Legacy of the Sandstone Pillars

Towering pillars of stone covered in mist and shrouded in mystery, reveal a figure hanging gracefully off a sheer cliff, gripping the collective breath of a crowd of tourists who watch on with intense wonder and awe. 

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Su Songyun, resembles a real-life Spider-Man, performing an ancient art that has been passed down through generations. Suspended by ropes handcrafted from mountain palm tree bark, he navigates the vertical landscape with a blend of agility and showmanship, each movement a tribute to his heritage.

"My name is Su Songyun, I’m 39 years old and I’ve always been a native of Zhangjiajie where I grew up. I perform by demonstrating cliff fungus harvesting techniques to tourists. We no longer harvest cliff fungus; instead, I’ve displayed this skill for visitors for over 20 years.”

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As a child, Su watched his father with fear and respect. "When I was around 10 years old, I remember seeing my father perform. It looked terrifying, but I also admired him, thinking he was like Spider-Man. I admired how he seemed to fly around, and I wondered if I could one day become like him."

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The mist swirls around him while he maneuvers along the cliff face. Recalling the initial terror of confronting such heights, Su explains, "My legs went weak the first time I climbed up. I couldn’t control it; they just started shaking. My hands were trembling, and I felt scared. I remembered that my father had attached a safety rope to me and I gradually overcame the fear."

Every performance is a dance between danger and tradition. "I feel that this isn’t something just anyone can do. It’s really tough, and only those who can endure hardship will stick with it.” Su continues with his humble truth, “It’s not something particularly glorious; it’s life-threatening."

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As he descends, the applause rises, echoes of relief and reverence ricochet off the ancient cliffs. Su smiles modestly, aware that beyond the spectacle lies a deeper purpose. He has made a commitment to preserving an art form on the brink of fading away that serves as both entertainment and a living link to his ancestors, keeping their stories alive for future generations.

For generations, the Tujia people of Zhangjiajie, known as the Er-ke (耳客), have braved these gargantuan cliffs to harvest the elusive cliff fungi, known to be a precious gift from nature due to its medicinal properties. "I started harvesting cliff fungus when I was 18," recalls Su Songyun’s father (referred to respectfully as Father Su), now 71 years old. "In the summer, when farmers had no other source of income, they would finish their farm work and then go to the mountains to harvest cliff fungus. After just a few days of work, they could make several hundred yuan. That’s when I decided to learn how to pick cliff fungus myself."

However, environmental changes and the development of Zhangjiajie into a UNESCO World Natural Heritage site in the early 1990s brought significant restrictions. "After Zhangjiajie became a scenic area, many places were off-limits for environmental protection, so we couldn’t harvest cliff fungus from certain cliffs anymore," explains Father Su. "It’s now forbidden in many areas."

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The decline of cliff fungi due to environmental degradation made traditional harvesting unsustainable and illegal in protected zones. Faced with the loss of their livelihood and a cherished tradition, the Su family sought a new path. An unexpected encounter provided a glimmer of hope. Mother Su, the matriarch of the family, recounts, "While he was collecting cliff fungi, a journalist with a camera approached him and said, 'Master, come over here for a moment. Let’s have a chat. You don’t need to do this anymore. You should focus on doing performances.' The performances attract visitors from cities, who have never seen anything like this before."

"If I hadn’t been doing this performance, it would have been lost, and no one would be doing it anymore."

Embracing this opportunity, Father Su transitioned from harvesting to performing, transforming a necessity into a captivating art form. "If I hadn’t been doing this performance, it would have been lost, and no one would be doing it anymore," he reflects. The performances not only provided a new source of income but also allowed the family to preserve and showcase their ancestral skills.

The adaptation was about survival and a way to honor heritage in the face of modernization. "We harvested cliff fungus for decades and later turned it into a performance," says Father Su. "Now, young people don’t want to do this work anymore, but I just want to pass the skill on. That’s why I let my son, Su Songyun, continue, so the technique won’t be lost."

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The Su family keeps the spirit of the Er-ke (耳客) alive, turning the jagged and craggily edges of Zhangjiajie’s majestic pillars into a natural stage. Tourists flock to marvel at the feats; to witness a tradition reborn.

"Only those who dare to traverse these cliffs at altitudes above 1,800 meters can harvest these precious gifts from nature," explains Father Su. 

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The cliff fungi hold profound medicinal value in Tujia culture, especially for women. Mother Su passionately shares, "Here, we eat cliff fungus during postpartum recovery; women after childbirth all eat this. Eating this cliff fungus helps with replenishing qi and blood. It also has cooling and anti-inflammatory effects." 

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Before each ascent, rituals are performed to honor the mountain gods. "Once the preparation is done, we head up the mountain," Father Su describes. "In the morning, we pray to the mountain god, burning incense and paper money. Whether or not we can go up the mountain and if there will be fortune today can all be seen from the signs." 

Central to this practice is the creation of the sacred rope as their literal lifeline. Handcrafted from the bark of mountain palm trees, Father Su details the patience required: "Each tree produces only twelve sheets of bark in a year. Once you’ve stripped all twelve sheets, you shouldn’t take any more. To make a single rope requires the bark from several trees, so it’s important to protect these trees and leave them to grow."

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The craftsmanship involved is meticulous and time-consuming, taking up to a week to produce a single rope suitable for harvesting. The rope is not just a tool, but a symbol of trust and survival. Su Songyun has learned to honor and value its literal and spiritual importance: "The ropes my father made for me are like my guardian angels. They ensure my safety and protect me. My life depends on them!"

