Like Chiun, Sun had been born in Korea but had spent many years in America. He confided to the Master of Sinanju that he shared Chiun's longing to return to the land of his birth. In these things, they were alike. But the similarities soon ended.
Sun's religion was somewhat Christian-at least in its proclamations. At first, Chiun had been horrified to learn this. Sun had explained that he was a Presbyterian minister who had fallen away from the organized church.
The Master of Sinanju had no idea how he would explain this to Remo. The product of a nuncontrolled orphanage, the boy had terrible Christian leanings already. His defense of the carpenter and his sect was shameful. He reveled in so-called worthy traits such as honesty and generosity. His pro-Christian leanings were even evident in his defense of Charlemagne. In short, Remo was a great disappointment when it came to his papal-centric worldview. It would only make matters worse when he found out that the Reverend Sun held views somewhat similar to his own.
Chiun's relief was great, therefore, when he learned that Sun had largely renounced his earlier beliefs upon founding the Grand Unification Church. In fact, the new religion had little in common with the Protestant Christian church or its pontiff-tangled roots. But it would still be a tricky matter to get around with Remo.
Chiun was sitting on his balcony, half watching the Sunnie workmen and trying to find a way to properly sugarcoat Sun's early Christianity when he heard the familiar confident glide of Remo's feet on the hallway carpet.
Chiun had not come up with a solution to his vexing problem. His only hope was that it would not come up.
A moment later, a knock came on the door.
"Enter," Chiun called.
The big door pushed open. "Geez Louise, it stinks in here," Remo complained the moment he stepped into the room. As he walked across the bedroom, his features were crumpled in lines of disgust.
"Do not look at me," Chiun said dully.
Remo sank down on the balcony floor next to the Master of Sinanju. "It's that after-shave of Sun's," Remo griped. "The whole upstairs reeks. I take it by the stench in here he's been to see you?"
Chiun nodded. He continued to look out at the robed men scattered around the lawn.
"Did he thank you for saving his fanny yet?"
"Every breath the Holy One draws is thanks enough," the Master of Sinanju replied.
"He didn't thank me, either," Remo said dryly. "Which is just as well, if you ask me. I couldn't get within ten feet of him with all that foo-foo juice he splashes on."
"Do not be impertinent with Reverend Sun," Chiun warned ominously. "His oracular wisdom is vast. Great are the things he presages."
"Yeah, I bet he sees a big fat Swiss bank account in his future," Remo muttered contemptuously.
"Cannot a holy man be concerned with keeping a roof over his head and food in his belly?" Chiun asked.
"Have you looked around this joint? It's more than just a roof-it's a frigging palace. And as far as food goes, Reverend Sun doesn't look like he's missing too many meals."
"Ours is not to question the Seer."
"Baloney," Remo said. "And what's the story with this 'reverend' crap? Isn't that a Christian term?"
Chiun's eyes opened wider. "It is a Latin term," he said evasively. "Adopted by clergy who debase its true meaning. Tell me," Chiun added, steering the subject away from Christianity, "do you not wish to know why we are here?"
"We're not. At least I'm not much longer."
"That is up to you," Chiun sniffed. "But you must surely be curious to know what inspired me to seek out Sun."
"You didn't talk on the trip down to New York." Remo shrugged. "I assumed you still didn't want to talk about it."
"I did not," Chiun admitted. "However, you have forced it out of me." The Master of Sinanju leaned forward. When he spoke, he pitched his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "It is pyon hada," he intoned.
Chiun leaned back, smiling broadly.
"Sun said that on TV and at the rally," Remo said, nodding. "I don't know those words."
"You would not," Chiun admitted. "It has no meaning to the lesser races. Whites and blacks, as well as many Asians, are unaware of it. You are aware, Remo, of the true story of creation?"
"You mean from Genesis? Adam and Eve and the Garden?"
Chiun waved a disgusted hand. "Do not annoy me with fairy stories," he complained. "I speak of the story of the true Creator." He settled into an instructive pose. "Before the beginning of time, the one who made man formed a likeness of himself from mud and baked it in his celestial oven. Of course, being Creator, he had much on his mind. When he returned, he found that he had left his creation to bake too long. 'Woe to me,' he lamented. 'I have charred this work of my genius.' This, Remo, is how the blacks came to be."
Remo had heard this story before. In his earliest days of training, Chiun used to recount many of his favorite racist stories. Mostly to instruct Remo on how inferior he was to Chiun. However, he could not remember the Master of Sinanju ever relating this story with such passion.
"Wait a minute," Remo broke in. "Didn't you tell me a while back that this was crap? What about Tangun?"
"Tangun established the first Chosun dynasty of Korea," Chiun said impatiently. "He was not the first man. Listen." He continued with his story. "The Creator determined not to repeat his initial error. Into the oven he placed a second image of himself. But in his desire not to create another disaster, he made an even worse mistake than before. This creation he undercooked. 'How horrible this day is!' he cried. 'For in my haste I have created a white man!'
"Only in his third attempt did the Creator finally accomplish what he had set out to do," Chiun went on. "He baked his next creation to perfection, and when it was cooked to the proper shade, out of his oven sprang a yellow man. Afterward he refined this to Koreans and further refined this to people from Sinanju. The process did not achieve perfection until he refined the people of Sinanju into the perfection of a single entity-the Master of Sinanju. My ancestor." Chiun smiled proudly.
Remo nodded. "I haven't heard you tell that one in a long time," he said.
"It is wrong to burden the inferior races with the tale of their defective origin," Chiun said seriously. "I have learned this in America, and this is why I have been silent on this subject for to these many years."
Remo-who thought Chiun had been anything but silent on the matter of race-shook his head. "I don't understand," he said. "What does this have to do with Sun?"
"Pyon ha-da," Chiun insisted. "It is the end of your long wait. I am so happy for you!" Unable to contain his joy, he threw his arms around his pupil.
Remo was not prepared for such a physical expression of happiness from the Master of Sinanju. He endured the hug, leaning uncomfortably away once Chiun released him.
"So what is pyon ha-da?" Remo asked uneasily.
"It is the time foretold in which he who made all finally corrects the errors of his creation."
Remo was still at a loss. Something intensely weird was going on here. Chiun's being happy, for one. The old Korean generally had an emotional range that ran the gamut from annoyed to full-out rage.
Even more out of character, the Master of Sinanju had also taken up with a bogus cult leader. And why was Chiun's story of the creation resurfacing after all these years?
As the old Korean beamed joyfully at him from his simple reed mat, a thought suddenly struck Remo.
"No," Remo said hollowly.
Chiun's smile broadened. "Yes."
"No way."
"Yes way," said Chiun, nodding.
"You actually think this kook Sun is going to wave some magic wand and turn the whole world population into Koreans?" he exploded.
"Of course not," Chiun said placidly. "Sun is but the prophet of pyon ha-da. He sees the future as it has been designed by the Creator. It is the Creator who will change everyone into Koreans."