Of all who were pleased with Zjing’s promotion to Master, none was more glad than the monk Wangohan of the Spider Clan. For Wangohan had many ideas on how to improve the Temple’s software, and he was eager to share them with a sympathetic ear.

“Wangohan has discovered a very promising new user interface framework,” said Zjing at her weekly teleconference with the senior masters. “He wishes to use it on his next project.”

“Another framework?” said Bawan. “We already make use of Angular, Backbone, Bootstrap, Dojo, Ember, Jumpstart, Knockout—”

“He believes this one has advantages that the others do not,” said Zjing.

“He believes?” asked Kaimu, arching his brow. “And what does Zjing believe?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Young master,” scowled Banzen (and now Zjing knew herself to be on shaky ground, the same as when her father addressed her as young lady), “do you fight Wangohan’s battles because you believe in his cause, prize his friendship, or fear the poisons in his spice rack?”

Zjing took a deep breath. “Wú,” she said, finding sudden inspiration. “If we do not indulge the senior developers their most reasonable requests, surely they will grow discouraged and cease attempting to improve the temple, and we will be the worse for it.”

The first two masters looked at Banzen, who considered this. “Very well,” he said at last. “Let the monk play with his new toy.”

The novice Satou, apprenticed to Banzen, approached him when the meeting had ended. “Oftimes you have cautioned me away from the unknown. How old must I be before you trust me as you trust Wangohan?”

“Wú,” said Banzen. “I trust only that Zjing’s decision is a poor one, and that she will soon understand why. But if we do not indulge the young masters their most reasonable requests, surely they will grow discouraged and cease attempting to improve the temple, and we will be the worse for it.”