"Perhaps I never had a reason before to apologize," Chiun said.

"In more than ten years, you think this is the first time you've owed me an apology?"

"Yes," Chiun said. "But I didn't realize you were going to be so ungracious about it. Consider it withdrawn."

"Too late," Remo said. "I already accepted it."

Chiun shrugged and kept looking out the window. Remo shook his head. Something was wrong. Chiun would fight for hours, normally before giving up on a major point like an apology. Something was on his mind.

"Chiun, what do you know about this assassin? What about the silver knife with the horse on it? What aren't you telling me?"

Chiun sighed. "Wait," he said, and went to one of his trunks and carefully removed a white robe from it. He went into the bathroom to change out of his blue morning robe.

Remo recognized the brocaded white robe as Chiun's teaching garment. He put it on when he was going to tell Remo something of great importance. All too often, the thing of great importance turned out to be a lecture on the beauties of Ung poetry or the proper way to steam a fish or how to chew rice into a liquid and extract all its nutrition, without swallowing any of its solid pulp.

Chiun came back and slowly sank into a sitting position on the floor facing Remo. He settled as softly as dust particles landing on furniture in an unused room.

He folded his hands inside the sleeves of his white kimono and looked dolefully at Remo, who resisted the impulse to tell Chiun to get on with it. With an American, he would do that. With Chiun, all things came in due time, due time often being long after Remo's attention span had been stretched to its limits, then shattered.

"This is very important," Chiun said, "so you will kindly pay attention."

"Yes, Little Father."

"You know that in the past I have occasionally spoken less than highly of certain Oriental peoples," Chiun offered.

"Occasionally?" Remo said. "If I remember it right, the Chinese are slothful and eat cat meat, the Japanese are grasping and avaricious and the Vietnamese would insert it into a duck if the opening was bigger."

"Please," Chiun said. "Whose story is this?"

"Yours, Little Father. Go on," Remo said.

"It is true the Japanese are grasping and avaricious, and that is why I always tell you to have no dealings with them because one never knows when they will turn on you."

"Right. Got it," Remo said impatiently.

"I had not wanted to tell you this until you were older." Chiun said.

"Chiun, I'm a grown man."

"In the ways of Sinanju, but a child. With much to learn."

"Right. Much to learn."

Remo looked ceilingward. He wondered who had put up the ceiling tile. He could see blue-point nails in the cracks between the crumbly cardboard tiles.

"The Japanese are also given to much exaggeration. For instance, they pretend that their emperors were descended from the sun goddess."

"Right. Sun goddess," Remo said. He wondered about the golf course Pruiss had closed down when he took over the clubhouse. Did it play long or short? Where there many water holes? He'd have to go out and walk it sometime.

"This belief of the Japanese is untrue as are most of their beliefs." Chiun paused. "Remo. I don't really know how to tell you this."

"Right. Don't know how to tell me." Maybe he'd play a round of golf before he left.

"There was a tribe in Korea once called the Koguryo," Chiun said. "They were a fierce and warlike people from the south who overran much of what is now northern Korea. That, of course, is where the village of Sinanju is."

"Right," Remo said. "Sinanju in the north." He stopped and thought a moment. "These kukuru..." he said.

"Koguryo," Chiun corrected.

"Did they conquer Sinanju?" Remo asked.

"Of course not," Chiun said. "It is written in the annals of Sinanju that they attempted to do that but the Master of Sinanju — this was not the great Wang because it was before his time — mobilized the people of the village and drove them off. In fact, so great were their losses that the Koguryo left North Korea and returned to the southern part of that country."

"So?"

"So their warlike ways had impressed many of the Sinanju village. And many of the youth chose to ride away with them. Among them were the men of a family called Wa."

"I see," said Remo who was beginning to fade again. What did any of this have to do with the assassin? Koguryo? Wa? Who cared?

"Now you may not understand this, Remo," said Chiun, "because all you white people have big heads and big noses and big feet and big hands. But in a land like Korea where people are the correct size, they look different upon such things as size. The people of this Wa family were very small. In fact, Wa means 'little people.' Often, the children of the village made fun of the Wa family because they were tiny. For this reason, they went to the Master of Sinanju and they said, 'Glorious Master, the people mock us because of our small size. What is it that we may do about this because it is unfair.'"

Chiun paused again.

"And the Master — did I tell you this was not the great Wang?"

"Right. Not the great Wang," Remo said.

"Good. The Master then said, 'A man's courage or skill is not shown by the size of the body surrounding his heart. The people are wrong. And you must learn to win the villagers' admiration for your acts.' He told them they must become expert at something and this would make the people admire them and stop their insults.

""What kind of thing?' he was asked, because the Wa were a very stupid family, as is often the way with people who are too small," Chiun said.

"And the Master said, 'Learn to use a weapon with great skill. They will admire your skill and then will not make fun of your size. And even those who are too foolish to admire skill will fear the result of yours and so they will no longer mock you either. This way will you prevail.' "

"Right," Remo said. "Prevail."

"So, with the help of the Master, the Wa practiced and through generations they became experts with knives and people no longer laughed at them because of their small size. But, given respectability, they now yearned for power. So when the Koguryo attacked Sinanju, instead of using their skills to help the village, they made a secret agreement with the invaders that they would assassinate the Master and this would leave the village defenseless."

Remo straightened his back and began to listen. He had heard the word knives in there somewhere. Besides Chiun's voice had risen in intensity and pitch, which meant he was about to tell of people trying to commit the most terrible crime of all, trying to zap the Master of Sinanju.

Chiun looked at Remo as if for confirmation that this was a terrible act by the Wa people. Remo tried to look saddened.

"But, of course they failed," Chiun said. "Even though the skill of their blades had been given them by the Master himself, the pupils were no match for the teacher and he turned away their blades when they fell upon him and he did away with the Wa family. Except for one. This one, the third eldest son, fled. The Master took one of the knives from one of the bodies that surrounded him and on the blade, with his fingernail, he etched the outline of a horse because this was the symbol of an outsider in those days and he tossed the knife after the son who fled. And he told him that forever after he would be an outcast from the Village of Sinanju and that he should go with his Koguryo Masters and do their bidding and many such insults did he visit upon the unfortunate Wa." Chiun smiled as he imagined that ancient Master winning the word battle with the third eldest Wa, while bodies were stacked knee deep around him.

"Those Wa were always sneaky," Remo said, hoping the comment was appropriate.