Hsueh Wen-shuo

A red flag was plug in the ground and fluttered in the wind. The political prisoner sent his father and son back to the hometown for asylum, but threats are still ubiquitous. It's just like the strong wind of their hometown. "The red" has already penetrated every corner of the country.

Sunday, at the South-East Asian entertainment complex First Square in Taichung, two Filipinos, Jane, a domestic caregiver, and Randy, a factory worker, make acquaintance. In the precious hours of their day off, together, the two companions in foreign land spend a lovely Sunday.

A paid supporter and his grandson came from the south to visit his only son, a long-detained political prisoner. "My son, do not forget me." The prisoner' roar is the most reactionary appeal under the peaceful new political power.

Southern Taiwan, a night-shift factory lies quiet like a ruin. Machines stilled, lights flickering, time caught in a moment—unmoving, unresolved. A-Bang, a Taiwanese guard on patrol, works among migrant workers.

It’s supposed to be an energetic morning, but Zhe, a real estate agent, feels suffocated and oppressed. With nowhere to go, he heads to a house that he can’t sell and calls for an escort, unexpectedly opening up new possibilities for both of them.

Chang Yun-kuang, a driver supporting his family, runs a claw machine business on the side to make ends meet. When his estranged father reappears, Yun-kuang avoids confrontation, instead finding solace in observing the lively interactions of players and machine owners. As he learns from their stories, his life starts to transform, pushing him to finally reach for what truly matters and reclaim the "prize" he has been missing all along.