The old man smiled. "I knew. My name is H'si T'ang."
"Chiun's teacher? But 1 thought . . ." Remo caught himself.
"I was dead? No, I am not dead yet. In Sinanju, when a Master lives to pass on his title to his successor, he is obliged to enter a period of seclusion for many years. During that time, the new Master is not permitted to speak of his mentor, for the retired Master must be left in absolute peace. But now my time of seclusion is past."
He led Remo deftly through the ragged high grass, pointing out moving snakes with his walking stick. "There is a colony of vipers to your left," he said, walking briskly past a deep, sandy pit alive with slithering forms. "Very dangerous. At rest, their long fangs rest horizontally in their mouths, but when they are enraged, the poison arrows spring into view. It is a most alarming sight."
Remo looked down at the pit, then at the old man's milky white eyes. "Can you see them?" he asked.
"Not as you see," he said warmly. "But remember, we are in Sinanju. Your eyes are but one tool of many in your
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possession. You must be prepared to use all your tools, all your knowledge here. The cave lies ahead."
Remo liked the old man. There was a strange aura about him, a field of crystalline intensity that seemed to emanate from him, that Remo found pleasant. The cave they were walking toward exuded the same feeling.
"Nice flowers," he said, noticing the spare, beautiful arrangement of plants outside the cave's entrance.
"Those are my friends," the old man said, his face crinkling happily. "They remind me of a poem written by Yun Son Do in the seventeenth century. It is called 'The Five Friends.' " He recited:
How many friends have I? Count them:
Water and stone, pine and bamboo-
The rising moon on the east mountain,
Welcome, it too is my friend.
What need is there, I say,
To have more friends than five?
Remo smiled. "Well, it's better than Ung poetry."
"So is the sound of a donkey braying. I detest the Ung," H'si T'ang said. "It is a form which appeals only to old-fashioned purists."
"Chiun likes Ung poetry."
"I know. I have been forced to listen to it all these weeks." He gestured with his head toward Chiun, who was sitting in lotus position on the fragrant grass mat in the cave, scribbling furiously with a feather on a parchment scroll. "There will be more Ung tonight, I'm afraid," he whispered.
Remo stared at the slight figure bent over the parchment. "I thought you were sick," he said.
"That is typical," Chiun answered. "I send you a clear message about participating in the Master's Trial, and you interpret it as a sign of disease. H'si T'ang, this is the
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ocfish white thing on which I have wasted the knowledge of Sinanju." He went back to his work.
"Remo and 1 have met," the old man said, pinching Remo's arm affectionately. "I will prepare tea."
When he had gone, Remo went over to Chiun and snatched the quill out of his hand. "Do you mean to tell me that you're perfectly all right?"
"Of course I'm all right." He grabbed the quill back. A doilop of ink splashed onto the parchment. "Look what you have caused now!" he shrieked. "It is ruined! The most sublime piece of Ung since the Great Wang himself." 'forget Ung. I gave up my whole vacation to come here because I thought you needed me. I think I deserve an explanation."
"All was explained in my missive," Chiun said loftily.
"All that scroll said was some craziness about yin and yang and somebody called the Other, who was going to kill the Master. I'd like to know what that was about, if you don't mind."
H'si T'ang entered with the tea. "Yin and yang, my son, are the two halves of a whole," he said. "Light and darkness, good and evil, life and death. One must always balance the other. It is the way of all being."
Remo stared at him. "Uh, sure," he said. What the hell, he thought. Old people were allowed to be a little nuts.
Chiun looked up from his writing. "There was no mention of the Master's Trial?"
"The what?"
Chiun placed a finger to his lips, thinking. "Perhaps I forgot to include the note about the Master's Trial," he said. "Well, no matter. You are here now."
"For what!" Remo shouted.
"Lower your voice in this place."
"He has a right to be angry," H'si T'ang said. "He
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does not yet understand his purpose here." He handed a cup to Remo. "We shall explain, my son."
They told him about the rules of the Master's Trial and the names of the opponents he was to face in combat.
"Do you have any questions?"
Remo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again. "You've got to be kidding," he said.
"1 assure you, o silver-tongued orator, this is not a joke," Chiun said tightly. "It is one of the oldest traditions of Sinanju."
Remo leaned forward. "Let me get this straight. You want me to go around the world, without any money or even any food in my pockets, and fight a bunch of characters I've never even met?"
"That is correct." Both old men were smiling serenely.
"Well, I hate to break it to you, but that's the wackiest idea I ever heard. No thanks."
"Listen to how the young reject the sacred ways of the old," Chiun screeched. "I am ashamed, o Master, woefully ashamed of the pale piece of pig's ear I was deceived into training as my pupil. For this, I deserve to enter into the Great Void before my time. For this-"
"Calm yourself," H'si T'ang said, patting Chiun's knee. He turned to Remo. "But why, my son, do you refuse?"