「守護」臺灣玉山之萬物生靈，以及一段跨族的情誼：專訪《玉山守護者VR》導演權河允
In the 2025 Kaohsiung Film Festival, particularly in the XR DREAMLAND segment, a unique multi-person immersive VR piece called "The Guardians of Jade Mountain VR: MORI Ushinosuke's Fantastic Journey in Taiwan" is being exhibited at the Kaohsiung Museum of History. The project is spearheaded by Korean VR director Hayoun Kwon, who amusingly notes that the main character isn't a person, but rather Taiwan's majestic Jade Mountain.
The Guardians of Jade Mountain VR intricately narrates the story of Japanese researcher Mori Ushinosuke (1877-1926) from the 1910s. In his quest to deeply explore the ecology and culture of Taiwan's "savage territories," he ventured into the treacherous peaks of Jade Mountain and developed an extraordinary friendship beyond language and colonial barriers with the Bunun tribal chief - Aziman Siking.
"I believe viewers will inevitably ask, 'As a Korean, why tell a story about Taiwan during the Japanese colonial era?'" Kwon smiles, acknowledging the peculiarity of such a friendship in 1910 between a Japanese individual and indigenous people. "My previous projects focused on 'borders' and 'identity.' Born in South Korea, I grew up amidst ongoing tension with North Korea—a constant reminder of unresolved history, as the Korean War technically never ended."
To the director, borders are essentially "fabricated" concepts. Natural boundaries like mountains and rivers are now dictated by human-imposed power: "From here to there, no crossing allowed," reflecting a purely artificial construct. She compares the Korea-North Korea standoff to a never-ending, absurd theatrical play.
During her art school years, Kwon first encountered Japanese classmates and felt an indescribable discomfort. "Why?" she questioned, noting Japan's colonial history in Korea, which paralleled Taiwan's. However, she perceived Japan's rule over Taiwan as relatively "gentle," unlike the harsh treatment of Koreans. When asked if Koreans still view Japan as an enemy, she hesitates. "I can't say 'enemy,'—that's a past generation's issue. Many young Japanese are unaware, as schoolbooks omit this history, akin to tactics seen in other countries."
Kwon traveled to Japan to interview young people, asking if they knew which countries their nation had colonized. "No idea," was a common response. She aimed to highlight this "historical ignorance" through her work. Returning to Korea, she critiqued its education system for manipulating historical trauma to instill colonial-era suffering. She views both extremes—forgetting and self-flagellation—as flawed.
"Eventually, I reached a creative impasse, seeking a fresh perspective—a task akin to an unfinished assignment for an artist." Over a decade later, she stumbled upon the story of Mori Ushinosuke and Taiwan's indigenous people—a century-old tale where two men from different worlds dialogued through their shared passion for nature amidst the wilds of Jade Mountain. This mutual love for mountains and flora bridged their linguistic and identity divides.
"I don't claim they were 'equal'—colonizer and colonized are never on equal footing—but the 'possibility of dialogue' profoundly moved me: genuine communication once existed amidst historical constraints." Many might see this tale as overly romantic—considering a colonial researcher befriending the colonized indigenous. Kwon argues, "In today's context, such communication seems unlikely, but I believe they achieved it. Jade Mountain itself, vast and powerful, humbles humanity. Standing before such majesty, one feels small. Hence, nature is the true 'protagonist.' Although the main characters never spoke, the mountains, animals, plants, and rocks silently tell their story."
Another highlight of The Guardians of Jade Mountain VR is the director’s integration of her beloved shadow puppet tradition into the VR storytelling. She explains that shadows symbolize the “areas where light does not reach,” with their forms flowing like water—ephemeral, blurry, yet poetically transmitted. Using ancient shadow puppetry, she tells history in a way that resonates like a picture book, bringing a gentle, emotional touch to both children and adult audiences. “Today, traditional shadow puppetry is gradually vanishing, but we use new technologies to preserve it,” she says. The combination of tradition and modern digital imagery in the VR creates a seamless harmony like flowing clouds and water.
How does the director see Mori Ushinosuke or imagine his personality? “Good question,” she responds. She initially aimed to gather early records of Bunun people and Mori to portray their relationship from a neutral perspective. However, indigenous archives have not been preserved; only Mori’s personal writings remain. Back then, Mori submitted his findings to Japan, seeking to help Japan “better govern” Jade Mountain and Taiwan. This raised a contradiction: how could Mori claim to be a friend of the indigenous people? This internal conflict puzzled her.
“But his personal notes came from genuine curiosity. Mori initially learned indigenous languages and did translation work, later embarking on field research out of interest in Taiwan’s flora, fauna, and culture. This wasn’t assigned by the government. He mastered multiple languages and tried to act as a bridge between the indigenous communities and the authorities.” However, his stance was ambiguous: he sincerely built friendships with indigenous people, yet simultaneously served the Japanese colonial government. In his later years, lacking formal academic credentials, he was rejected by mainstream anthropology as an “official anthropologist.” He once wrote: “To govern a nation, one must respect their culture rather than resort to violence,” but the militaristic Japanese government ignored his ideas.
