Passion for butterflies emerges from cocoons

Fabric of a community

Constructing a bridge is, in essence, creating a network of friends. Over the years, Sun has connected with countless individuals he's never met face-to-face. A homestay owner in Tengchong, Yunnan province, a farmhouse proprietor deep in the Qinling Mountains in Shaanxi, and even dedicated birders — their initial contact was often a single photo accompanied by a question: "What butterfly is this?"

Sun would provide a name, then ask for the time and place of the photograph. Some conversations ended there, but others blossomed into long-standing friendships.

Before a trip to Malaysia in 2025, Sun contacted a local butterfly enthusiast online. They corresponded in English, unaware that the enthusiast's English name was merely a transliteration of a Chinese name. Only upon Sun's arrival, when the friend picked him up from the airport, did they discover they both spoke Mandarin.

Last summer, Sun found himself in Qinghai, pursuing a species of Parnassius, or Apollo butterfly, that thrives near the snow line. High-altitude butterflies have a remarkably short flight period, Sun said. "Too early, and they haven't eclosed; too late, and the adults of the year are already gone. Miss a few weeks, and it's another year's wait."

The target elevation was close to 4,900 meters. To acclimatize, Sun and his companions spent two days in Xining, the capital of Qinghai. But once they entered the mountains, the weather surpassed all predictions. Their off-road vehicle got stuck in snow, forcing the driver to shovel them out. One by one, his companions turned back, succumbing to cold, altitude sickness, and exhaustion. Only Sun continued climbing upward. The mountaintop was blanketed in snow and nearly devoid of other life forms. In this stark, almost empty world, he witnessed the Apollo butterfly gracefully navigating the desolate snowscape.

On his descent, a friend from Yunnan, whom Sun had known online for years but never met in person, unexpectedly called. A seasoned guide for wildlife and bird-watching, he often sent photos of unfamiliar butterflies for Sun to identify.

"Are you walking down the mountain with a net right now?" the friend asked. Sun was puzzled.

"I'm at the foot of the mountain," the friend told him, "watching you through my binoculars."

After years of virtual connection, their first meeting was on a virtually uninhabited snowy mountain.

Sun met Huang Siyao, who co-authored the book with him, on a forum over a decade ago. Then a high school student, Huang later pursued a doctoral degree in Lepidoptera taxonomy at the University of Bonn and the Museum Koenig Bonn in Germany.

In 2025, Huang and his collaborators published a paper on the moth genus Acampylotes, naming two new species after Sun and Chen Lu, Sun's girlfriend — Acampylotes wenhaoi and Acampylotes chenluae.

Acampylotes chenluae is larger, with striking orange-red hindwings, while Acampylotes wenhaoi is smaller. Both inhabit mountains in southwestern China, with some records from alpine meadows above 4,000 meters. By taxonomic convention, discoverers cannot name species after themselves but can bestow others' names. It's often a tribute to collectors, researchers, mentors, or friends — a gift from the discoverers.

"These two moths, of course, don't belong to us," Sun said. "But from the moment that paper was published, whenever anyone reads those scientific names, they will also read ours."