A postman tossed a letter to Watan, as the middle-aged Atayal man, bathing in the sunshine of the early morning, was still sound asleep in a... More

A postman tossed a letter to Watan, as the middle-aged Atayal man, bathing in the sunshine of the early morning, was still sound asleep in a hangover. The letter about the discovery of his wallet buried in the cement fell on Watan's face, just like the droppings of a bird. Watan belongs to one of the aboriginal tribes on the island of Formosa. From then on, whenever he had some wine, the letter, as if in the form of Pegasus, would come to his mind unexpectedly. Then, the light of his eyes would soon be dimmed in the distant search for the dream of his young days. He decided to go back to the city for the wallet he lost ten years ago, as well as for his dream of the field of millet. Xiao Mo was a young man working in a Japanese restaurant. He was leading a decadent life and self-consciously knew that he was lost. In the daytime, his mouth bulged with Japanese language and sashimi. At night, he was hanging around in the cabarets bordering the margins of the city, making phone calls seeking one-night stands. Until one night, he received a weird phone call from a girl, who, whispering in a little bit sad tone, asked him to listen to her story, a love story about a field of millet... Close