My question was not addressed to you...

"He turned off the main passage and reached for the handles of a large, red-lacquered pair of doors.  Then he looked behind him.  Lobsang had stopped dead, some yards away.
'Coming?'
'But not even dongs are allowed in there!' said Lobsang.  'You have to be a Third Djim ting at least!'
'Yeah, right.  It's a short-cut.  Come on, it's draughty out here.'
With extreme reluctance, expecting at any moment the outraged scream of authority, Lobsang trailed after the sweeper.
And he was just a sweeper!  One of the people who swept the floors and washed the clothes and cleaned the privies!  No-one had ever mentioned it!  Novices heard about Lu-Tze from their first day - how he'd gone into some of the most tangled knots of time and unravelled them, how he'd dodged the traffic on the crossroads of history, how he could divert time with a word and used this to develop the most subtle arts of battle...
...and here was a skinny little man who was sort of generically ethnic, so that he looked as if he could have come from anywhere, in a robe that had once been white before it to all thosse stains and patches, and the sandals repaired with string.  And the friendly grin, as if he was constantly waiting for something amusing to happen.  And no belt at all, just another piece of string to hold his robe closed.  Even some novices got to the level of grey dong in their first year!
  The dojo was busy with senior monks at practice.  Lobsang had to dodge aside as a pair of fighters whirled past, arms and legs blurring as each sought an opening, paring time into thinner and thinner slivers-
'You!  Sweeper!'
Lobsang looked round, but the shout had been directed at Lu-Tze.  A ting, only just elevated to the Third Djim by the fresh look of his belt, was advancing on the little man, his face red with fury.
'What for are you coming in here, cleaner of filth?  This is forbidden!'
Lu-Tze's little smile didn't change.  But he reached into his robe and brought out a small bag.
' 'S a short-cut,' he said.  He pulled a pinch of tobacco and, while the ting loomed over him, began to roll a cigarette.  'And there's dirt everywhere, too.  I'll certainly have a word with the man who does this floor.'
'How dare you insult!' screamed the monk.  'Back to the kitchens with you, sweeper!'
  Cowering behind Lu-Tze, Lobsang realized that the entire dojo had stopped to watch this.  One or two monks were whispering to one another.  The man in the brown robe of the dojo master was watching impassively from his chair, with his chin on his hand.
  With great and patient and infuriating delicacy, like a samurai arranging flowers, Lu-Tze marshalled the shreds of tobacco in the flimsy cigarette paper.
'No, I reckon I'll go out of that door over there, if you don't mind,' he said.
'Impudence!  Then you are ready to fight, enemy of dust?'  The man leapt back and raised his hands to form Combat of the Hake.  He spun round and planted a kick on a heavy leather sack, hitting it so hard that its supporting chain broke.  Then he was back to face Lu-Tze, hands held in the Advancement of the Snake.
'Ai!  Shao!  Hai-eee-' he began.
  The dojo master stood up.  'Hold!'  he commanded.  'Do you not want to know the name of the man you are about to destroy?'
  The fighter held his stance, glaring at Lu-Tze.  'I don't need to know name of sweeper,' he said.
  Lu-Tze rolled the cigarette into a skinny cylinder and winked at the angry man, which only stoked the anger.
  'It is always wise to know the name of a sweeper, boy,' said the dojo master.  'And my question was not addressed to you.'

* * * *

'My name,' said Lu-Tze, leaning on his broom as the irate ting raised a hand, 'is Lu-Tze.'
  The dojo went silent.  The attacker paused in mid-bellow.
'Ai!  Hao-gng!  Gnh?  Ohsheeeeeeohsheeeeee...'
The man did not move but seemed instead to turn in on himself, sagging from the martial crouch into a kind of horrified, penitent crouch.
  Lu-Tze bent over and struck a match on his unprotesting chin.
'What's your name, lad?'  he said, lighting his ragged cigarette.
'His name is mud, Lu-Tze,' said the dojo master, striding forward.  'Well, Mud, you know the rules.  Face the man you have challenged, or give up the belt.'
  The figure remained very still for a moment, and then cautiously, in a manner almost theatrically designed not to give offence, started to fumble with his belt.
  'No, no, we don't need that,' said Lu-Tze kindly.  'It was a good challenge.  A decent "Ai!" and a very passable "Hai-eee!", I thought.  Good martial gibberish all round, such as you don't often hear these days.  And we would not want his trousers falling down at a time like this, would we?'  He sniffed and added, 'Especially at a timd like this.'
  He patted the shrinking man on the shoulder.  'Just you recall the rule your teacher here taught you on day one, eh?  I mean, some of us have to tidy up in here.'
  Then he turned and nodded to the dojo master.
'While I am here, master, I should like to show young Lobsang the Device of Erratic Balls.'
  The dojo master bowed deeply.  'It is yours, Lu-Tze the Sweeper.'
  As Lobsang followed the ambling Lu-Tze he heard the dojo master, who like all teachers never missed an opportunity to drive home a lesson, say: 'Dojo!  What is Rule One?'
  Even the cowering challenger mumbled along to the chorus:
'Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men!'
  'Good rule, Rule One,' said Lu-Tze, leading his new acolyte into the next room.  'I have met many people who could have heeded it to good advantage.'
~From 'Thief of Time', by Terry Pratchett