The making of the rope is a family endeavor, with Mother Su playing a crucial role. "I always make sure they change the ropes regularly, and I help prepare the palm fibers for them," she says while weaving care and protection into every strand.

"The ropes my father made for me are like my guardian angels. They ensure my safety and protect me.”

The life giving, saving and nourishing trifecta is completed by the third source of value associated with cliff fungi. The famed "Tujia Free-Range Chicken with Cliff Fungus" (岩耳炖土鸡汤) is a dish celebrated for its health benefits. "This large one is at least eighty years old," Mother Su points out, holding a specimen as she begins the long process of preparing this meal for her family and friends. "Cliff fungi grow slowly in rainy and muddy conditions. But because the weather here is very dry, the growth process is even slower."

In a world that may seem to evolve rapidly at times with traditions taking a backseat to technology and industries like tourism booming, the Su family's dedication to their ancestral practices carefully reveals to the mindful visitor the delicate balance between preserving cultural identity and adapting to new realities. 

Father Su’s skill and bravery earned him the title of the "Cliff Fungus King." He traveled to renowned mountains like Shennongjia in Hubei, Emei Mountain in Sichuan, and the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau, always managing to harvest what others could not. The risks were immense; fellow harvesters sometimes fell to their deaths. "It’s a job where you can’t be careless; you have to be meticulous," he explains. "When you have control of the rope in your hands, there shouldn’t be any problems."

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A turning point came when a stroke left him with mobility issues and difficulty speaking. "I’m sick now, my legs aren’t as agile, and I can’t speak clearly anymore," he shares. Faced with the possibility that his life's work might fade away, Father Su contemplated, “I was already in my fifties; I thought I needed a successor."

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Su Songyun answered the call. After a brief stint in a factory, he realized his true place was not just alongside his father, but among the sandstone pillars where their tradition was born. "I found the environment exhausting, so I returned home and told my father I wanted to learn," Su recalls. Yet, this passing of the torch was met with deep concern from Mother Su. "I didn’t feel good about it because, after all, he’s my dear son," she confesses.

Her reconciliation with this eventuality became a balance between supporting tradition and wrestling with fear. "I don’t care about the money; I just want him to be safe. Money comes and goes, but safety is the most important thing." Behind the scenes, Mother Su plays an indispensable role. She manages business communications, coordinates performances, and vigilantly ensures the safety of the ropes. 

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The family also faces two fundamental challenges. Firstly, the environmental changes leading to the scarcity of cliff fungi, and the noticeable trend that points to an increasing lack of interest in cultural performance art amongst the younger generation. Su Songyun accepts, "It’s a tradition passed down from the older generations, and the requirements are quite strict."

"Now, young people don’t want to do this work anymore, but I just want to pass the skill on. That’s why I let my son, Su Songyun, continue, so the technique won’t be lost."

In an effort to preserve their heritage, they applied for Intangible Cultural Heritage recognition. "A director from the Intangible Cultural Heritage Center came to Zhangjiajie to see our performance," Su Songyun explains. "He said this kind of skill is rare in the country and suggested that we apply for this protection program." The process was arduous, involving years of procedures, filming, and inspections. "As of now, we’ve received recognition at the city level, but not at the provincial level," he says.

Despite these efforts, the future of their tradition hangs in the balance. Su Songyun contemplates the possibility of it ending with him. "If my son grows up and wants to continue, then he can do it," he reflects. "But if not, it will be unfortunate, and there’s nothing I can do."

Beyond the dizzying heights and the artistry of performances, the Su family's life is rooted in the simple rhythms of rural existence. In the quiet moments away from the cliffs, Su Songyun tends to the family farm, cultivating the land just as his ancestors did. The air is filled with the scent of earth and the soft hum of nature. Evenings bring a different kind of gathering; neighbors converge for a spirited game of majiang (麻将), laughter and friendly banter echoing into the night. 

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Mother Su finds solace in these moments. "I love playing majiang. If someone invites me to play, I quickly finish my work and go play. It’s fun, and when I play, I forget all my worries," she shares with a gentle smile. Despite caring for her husband after his stroke, she always makes time for the community, weaving bonds that are as strong as the ropes her son relies upon.

Su Songyun extends his connection to the land through acts of environmental stewardship. Disturbed by the sight of litter defacing the majestic cliffs, he takes it upon himself to clean these sacred spaces. "I noticed that workers would pick up trash along the tourist trails, but they couldn’t reach the cliffs, which made the environment look polluted," he explains. "I felt that a place as beautiful as Zhangjiajie shouldn’t have any blemishes. So, I climb the cliffs and trees to pick up trash voluntarily.”

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The mystery hereafter is mixed with hope and fear as they intermingle like the mist that cloaks the mountains. They yearn to keep their tradition alive, yet they're acutely aware of its fragile future. "I feel like the value of my life is tied to my father’s legacy," Su Songyun muses. "Every day, I’m dancing around on the cliffs, and I don’t know when something might happen. No matter how much money you make, it doesn’t matter. What’s most important is living each day well, and being with your family, happy together."

“What’s most important is living each day well, and being with your family, happy together."

As the sun sets behind the towering pillars of Zhangjiajie, painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson, Su Songyun prepares for his final performance of the day. The wind echoes through the trees, and the sacred rope feels alive in his hands. With each movement against the backdrop of the fading light, he becomes a silhouette of hope and continuity, a bridge between the past and the future.