Nozawa and others waited for a moment, and then Zhiru, the little monk, came in.
He was about eight or nine years old, bald, without any scar from a monk's ceremonial burning, with a fair face and red lips, a very handsome little monk dressed in a robe made of discarded scraps, stepping in wooden clogs, looking quite appealing—the robe made from discarded cloth is a kind of monk's attire, not literally to sweep excrement with it.
Moreover, Japanese monks are quite wealthy; they just call it that, and it's not really made of tattered rags.
As soon as Little Monk Zhiru entered, he bowed deeply with hands clasped together: "Namo Amitabha, the little monk greets all benevolent believers."
"Praise Namo Three!" Maeda Toshimasa seemed well-acquainted with him, casually returning the bow with a smile and asked, "Has Little Master Zhiru come for some reason?"
