"Remember the last time you saw five stars in a history of Sinanju, Remo?" said Chiun.
"Yeah. The big Great Wang. Rah, rah," said Remo. Maybe he would get tired of looking at the sky by nightfall. Then he could always stare at his hands for a few days. His body felt like lead, with sluggish blood that made its way through his body strictly on memory. The rest of him not only didn't seem to be working well, but didn't seem to want to.
"You have seen two stars many times, and sometimes three. And twice you saw a Master willing to place four stars. But only the Great Wang himself placed five stars. And why?"
"For the basis of breathing techniques," said Remo.
"It is our law of gravity, and the universe. Five stars. Come, you must be here to take part in this glory."
"The reason you want me there, little father, is so that I won't take away your five stars when you're dead. You want to sell me on your deserving five stars, so future generations can call you the Great Chiun. I know that. So let me tell you now. Your five stars are safe, because I don't think I am ever going to read those histories. Or teach a new Master. So put down a hundred stars. It doesn't matter. It never did. I know that now."
"Are you looking at the sky yet?" asked Chiun.
"Water. Looking at water," said Remo. "Maybe tomorrow I'll look at sky. Maybe the next day. I still have my fingernails to tour."
"Body feels terrible, doesn't it?" chuckled Chiun. "As the Lesser Gi said, a man cannot see himself, especially when he is in the process of greatness. One never does. I myself suffered doubts, thoughts that I might be egotistical, self-centered, childish. How ludicrous, yes?"
Remo saw the darkness in the water, and toyed with the edge of the possible idea of wondering what Chiun would decide to give himself five stars for. Only three other Masters had given themselves such accolades. Two of them were reduced to four and three stars respectively, by later Masters of Sinanju. The force blow, which at the time was thought to be a basic element of Sinanju, was discovered later only to be an essential variant of the basic breathing technique of the Great Wang. And so a star was removed, even though this blow established something that appeared even to the Masters of Sinanju to be unique.
The blow was not the result of force but created the force itself. You could move your hand through walls and the force would not be behind it like in some weak, imitative karate punch breaking bricks. Rather the force would pull the hand and shatter the wall. It was basic, but not quite as basic as the breath of life that attuned the Masters to the real forces of the universe.
It was no accident that the first thing a human baby did when cut from the umbilical cord was to breathe. Never did the infant seek food first, or even warmth in times so cold that the temperature would kill it. First was breath, and so too was it last in death.
The breath was the hello and good-bye of life as Sinanju called it, as Chiun had taught him so long ago in those basic lessons when Remo thought there was something worth learning in this world.
"Recorded this day in the Masterhood of Chiun, discoverer of America, teacher of Remo, devoted pupil, for the greater and continuous glory of the House of Sinanju. It was by the hand of Chiun, agreed this day with the mad emperor representing the rich country of America-see Chiun's discovery of a happy people-a negotiation that will be considered basic in the business of Sinanju.
"Faced with a client emperor in desperate need, for whom a perfectly performed service, while adequate in itself, proved inadequate for the emperor's needs, Chiun first established for the Master of Sinanju and his pupil Remo, now a Master but yet to achieve final levels, that they were free to leave. This was most important because from this came the basic and perfect negotiation, performed by Chiun himself.
"Having thus established that Sinanju had performed perfectly and was now leaving, the Emperor Smith, who only at times could be considered mad, but at this time had to be considered as shrewd as any emperor ensuing generations might face, made this offer. He would outbid any rival for the services of Sinanju.
"While this was basically a perfect position, Chiun, in his keen sense of proportions, understood it was only the beginning. For the country was rich, the richest in its time. And Chiun understood there was much more where that came from, for Chiun had already made arrangements with the same emperor to replace the entire treasure of Sinanju. That is, in one Masterhood to earn the total of all other Masterhoods. (For reference to the treasure, look under 'not Chiun's fault.')
"At that point, Chiun established no fixed amount, but rather a percentage above any other offer, so that Chiun would be free to get any other nation, emperor, tyrant, or king to make an offer, which Emperor Smith would be bound to exceed by ten percent. Chiun himself, in this one deed, had established the first limitless fee."
