Hollow Orchid: A Visit to Contemporary Chinese Hermits (Part 11)

After climbing for about a hundred meters, we arrived at the ruins of an ancient hermitage, and then began to climb a steeper cliff face. Halfway up, my legs began to tremble from exhaustion and fear, so I asked the guide how much farther it was. He said two hours, then pointed to the cliff top just below the white clouds. When he had earlier told us that Master Su's cave was "not far," I had forgotten to ask exactly how far. Now I knew, and I realized we could not climb up. It would be dark in less than two hours, and we were truly out of energy. We decided to visit Master Su another day, and then slowly descended back to the main road.  
 Walking on flat ground was so exhilarating that Stephen started hopping around. Along the way, when he passed other tourists heading down the mountain, they started hopping too. Before long, more than ten Chinese people were hopping behind a foreigner who looked remarkably like Rip Van Winkle. That night, I laughed until I could barely breathe. It took a week for my legs to stop hurting.  

 At this point, this chapter should end, but a few months later, I went to Mount Hua again. It was late March, and everything had changed. The river had almost no water, and except for the occasional wild peach tree in bloom, the cliffs were a withered yellow. When I arrived at Suoping Ping, I stopped to greet our former guide. He said that Master Su and his disciples had come down from the Great Upper Peak a few days ago and were currently staying at the Zhaoyuan Cave Temple at the entrance to the valley. I smiled, happy that I didn't have to climb that cliff again, and then returned to the Yuquan Temple.  

 In the courtyard, I met a Daoist nun. She looked exceptionally serene, so I asked her for directions to Zhaoyuan Cave. She led me along the west wall to a large gate and pointed toward a bamboo grove in the distance. Exiting the gate, I walked back to the entrance of the valley, crossed the river, and followed an irrigation canal. After walking about two hundred meters, I entered a bamboo grove—Zhaoyuan Cave was hidden within it. This was where He Yuanxi stayed when he came to Mount Hua in the early 13th century, and later he carved a cave on the South Peak.  

 The temple complex consisted of several old adobe buildings with thatched roofs. I patted the two stone lions at the entrance and went inside. Although the place looked like it was about to collapse, it was crowded with Daoist priests and believers. I approached an old priest who looked like the abbot. I told him I was looking for Master Su and asked what event was being held there. He said that Master Su and his disciples were at the Twelve Caves on the other side of the Yuquan Temple; these two days were the third anniversary of the death of Daoist Priest Cao's mother, and Daoist priests and nuns from the entire province had come to participate in a three-day Zhaijiao ritual. Daoist Priest Cao was the president of the Mount Hua Daoist Association; I later learned that she was the nun who had pointed me toward Zhaoyuan Cave.  

 I returned to the Yuquan Temple and walked toward the Twelve Caves. As I passed the courtyard foundation, I ran into Old Priest Xue. He lived alone on the West Peak. Here, at the foot of the mountain, he was surrounded by more than ten young disciples. We exchanged greetings, and he said he had just returned from Beijing, where he had attended the first formal ceremony for accepting new Daoist priests and nuns since 1949. He asked me if I had planted those pine seeds. I told him I had given them to friends in Taiwan, Japan, and the United States who loved forests. When I asked him about Master Su, he disappeared into a rather messy temporary tent and then came back with a tall Daoist priest in his forties.  

 Priest Xue introduced him as a disciple of Master Su, surnamed Zhou. I told him about my previous attempt to visit him and his master. He said that if I waited another year or two, climbing that cliff might be easier. He also said that the Tiandihui in Taiwan had expressed willingness to fund the construction of a safer path. However, it was clear he was not welcoming of this. Just then, another priest walked out of the tent. Priest Zhou said, "This is Master Su." I bowed to him and introduced myself. Master Su didn't even stop, saying I had the wrong person, and added that he surnamed Hua because he lived on Mount Hua. Then he walked away, his long sleeves flapping as if he were about to fly.