The old scribe Qi was tasked with assembling and
maintaining the high-level design document for a new system.
Each developer provided the scribe with his or her
contributions, but the contributions of the head monk were
returned with the subject line Unsatisfactory.
“What is your objection?” demanded the head monk, who was
known for his impatience.
“Much of what you gave me was actual source code,” said the
scribe. “Class declarations, method bodies, long SQL
queries. That is not our way.”
“How better to document the algorithms?” asked the head monk
pointedly. “My way distorts nothing.”
The scribe considered this.
“Very well,” he said finally. “If you can convince the head
priest of my order, I will allow it.”
“Tell me where this priest may be found,” said the head
monk, fumbling in his robes for paper and ink.
“I can only tell you where I found him last, about three
years ago,” said the scribe, thumbing through his diary.
“Ah! Here it is: I followed the Road of White Nettles toward
the East for two days, until I came to a stream whose banks
were swollen from a recent rain. There I turned so the wind
was at my back, walking until two salmon leaped from the
waters. Crossing at the next footbridge I took the fork that
pointed straight at the moon, turned right when I came to a
barefoot boy gathering sticks and then left when the clouds
blotted out the pole-star. It was the hut with the door
standing halfway open; you can’t miss it.”
