To my mind, the Chinese language is pre-eminently adapted for Zen, it is probably the best medium of expression for Zen as long as its literary side alone is thought of. Being monosyllabic the language is terse and vigorous, and a single word is made to convey so much meaning in it. While vagueness of sense is perhaps an unavoidable shortcoming accompanying those advantages, Zen knows how to avail itself of it, and the very vagueness of the language becomes a most powerful weapon in the hand of the master. He is far from wanting to be obscure and misleading, but a well-chosen monosyllable grows when it falls from his lips into a most pregnant word loaded with the whole system of Zen. Ummon is regarded as the foremost adept in this direction. To show the extreme laconism of his sayings, the following[7.42] are quoted: When he was asked what was the sword of Ummon, he replied, “Hung!” “What is the one straight passage to Ummon?” “Most intimate!” “Which one of the Trikāya [Three Bodies of Buddha] is it that will sermonise?” “To the point!” “I understand this is said by all the old masters, that when you know [the truth], all the karma-hindrances are empty from the beginning; but if you do not, you have to pay all the debts back. I wonder if the second patriarch knew this or not.” Replied the master, “Most certainly!” “What is the eye of the true Dharma?” “Everywhere!” “When one commits patricide, or matricide, one goes to the Buddha to confess the sin; when however one murders a Buddha or Patriarch, where should one go for confession?” “Exposed!” “What is the Tao [path, way, or truth]?” “Walk on!” “How is it that without the parent’s consent one cannot be ordained?” “How shallow!” “I cannot understand.” “How deep!” “What kind of phrase is it that does not cast any shadow?” “Revealed!” “How do you have an eye in a question[f154]?” “Blind.” Just one monosyllable, and the difficulties are disposed of. The Zen master has generally nothing to do with circumlocution; if any one is a direct and plain speaker, he is the directest in hitting the point and the plainest in expressing his thoughts without any encumbering appendages. To these purposes, the Chinese language is eminently suited. Brevity and forcefulness are its specific qualities, for each single syllable is a word and sometimes even makes a complete sentence. A string of a few nouns with no verbs or with no connectives is often sufficient to express a complex thought. Chinese literature is naturally full of trenchant epigrams and pregnant aphorisms. The words are unwieldy and disconnected: when they are put together, they are like so many pieces of rock with nothing cementing them to one another. They do not present themselves as organic. Each link in the chain has a separate independent existence. But as each syllable is pronounced, the whole effect is irresistible. Chinese is a mystic language par excellence.