In a small village in southern Taiwan, a Sino-American joint military exercise is chosen as the stage for a quiet, unsettling drama. The locals are wary from the start, and when a military representative arrives to negotiate, the villagers’ experience with authorities makes them doubt any promises. At the center of the story is Wen-sheng, known to the villagers as “Teacher.” Once a schoolteacher, he now stands as a cautious guide who admires everything American and believes that this encounter might bring some form of compensation, even if he knows the government’s position is firm. The plan, as he frames it, hinges on accepting the exercise as a fait accompli while hoping that the eventual rewards will somehow justify the risk.
As the talks unfold, the village agrees to temporarily shelter the soldiers, packing families into the classrooms of a local elementary school. A provocative note of commerce appears in the form of a nightclub built nearby, staffed by local bar workers, intended to profit from the presence of American troops. The arrangement quickly reveals itself as a double-edged sword: the exercise brings attention and money, but it also inflicts damage on the landscape, including the crushing of ancestral graves beneath advancing tanks. The mood shifts from reluctant acceptance to growing anger as villagers feel they have been drawn into a deal they did not fully understand.
When the scale of the harm becomes clear, the villagers turn their ire on Wen-sheng, accusing him of leading them astray. They march toward the American camp to protest, only to be repelled by gunfire. Faced with devastation and humiliation, some villagers resort to stealing as a means of seeking compensation. In the midst of this turmoil, Wen-sheng’s brother, Wen-xian, suffers a personal tragedy: two fingers are lost in an accident at a Japanese factory where he worked, and Wen-sheng hopes that the faster, newer American medical technology might help restore them. He takes his brother to the American camp with the belief that doctors there could fix what time and injury have broken, a hope tethered to a trust in modern medicine.
A translator’s misstep complicates everything. The Taiwanese translator’s deliberate mistranslation turns a simple plea for help into a declaration of beggary and a threat to national dignity. The doctor’s perception of the brothers shifts, and what was intended as an act of care becomes a moment of humiliation and frustration. The attempt to seek medical aid dissolves into a tense misreading, and the brothers leave without the help they sought, their need unmet in the tangled web of language and power.
Meanwhile, the villagers’ desperation deepens. Their earlier act of stealing is caught, and an American officer appears at the shelter, accompanied by military police. The officer’s apology for any inconvenience is once again tangled in mistranslation, this time twisting into a chilling suggestion of danger and national shame. In a final, stark turn, Wen-sheng and his brother attempt one more act of retribution: they steal two “hug boxes” from the camp, only to discover that they are coffins containing dead bodies. They return with these macabre items, blessing them in a small, solemn ceremony before leaving the coffins near the camp—a quiet ritual of defiance and grief.
As the soldiers depart when the exercise ends, the film leaves a question hanging in the air, a stark moment of ambiguity about what remains after the curtain falls. The intertitle at the end asks a haunting, unresolved question: > Have Americans really left? The answer, never stated outright, lingers in the villagers’ faces and in the landscape they must continue to inhabit, inviting viewers to reflect on the costs of military cooperation, the fragility of trust, and the unspoken toll borne by those who live where conflicts intersect with daily life.
