Finding all other forms of communication wanting, the monk
Wangohan would frequently make the long trek down the
mountainside to Zjing’s hut to discuss his design decisions.
When his web application had taken shape enough to be
brought up in a browser, Wangohan made a final journey to
demonstrate the fruits of his labor.
Zjing let the monk run through the many screens he had
implemented, politely sipping her tea in silence. When a
suitable moment arose, she requested the keyboard and
promptly entered random characters in a form field where a
date was expected. The characters were accepted without
complaint.
Zjing submitted the form. The illegal date was ignored and
no validation message appeared.
Zjing then edited the URL’s parameters so that it referenced
a record belonging to another user, one that should be
forbidden to her. The record was displayed.
Finally Zjing removed the record ID from the URL altogether.
A pure white screen appeared containing only the words 500
Server Error.
Zjing turned to the embarrassed monk, saying: “These bugs
were hatched from one Queen Error, who doubtless has many
offspring still lurking in her nest. If you would
understand, return at daybreak tomorrow by the Dying Moon
Road.”
Wangohan did as he was told. Yet he had barely left the
temple grounds when the road ended abruptly at a precipice
where a burned bridge was being replaced. As the monk
tarried by the edge, considering whether or not to take
another path, workers arrived to start the day’s
construction. Their first task was the unfurling of a great
safety net below the skeleton of the new bridge.
