Labyrinth

Regarding how master Suku received her name, this much may be told:

Many years ago, when Suku was still a novice at the Temple, she had been tasked with reviewing the code of a monk in her clan. Wishing to impress the masters in the audience, the novice was merciless in her criticisms of the monk. Chief among her complaints was the inelegance of his solution and its overly complex structure.

After the meeting had concluded, master Banzen—who was two decades her senior—followed her outside the meeting hall and down the stone steps. At the bottom he said, “Little nun! Do you know the way to the Abbey of Iron Bones?”

Suku pointed. “Straight across the courtyard.”

Banzen said, “Walk it, then.”

No sooner had Suku gone three paces when the master struck her left side with a large rice paddle, thwock! sending her reeling into a plum tree. Though surprised, the novice knew better than to question or complain. Instead she dusted herself off and continued toward the abbey, only to find two gardeners blocking her path. She sidestepped them and thwock! the paddle came down upon her head. Now dizzy, she splashed through a koi pond, stumbled into a shrine, tripped over a tree root, and thwock! now her right side met master Banzen’s paddle and she found herself sprawled among the peonies.

Eventually the bruised and winded nun arrived at the steps of the Abbey of Iron Bones, with Banzen right on her heels.

“Straight across the courtyard,” echoed Banzen. “Design.”

The master then took Suku gently by the shoulders and turned her around to face the twisted path her steps had traced in the dust. “Implementation,” said Banzen.

As the novice considered this, Banzen handed her the paddle and said, “The World.”