One morning a nun named Zjing was passing by a terminal,
around which were clustered several learned brothers of the
One Shoe Clan. On the screen a program listing was glowing
softly amid the golden shafts of dawn. Zjing paused to
glance at it.
“That is not right,” said the nun, and continued walking.
This was reported to the abbess of One Shoe, who later that
day found the nun working in the pottery shed. The nun’s
hands were red and wet with clay: she was turning a new
water jug on the potter’s wheel, for that was her assigned
duty.
“A learned brother says that you showed him grave disrespect
this morning,” said the abbess. “Do you deny this?”
“Wú,” said the nun. “A hornet may sting a bear, when the
nest is underfoot.”
“The brother maintains that he did not require correction,”
said the abbess. “I watched him execute this selfsame code,
and found its performance to be quite satisfactory. He says
that you tarried for no longer than it takes a branch to
fall, and thus could not have judged his labors fairly.”
“Wú,” said the nun.
“Explain,” said the abbess.
Zjing placed the newly-made jug on a shelf, next to a dozen
others. All were perfectly symmetrical, and identical in
every proportion.
The nun hesitated for a moment, then with a snarl squeezed
the pliable throat of the new jug in both hands. She then
punched its bowl repeatedly, and mangled its elegant handle.
Drawing a breath, Zjing filled a pitcher of water and
emptied it into the lopsided jug. She stepped slowly
backward to stand beside the abbess.
