Queen Error

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.

The monk returned to the temple, enlightened.