"And I told him it was the duty of the emperor to select the victim, the assassin's to execute him. It is an old understanding. The king does not kill and the assassin does not rule.
"Times were hard then. There had been no work. Some of you remember those days. There was talk of sending the babies home to the sea. So I took, to my great shame, this odious task. I agreed to train a white assassin for America-first extracting an agreement that America's assassin would not take work away from any future Master."
The villagers nodded their approval.
"Instead of a babe, they presented a man for me to train in Sinanju," Chiun said mockingly. Laughter.
"And instead of a Korean, they gave me a white." More laughter.
"But lo," said Chiun, his voice growing serious, "this white, although an eater of meat, was sound of limb. This white, although big of nose and clumsy of gait, was good of heart. And I taught him the first steps toward correctness. Grateful was this white. And he said to the Master, "I am but a lowly white, but if you will give me more Sinanju, I will follow you to the ends of the earth like a puppy dog, and I will sing your praises, O awesome magnificence."
"Not bloody likely," Remo grumbled.
Chiun gently nudged Remo in the ribs with an elbow.
"And I said to this white, this sub-Korean, I said, 'I will do so because I have signed a contract, and contracts are sacred to Sinanju. Now the contract I signed was wondrous. No Master of the history of Sinanju had ever signed such a wondrous contract. This contract stipulated that I train this white in Sinanju, which I did, and it further stipulated that if this white's service was unsatisfactory, if he failed his white leaders, or if he shamed the House of Sinanju with incorrect posture or bad breathing or any similar great offense, the Master of Sinanju had the duty and obligation to dispose of this white like so much duck droppings."
Everyone looked at Remo.
"What else would you do with a recalcitrant white?" Chiun said, and beamed as a signal to the villagers to laugh. And they did.
Remo fumed.
Chiun grew serious again.
"But as the months passed while I trained this white, I discovered a remarkable thing." Chiun paused for maximum dramatic effect. "This white accepted Sinanju. Not merely in his flabby muscles or in his pale skin or in his dull mind, but in his heart. And it was then I knew that, while his skin was inferior, and his habits poor, his heart was Korean."
A few villagers made a show of spitting on the ground when they heard that.
"His heart was Korean," Chiun repeated. "A miracle! After all these years without an heir for the Master of Sinanju, I dared to hope that I had found a worthy successor. I trained him and trained him, lo these many years, breeding in Sinanju, and erasing the filthy white habits of the land of his birth, until the proper hour. That hour has now come. I present him to you, my adopted son, Remo."
The faces of the villagers of Sinanju regarded Remo with stony silence. Remo fidgeted.
"Tell them," Chiun hissed.
"Tell them what?"
"Of our decision. Quickly, while the crowd is with me."
Remo stepped forward.
"I am proud to be Sinanju," Remo said simply.
Stone silence.
"I am grateful for everything Chiun has given me."
Nothing.
"I love him."
The faces of some of the women softened, but those of the men grew harder.
Remo hesitated.
Chiun grabbed at his heart. "I hear nothing," he said under his breath. "It must be that I am failing."
"And I want you to know that I am prepared to assume the responsibilities as the next Master of Sinanju," Remo said suddenly.
The villagers cheered wildly. They stamped their feet. They danced. Those in costumes cavorted around Remo like he was the maypole. The dragon dancer kept getting in Remo's face.
"This is crap," Remo said angrily. "They hated me until I promised to support them."
"They were merely waiting for you to prove your Koreanness," Chiun said. "And now you have. I am proud."
"Hogwash," said Remo, and stormed off.
Chiun called but Remo did not respond. He kept walking, and the look in his eyes caused the crowd to part. All except the dragon dancer, who followed him at a careful distance, not really dancing, but certainly not walking normally.
Chiun slipped to the ground, taking again to his throne.
"What is this?" asked the caretaker, Pullyang.
"It is nothing," said Chiun. "He has looked forward to this great moment all his life. He is merely overcome with emotion." But Chiun's eyes were pained. "Perhaps we will postpone the great investment ceremony a few days," he said doubtfully.
Chapter 10
Remo struck out to the north, not noticing where he was going. He just wanted to get away.
For the last few months Remo had been haunted by the need to find out who his parents were, and why they had abandoned him as a baby. It meant, really, discovering who he actually was. It had all seemed so important. But now that Chiun was dying and Remo faced the ultimate test of where his loyalties lay-with America or with Sinanju-it wasn't relevant any more.
What would happen, Remo wondered, when Smith didn't hear from him? Would he assume Remo was hurt, or killed? Would he send the U.S. Marines in to find out? Or would Smith even care, now that CURE operations were winding down?
But CURE operations never wound down. Remo knew Smith had been deceiving himself. This was just a lull. Soon, some crisis would rear its ugly head, and it would be back to business as usual. When the call came to return to America, what would he do? Remo wondered.
Remo looked back from a low hill. Sinanju lay below, with its tarpaper and wood shacks, pagoda roofed houses, wooden sidewalks, and the magnificent treasure house. It looked like an Oriental's version of a Wild West town, and nothing like home. Not Remo's. Not Chiun's. Not anyone's.
Remo felt suddenly very, very tired. He had walked off to be alone with his thoughts and his frustrations, but now all he wanted to do was find some nice warm place-indoors-where he could nap.
Remo found such a place almost immediately.
It was a modest house by itself in a little vale, far from any other houses. By American standards, it was just down the road from Sinanju proper, but by the tightly knit standards of Chiun's village, the house was an outpost.
There were no signs of habitation as Remo approached. No bowl of radishes drying outside, no strings of noodles hanging in the sun. Maybe the occupant had died. Remo couldn't remember having seen the house in any of his previous visits to Sinanju. He decided that if no one wanted it, he would take it.
Remo pushed the door in. It was unfastened. Only a little light entered with Remo. It was very dark inside. That was good. He would sleep better in the darkness.