Face impassive, the Master of Sinanju resumed speaking, "When Yong appeared before the Chinese emperor, he had with him the great Sword of Sinanju because in those days one never knew what service Chinese emperors would demand. A courtesan might require beheading. Or the garbage might have to be taken out. To Yong's surprise, it was none of these things. He was asked to slay a dragon."
"Really?"
Chiun nodded. "In those days, dragons were more plentiful than they are now, but still rare. Yong had never before beheld a dragon, although he had heard tales of their fierceness and fury. This particular dragon was known as Wing Wang Wo."
Remo lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "The dragon had a name?"
"This dragon did. Yong agreed to slay the dragon, but not for the usual sum of gold. He asked the Chinese emperor for only one thing in return. The dragon's carcass."
"The Chinese emperor agreed to this. For like all of his line, he was penurious. That means cheap, Remo."
"I figured it out from the context," Remo grumbled.
"It does no harm to explain the difficult words when dealing with willful children," Chiun said. "Now Yong ventured out into the Chinese countryside. And soon he came upon a magnificent if cranky dragon, storming about, its iridescent green-and-gold scales ablaze in the harsh Chinese sun."
"Yong thought he saw a dragon?"
"Yong did see a dragon. And knowing that only the foolhardy attacks a foe without first studying him, Yong watched this dragon go about his business of devouring simple peasants."
"Yong didn't stop the dragon?"
Chiun shrugged. "Interrupting Wing Wang Wo's meals was not in Yong's contract. Now be silent, One-Whose-Tongue-Is-Never-Still.
"Soon, Yong devised a plan. First he caught the dragon's attention by bestowing upon him an insulting Chinese hand gesture."
"Flipped him the bird, huh?"
Chiun glared.
"Sorry." Remo fell silent.
"Naturally," Chiun resumed, "this enraged Wing Wang Wo, who blazed ineffectual flames at the ever-nimble Yong. Hurling cutting taunts, Yong lured the dragon to a cave he had explored earlier.
"Seeking to avenge his sullied honor, the dragon naturally followed. For-and you must always remember this, Remo-a dragon's breath is the only thing about them that can truly be called bright."
Remo winced.
"Once in the great cave, Yong hid behind a great stone. The dragon padded past him unsuspecting, the sulphur of its breath blocking its own nostrils. The great arrowlike tail dragged past, and Yong slipped back out of the cave to climb onto a ledge just above the cave mouth, where he had placed the Sword of Sinanju, which was seven feet in length and a mighty weapon."
Chiun lifted an imaginary sword in both thin-fingered hands. His voice shook in the telling.
"Sword held high, Yong waited patiently."
Up and down the aisles, the passengers within hearing paused to listen attentively.
"In time, the dull-witted Wing Wang Wo stuck his thick head out of the cave mouth, whereupon Yong relieved him of this trophy with one swift blow. Chuk!"
Chiun brought the imaginary sword down.
"Ouch," said Remo.
"The dragon whelmed, Yong had its meat stripped away and-"
"He ate the dragon?"
Shaking his head, Chiun lifted a long finger. "No. Yong wanted only the bones. For he knew what the Chinese emperor did not. That dragon bones are a potent medicine. Mixed in an elixir and drunk, they prolonged life. Yong drank dragon elixir every month for the remainder of his days, even though twice a year would have sufficed. And that is why Yong lived to a venerable age."
"Yeah? How long do Sinanju Masters normally live?"
"Only one hundred to one hundred twenty years. It is because we work so hard and are unappreciated."
"I feel for you," suddenly remembering that Chiun had turned 100 a couple of years ago. The thought made him feel cold inside.
"Master Yong lived to be an undeserved one hundred forty-eight years in age," Chiun sniffed. "For he squandered every dragon bone brought back from Cathay in prolonging his own selfish life. And it is for this reason, Remo, that Yong is known in the annals of Sinanju as Yong the Gluttonous."
Mild applause rippled along the aisles. The passengers returned to their magazines and their meals.
"All right," Remo said slowly, trying to figure out what this had to do with a possible dinosaur in Africa. "Yong was a pig. But what-" Then it hit him.
"Hold the phone, Little Father."
"What phone?"
"You know what I mean. Are we by chance off on a wild dragon hunt?"
"I am not aware of any dragons that are not wild."
"Chiun, if you're thinking of grinding up dinosaur bones just so you can live to be as old as Methuselah, I think Smith is going to have something to say about that."
Chiun's hazel eyes grew veiled. "Of course. He is going to say how pleased he is that he will have a proper Master to serve him for many years to come. Perhaps, Remo, when I am one hundred forty, you will be wise enough in years so I can properly retire to my humble village."
"By that time, I'll be retirement age myself."
"Americans retire in their prime," Chiun said dismissively. "It is a foolish thing."
"Besides, a dinosaur is not a dragon. There is no such animal. Dragons are mythological."
"Since when are you an expert on dragons?"
"Since never. But when I was a kid, I was a major dinosaur fan. I still know all the names by heart, Iguanodon, Stegosaur, Triceratops, Allosaurus, and the overwhelming favorite of St. Theresa's Orphanage, Tyrannosaurus Rex. And what we saw on TV was a Brontosaurus-assuming the footage wasn't faked."
"It is a dragon."
"Dragons have big bat wings and breathe fire."
"Ha!" Chiun crowed. "A moment ago you refused to believe in dragons. Now you know all about them."