Looking closer, one could see a man possessed of a powerful inner strength. His hazel eyes were youthful, as was the certain stride that carried him swiftly along the rocky promontory.
The Horns of Welcome rose above the bay. Two great curving arcs of stone that had for countless centuries acted both as welcome and warning to those who dared visit the Pearl of the Orient. Framed between the horns; far out in the black waters of the West Korean Bay, the oblong blot of a submarine sat like a steel island amid the rolling waves.
The USS Darter had surfaced at dawn.
When it first broke through the frigid whitecaps, alarm had registered in the highest corridors of Communist North Korea. Patrol boats that had been in the area were sent to the bay. They circled the silent sub like hungry wolves, gunners and torpedoes at the ready. The sailors expected a battle, possibly reigniting the fire that had been smoldering since the war with the South twenty years before.
But no shots were fired.
It was learned that the American submarine had come to pay tribute to the legendary Master of Sinanju.
Kim Il Sung, Leader for Life of North Korea, knew well of Sinanju and its Masters. Assassins who could hide in shadow and kill in the time it took a man to draw breath. If the sub was here on Sinanju business, it was no business of his. North Korea's premier ordered his boats to stand down.
The patrol boats sped away into the Yellow Sea, leaving the submarine alone in the bay.
Only when the communist boats had gone did the hatch open. A lone man left the submarine and found his way into the village to the Master's house, there to seek an audience with the Reigning Master. Hours later that same man now waited at the shore for the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun would go to him shortly. But there was one stop he had to make first.
The hillside became a plateau. At the top yawned the mouth of a deep cave. Around its entrance grew three trees-a pine, a bamboo and a plum blossom. Moving among the trees was a lone figure. Although Chiun had seen nearly eighty summers, the old man on the hilltop had obviously lived many more than that.
He was heavyset and bald. Age had whitened his skin. The flesh was pulled taut over knots of fragile bone.
He didn't incline his head Chiun's way. His back to the bay, the aged figure seemed oblivious to his visitor. Yet as Chiun approached, the ancient man spoke.
"There is no beauty to that sailing vessel," the old man said. His voice was thin and quavered with great age. With yellowed fingernails he clipped a sucker from the plum tree.
He nodded back over his shoulder. Only the very tips of the Horns of Welcome were visible this high up. Pincered between the tops of the curved rocks was the submarine.
"A ship should have sails," the elderly man said. "In my day some still had them. Now none do. It is sad that you live in this age without having experienced at least some of the last, young Chiun. It was a magnificent time."
At this the old man finally turned.
When he beheld the ancient man's face, Chiun was forced to mask his deep sadness.
Once bright eyes were clouded with puffs of white. The blindness was recent and had come on rapidly. It grew worse with each passing day. It would only be a matter of months before he was completely blind. If his failing vision bothered the older man, it didn't show. The heavy man offered Chiun a knowing smile.
"Do not waste a moment worrying over me, young Chiun," the aged man said, nodding wisely. "I have seen enough in my many days. Much more than most men. My remembered vision will be enough to sustain me for the time that remains."
Chiun wasn't surprised that the old man had guessed his thoughts. Half-blind or not, there was little that could be hidden from H'si T'ang, the man who had been his teacher.
"Forgive me, Venerable One," Chiun apologized. But his sadness for the man who had given him so much remained. "I have come to take my leave of you."
At this, H'si T'ang nodded once more. "I heard the motors from the government boats and the chanting from the village. When the sun rose full and I saw the shadow of that strange vessel in the bay, I knew." The old man tipped his bald head. "Where do you go?"
"To the West. America's king has summoned Sinanju to his court."
"Ah. And what is the service you are to perform?" At this Chiun hesitated.
He didn't dare lie. Not that he could have gotten away with it even if he tried. But he couldn't tell the truth. Couldn't admit that a legend, an ancient promise, a hope was drawing him to the most barbarian of Western nations.
H'si T'ang sensed his pupil's troubled spirit. Chiun was relieved when the older man interrupted. "Whatever the service, I am certain it will bring greater glory to the House of Sinanju, son of my son," the retired Master said. With a shuffling of feet, he turned his attention back to his plum tree.
Chiun watched his teacher for a long moment. "You do not have to live here, Little Father," he said all at once. "The Master's House in the village-"
"Was home to me in my time," H'si T'ang broke in. "You are Master now. Therefore the House of Many Woods is yours. Besides," he added, waving a hand of bone at the open mouth of the cave, "this place is familiar to me. Three times in my long life have I entered into the ritualistic seclusion, only to have to reenter the world again. It is easier to remain here than to pack and unpack every few decades."
At his words, Chiun hung his head in shame.
"I am sorry to have failed you, Father," he said.
When H'si T'ang turned, his smiling face had grown stern. "How have you failed me?" the old man demanded. "The first time I entered this cave was when your father took you as pupil. For such is it written that the Master should purify his spirit when his successor takes a pupil of his own. When your father, who was my son, passed into the Void I completed your training. As Master and as your grandfather, I was known as Hwa and Yui. As your teacher, I took the name H'si T'ang. The circumstances surrounding my rebirth as teacher could not be blamed on you."
"No," Chiun admitted. "But that was not the only time."
H'si T'ang waved his words away. "Your child who died was a tragedy that you did not cause and that you could not have prevented-despite what you think. As for your second pupil, he was a child of Sinanju the village and student of Sinanju the discipline, but he was never one with the essence that is the Sun Source. The best he could do was mimic what we are. At this Nuihc excelled, but his heart was never ours."
At the mention of his nephew's name, Chiun's back stiffened. The name of his brother's son was unmentionable in the village. Only H'si T'ang would dare speak it.
"As you say," Chiun said quietly. "For now I must go. Take care, Little Father." Bowing deeply, he turned.
He had taken only a few shuffling steps when a voice rang out behind him.
"Hold," H'si T'ang commanded.
Chiun froze in his tracks. "Yes, Venerable One?" The older man motioned with a long, crooked finger.
"Come here."
Chiun did as he was told. When he stopped before his teacher, H'si T'ang reached out with one hand. He took Chiun's chin in a knot of bony fingers.
"This is the last time I will look on your face with these failing eyes," H'si T'ang said. "I want to be sure I remember it."
As he studied his pupil, the translucent flesh of his old, old face pulled into a satisfied smile. When he was finished, his fingers slipped from Chiun's chin. Wordlessly, H'si T'ang turned back to his plum tree.
The ancient man resumed his work. Busy nails clipped another small shoot.
Chiun left his teacher to his pruning. With a troubled shadow across his parchment brow he left the plateau.
Only when his pupil was gone did H'si T'ang stop his pruning. Eyes of milk turned to face the shore. The fuzzy blot of the submarine was barely visible in the bay.