Wang Chong-lin

When violence occurs, it often comes fast and brutally. But the truth is, it usually begins with a small sign—subtle, almost imperceptible—a series of tiny, unexpected missteps that no one takes seriously. Step by step, they build up, leading to an unforeseen consequence. In the end, someone pays in blood. And through the lens of a police body cam, a lesson is learned.

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Ah-Fu, burdened with overwhelming debt, moves into a container home deep in the woods with his nine-year-old son, Wei-Wei. Together with his girlfriend Jing-Wen and her seven-year-old daughter Huan-Huan, this makeshift, struggling family does their best to get through each day. Though life is poor, these small, fleeting moments gradually gather into a warm current of memories in the child’s heart. Years later, the container home they once lived in appears in the news. Wei-Wei is drawn back to those memories—Ah-Fu’s disappearance, Jing-Wen leaving without a word, a rusted biscuit tin, and a set of unclaimed human remains.

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When violence occurs, it often comes fast and brutally. But the truth is, it usually begins with a small sign—subtle, almost imperceptible—a series of tiny, unexpected missteps that no one takes seriously. Step by step, they build up, leading to an unforeseen consequence. In the end, someone pays in blood. And through the lens of a police body cam, a lesson is learned.

Open details →

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