Like a Rolling Stone

Even on the best of days the monk Wangohan's mood would rival old vinegar, but the long bleak winter had soured it still more. Many were the target of his scorn, but none moreso than the monk Landhwa:

“His lazyiness is no secret,” Wangohan complained to one poor novice at mealtime (who all-too-late understood why the seats near Wangohan were always empty), “yet from his masters he receives no correction. He presents the illusion of being industrious but in truth he is coding his own pet projects. I asked him to implement a dozen simple DAOs; he chafed at the tediousness of the task, then wasted a week developing a DAO-code-generator to spit them out!”

When the gong called the brothers back to their cubicles, a senior monk pulled the novice aside.

“What impression have you of our brother Wangohan?” grinned the senior monk. “Surely you have something to say on this matter, unless he has truly talked your head off.”

The novice thought a moment.

“Wangohan has the spirit of the mule: dedicated and hard-laboring,” said the novice. “I would trust him to carry ten thousand stones from the valley to the temple.”

“High praise,” said the senior monk.

“Is it?” asked the novice. “His rival Landhwa would first build a wheelbarrow.”