The old monk spoke proudly, "My master once said that a form of address is only a mark. No matter what one calls it, as long as others understand, that is enough. Even Buddha Tathagata—if this old man praises him with an 'Amitabha,' that is proper. If this old man calls him 'My Buddha,' that is also normal. At the very worst, if this old man says nothing aloud but recites it silently in his heart, that is not excessive either! But the precepts of our Buddhist sect are fundamentally different from the ways of this old farmer before he became a monk. Only by observing these rules can this old man be a monk. Otherwise, this old man is not a monk!"
"Namo Maitreya Buddha!" Xiao Hua could not help proclaiming the Buddha's name. He nodded and said, "What you said is most true, Elder Master. This student has been somewhat too attached to forms."
"Oh?" The old monk naturally could not hear any difference, but Fairy Jing was somewhat astonished. She looked at Xiao Hua strangely. She had scarcely ever heard the Buddhist invocation "Namo Maitreya Buddha."
"What does the young master wish to ask?" The old monk raised a finger regretfully and took several deep sniffs before his nose. Then he reached down and pulled several blades of grass from the ground. As he spoke, he stuffed their roots and stems between his somewhat yellowed teeth and chewed. Threads of grass-green juice seeped from the roots, releasing a faint fragrance.
Watching the old monk's somewhat familiar movements, Xiao Hua smiled. "This student has traveled to quite a few places and met quite a few monks. Those monks differed from Elder Master. They wore clean monastic robes and kasayas, carried wooden fish and prayer beads, and most importantly,