brown bear and he showed it to me in his pride. But the bear also struck terror into my young heart because I had never before beheld a bear and I could see from the bear's red eyes that his heart coveted my flesh. I told this to my father, who laughed and accused me of eating too many pomegranate seeds.
"That night my father slept but I could not. Crawling from the tent that had been provided us, I found Khoja Khan, who was making wine from sorghum and dried apples and apricots in his cellar.
"I had never before seen wine prepared and was curious, for I had seen the effect of sorghum wine upon those who imbibed too much. As I watched, Khoja Khan took down from a shelf a cage containing creatures new to me. They were as big as a Mongol's hand, possessing eight legs of great dexterity and hairiness. Eight were the beady orbs of these beasts. And terrible was their gaze, which saw me now."
"Sounds like tarantulas to me."
Chiun quieted Remo with an upraised hand. "As I watched, this Khoja Khan placed his apricots and dried apples into the cage in which his creatures dwelt. Instantly they pounced upon these fruits, sinking their plump fangs into their flesh, and began sucking moisture from it."
"Uh-oh. I see what's coming."
"In the morning, after I had returned to my father's tent and being unable to sleep, my father brought me to the table where travelers broke their fast. There on the table sat bowls of red sorghum wine, which Khoja Khan pushed at my father, saying they were flavored with sweet apricots and apples.
"Whereupon, I stood up and warned my father that creatures of fierce appetites had sunk their poisoned fangs into the very fruit that night before.
"My father stood up and, seizing Khoja Khan by the scruff of his neck, brought a bowl of his own wine to the wretch's lips. The wretch refused his red wine, and so my father pushed his protesting face into the vile brew.
"When Khoja Khan was given air to breathe, he spit and hacked the bitter wine from his mouth and sought water, which he took into his mouth in prodigious quantities, expectorating violently."
Remo said, "You don't have to tell me. Your father slew Khoja Khan right on the spot."
"No."
"No?"
"No. For while the Khan had sought the life of my father, his base treachery had taught the son of Chiun a valuable lesson. And so he was allowed to live, although his limbs suffered ague as a result of tasting his own poison. And that is the end of my story."
"So what happened to Khan?"
Chiun waved the question away. "It does not matter."
"It does to me. He was obviously killing travelers and feeding them to his trained bear."
"Your desire for a happy ending in which truth, justice and the American way prevail is pathetic. I have imparted to you a wonderfully rare lesson."
"I already know the lesson—know your food."
"That is a good lesson, yes. But not why I have told you this story."
"Am I supposed to guess?"
"No. I was coming to it when I was rudely interrupted."
Remo fell silent.
Chiun closed his eyes, and deep wrinkles webbed out from the corners. "I have not walked the Silk Road in many years. I yearn to walk it again. I yearn to dwell in the village of my ancestors and walk the dusty caravan road to the bedizened thrones of Asia, who have sustained my House and my family since the beginning."
"So you're moving back to Korea?"
"Those were the good days. I need to taste cool Korean air and water. To see the plum trees flower, and the heron swoop."
Remo swallowed hard. "I'd like you to stay in America."
Chiun lowered his shiny old head. "Alas, I cannot."
"Why not?"
"This land is full of bitter memories I cannot abide. And though my days are dwindling, I cannot embrace the ease I have earned, for I am the last Reigning Master of Sinanju, with none to take up my kimono and sandals after me."
"I've been giving this serious thought," said Remo. "I'm willing to assume the responsibility of Reigning Master. You're always talking about retiring. Now you can."
Chiun said nothing. His head remained bowed, his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain.
Finally he spoke. "These tidings you bring would have gladdened my heart had you only rendered them to me before. But you have dumped me like an old granny. And now you come to me seeking forgiveness, groveling and begging."
"I am not groveling."
" Pleading with me to take you back. But how can I trust one such as you, since I am the only true father you have ever known?"
"Name your price."
"Sinanju is not to be bought. It may be rented or hired. I will not trade the sanctity of Reigning Masterhood for mere favors."
"I belong here. With you."
"Two days ago you swore to me the way of the assassin was not your way."
"Something happened that taught me different. I am what I am."
For the first time Chiun's hazel eyes locked with Remo's. "Will you sacrifice for this boon?"
"Anything," Remo answered.
"Give up maize in all its lurid allure. Swear to me that your pale lips will never again touch yellow grain or drink it."
Remo swallowed hard. "I promise."
Chiun's voice softened. "I might consider a grace period in which you might possibly prove your worthiness to succeed me—against all evidence to the contrary, of course."