Chiun stopped reading and stepped back from the scroll. "What does Smitty want?" asked Remo.
"I'm not altogether sure. He's still out there. I'll ask him," said Chiun.
"That hypnotist fellow. He wants him, I think."
"Some silliness. We do not call him Mad Harold for nothing," said Chiun.
Chiun looked at the five stars he had dared to give himself and smiled. They would hold, he was sure, if future Masters really understood the greatness of his breakthrough.
He put the scroll back in the lime-green steamer trunk, making sure it was tied perfectly.
Remo did not look back.
"Say hello to him for me," said Chiun.
"Who?" asked Remo.
"The Great Wang. You're going to see him soon," said Chiun. "And it is I, Chiun, who have brought you to this point. "
"What should I say to him?"
"Ask him about whatever bothers you. That is what he is there for."
"Since he's dead, he's got to be an apparition."
"No. Definitely not. Not alive, but definitely not an apparition. You will see the Great Wang's smile, and the gentle curves of his too-full stomach. You will even feel the strength of his eyes, and his presence will be a bounty unto you."
"Close the door on your way out," said Remo.
"Good-bye, my son. When we next meet, you will be at a level you do not even suspect now," said Chiun, feeling the joy again of the time he had met the Great Wang.
But now to business and fulfilling the wishes of Mad Harold. It was a typical white American assignment, full of contradictions and absurdity, with no clear goal in sight.
For this virtually limitless price, Mad Harold did not want the throne of America called the presidency. He did not wish a great personal enemy destroyed, nor did he wish control of any land. As usual, reasonable requests were out.
There was this man from Russia.
"Ah yes, the czars, powerful men whom we respect, but we must warn you, O wise Harold Smith, you have seen their danger only in part. We who have served the czars, and therefore do not speak ill of them, nevertheless respect your resolve to protect what is yours."
"It's not protecting any property rights. This man is dangerous. He has this tremendous ability to hypnotize."
"Ah yes, the mind players. We know them. They are of little importance usually, but of course this one is of great importance. Most great importance," said Chiun, who knew that an ancient Master who had worked in the Roman Empire was once paid with five of them, Greek slaves who could do mind tricks, as they were called. He was given five of them in lieu of one good field hand to carry his luggage. Chiun remembers the comments about how the Master had been swindled by a Lucius Cornelius Spena, a very rich businessman who wished that a senate seat be suddenly vacated. It was not honorable work, but supposedly it was to pay well. And of course, it didn't. Sinanju never used slaves well and didn't believe in them. Every man, Sinanju preached, should be free to make a fool of himself, therefore leaving more work for assassins.
These things Chiun thought about as Smith went on about the man called Vassily Rabinowitz, an immigrant in a nation of immigrants. Smith would provide the tracking, and Chiun would perform the elimination.
"Most dangerous. Most dangerous. But may I ask, how, if we kill him, can he entertain for you?"
"We don't want him for entertainment. He's dangerous. Perhaps the single most dangerous man who has ever entered this country."
Chiun overlooked the insult because of the tremendous fee Sinanju would be getting. What could one expect from a madman but to think a hypnotist was more dangerous than his House of Sinanju that Smith had paid for? Any sane emperor, if he really thought that, would keep the whole matter quiet lest his lords serve those who bought the services of the other one, the one who here and now Smith declared as most dangerous.
"We will struggle but win, as always," said Chiun, careful to play on the fact of an awesome opponent, but just as careful to remind Mad Harold that when he bought Sinanju, he had bought the best in assassins. In fact, Chiun was thinking of adopting a fine American practice. In every new appliance he saw a note informing the purchaser that he had bought the best of its kind in the world, congratulating him on his wisdom in doing so.
Chiun thought it might be nice to have a scroll prepared for every future tyrant, despot, and king Sinanju served, letting each one know how wise he was in employing the finest assassins in all history. Begin it with:
"Congratulations, you have employed the finest . . ." et cetera.
Chiun nodded again to some more nonsense and then squeezed a small box Mad Harold put in his hand.
"Not now, Chiun. When you have succeeded in eliminating Vassily Rabinowitz, then press that button. I will know he is dead."