Kwon adds that during the recording phase in Taiwan, her team specifically invited Bunun tribe members for voice acting. “The Bunun traditionally have no written language, so much oral memory has already been lost. Although some recordings now use romanization, it is no longer the most natural or traditional way of transmission.” Rapid economic development led to a break in generational memory—stories once told by elders are now forgotten by the younger generation just by scrolling through smartphones. This disconnection of collective memory left her feeling quite melancholy.
“This work is not only meaningful but also incredibly beautiful and touching!” I said. Kwon feels very pleased that Taiwanese audiences love her work. In 2021, she stayed in Kaohsiung, visiting the Human Rights Museum and the National Museum of Taiwan, and met with anthropologists and local artists. She initially planned to visit Jade Mountain but had to return home due to COVID-19 restrictions. “Yesterday, I finally made it to Jade Mountain!” she exclaims excitedly. “Oh my, I should’ve gone earlier!” Her creation was fundamentally based on archival materials—initially, Jade Mountain existed only in her imagination. After witnessing it firsthand, she exclaimed, “It was so awe-inspiring! So majestic and breathtaking! If I had gone earlier, I might not have dared to create this story because I would doubt how to produce such a realistic VR depiction of Jade Mountain.”
Thankfully, her imagination provided a vast creative space. Sometimes, “not seeing” can even inspire deeper creativity. She reflects, “The night before last, I camped on the mountain, then descended yesterday morning. Over these days, I felt nothing but healing. If you have the chance, definitely go climb Jade Mountain and experience its beauty firsthand.”
The author is curious how the director refers to the VR experience’s participants. She laughs and says, “I really like this question! Calling them ‘players’ feels too game-like, while ‘audience’ sounds too passive. I think ‘explorers’ fits best—it emphasizes agency, controlling the experience, and exploring a new world.” How does she choose Taiwan’s unique flora and fauna? “We explore from the foot of the mountain to the summit, as different elevations host diverse ecosystems. We carefully analyzed species, finally selecting the White-faced Flying Squirrel, the eagle, and the pangolin to guide the explorers. They are adorable, and naturally attract people to follow them.”
This roomscale VR experience space is only 8×8 meters, yet participants don’t feel confined. They are constantly drawn by vivid plants, animals, rocks, and scenery, walking many laps without fatigue. Though the physical area is limited, the VR design guides users effortlessly to move, look up at the sky, and observe their surroundings, as if truly stepping into an endless forest wilderness. She adds that the system can accommodate up to three simultaneous users, but she personally recommends solo experience to fully focus and deeply immerse oneself. “I want explorers to be active—‘search,’ ‘follow,’ rather than just ‘watch.’”
Looking ahead, if technology keeps advancing in the future, would you consider using live-action filming or scanning Jade Mountain? She responds, “Right now, I prefer a stylized 3D approach instead of aiming for realism. Because I’ve never actually seen Mori Ushinosuke or the indigenous chiefs from 'The Guardians of Jade Mountain' in person, I’m not comfortable casting actors to play them. However, scanning sites or cultural heritage is definitely a very interesting idea.” She adds, “I’m open to it, but at the moment, I lean more toward the unique beauty that animation can bring.
The last question: who is the true “guardian” in this story? After some thought, she says, “At first, I thought it was the indigenous people in the mountains. But now I believe that anyone who loves nature, can communicate sincerely with others, and is willing to consider others’ feelings—those are the real guardians of Jade Mountain.”
I also shared that “‘Mori’ in Chinese characters means ‘forest,’ and it can also be read as ‘guardian’ (like in 御守, omamori), which has both meanings of forest and protection. Naming the main character Mori (Forest) and tying it to 'The Guardians of Jade Mountain' fits so well.” But then, the VR story’s files mention Mori Ushinosuke committed suicide in 1926? “Yes, the director admits she’s suspicious about that,” she says. “In his later years, Mori dedicated himself to protecting indigenous areas, but the government ignored him. To them, he became a ‘nuisance.’ The files say he disappeared from a boat… but was it suicide? An accident? Or was he pushed into the sea? No one knows the truth.” All of Mori’s collected files were eventually destroyed in an earthquake—his lifelong efforts wiped out in a single night.
“Anthropologists point out that when the Japanese came to Taiwan in the early 20th century, it was the golden age of anthropology— the last chance to truly record ‘pure indigenous cultures,’” she says. Her VR project captures this nearly forgotten history successfully. While Jade Mountain remains silent, VR makes it tangible and audible—in just an 8×8 meter space, a conversation across a century of mountain forests quietly, peacefully comes back to life.
