Xiaoyu grew up under her father’s coldness and harsh criticism. As his diabetes worsens, his temper becomes increasingly volatile, and their father-daughter conflicts sharpen day by day. Eight years later, at seventeen, she finally dares to fight back—yet just as her father’s condition deteriorates and his vision slips into darkness, she is forced to confront once again the tangled mix of attachment and resentment between them. Moving through her Malaysian home and streets, she tries to understand her father’s fragility and fear.

In a tin-roof shack beside the night market, Yuhang and her younger sister depend on each other after their unreliable father and their mother’s departure. Hardship pushes her to take reckless risks. A theft leads her to new friends in the night market—like catching a breath of air. But fleeting tenderness is quickly chased down by a harsher reality. As responsibility and desire close in at the same time, she must choose before everything collapses: protect her sister, or let herself be swallowed by the night.

Chinese older brother Yubang and his non-biological younger brother Yule—of mixed indigenous heritage—grow up together, yet in adolescence they are repeatedly pushed into opposition by identity, language, and prejudice. An incident forces them into a direct collision: the brother’s protection and control explode alongside the younger brother’s insecurity and rebellion. As conflict nears a breaking point, they finally see each other’s deepest longing—recognition, and love.

Malaysia, 1995. Right after her husband’s funeral, Lily faces an even heavier reality: Xiaoxiong needs an enormous sum for heart treatment. Debt and poverty force her into a soul-tearing decision—to sell one of her children to Madam Wu. Maternal love is no longer lyrical; it becomes a brutal calculation. She must find a way out between “surviving” and “not losing.”

At a Chinese primary school in Malaysia, a teacher is prohibited by policy from teaching in Mandarin. Caught between the pressure of the institution and the school, she watches as children’s mother tongue is gradually stripped away. To protect the cultural roots of the next generation, she tries to keep the light of Chinese alive in the cracks of classroom life. When the “iron tree” finally blooms, it is a fragile hope after resistance—and a confession of faith in education.

A traditional tea shop is ordered by the government to be demolished. The proprietress clings to old flavors and human warmth, yet the moving deadline draws near. She and her son clash over staying or leaving and what the future should be: one wants to preserve the family signboard and memories; the other values livelihood and the possibility of turning the page. This is not merely a farewell to a shop—it is a farewell to a whole generation’s question of where, and how, to place “home.”

He survives in a moral gray zone. After meeting a trafficked girl who cannot speak the language, his conscience begins to waver. She wants only to return to her family, while he must face the fact that he too was once a perpetrator. When he chooses to let go of criminal profits and risks everything to help her search for home, two lonely souls find a brief harbor—proving that love may transcend race and language.

Chinese boy Arong and Malay boy Ahan meet in a kampung; their childhood friendship knows no ethnic divide. One day, Grandpa’s money goes missing and suspicion points to Ahan. Prejudice drives both adults and children out of control. When the misunderstanding is resolved, they realize the real enemy is not merely the theft— but the bias that has long been lurking within the community.

A father travels from Malaysia to Taiwan in search of his missing son. The police report a body found in the forest—carrying his son’s identification. He refuses to believe it and enters the mountains to pursue the truth. The deeper he goes, the more it feels like a confrontation with the legendary “tiger”: fear, guilt, and paternal love entwine. The forest’s echoes sound like judgment—and also like redemption.

Legend says the elephants of “Elephant Village” vanished overnight in the 1960s. In 1999, when a Malay family moves into the village, long-sleeping hatred and prejudice are awakened. Two children, caught between adult hostility, try to understand old wounds and the truth behind the legend. As rumors and violence spread, whether elephants truly “never die” becomes a question aimed at the human heart.

An elderly father, Mr. Chen, fights to stop the government and corporate developers from reclaiming his land. He struggles to obtain the land title the state government once promised but never delivered—determined to protect the durian orchard he spent a lifetime clearing and cultivating.

In a seaside fishing village, two brothers make a living by fishing, yet land reclamation and policy gradually push them into a corner. Under their mother’s concern and real-life pressure, their choices diverge: one wants to stay and protect the sea of their ancestors, while the other wants to leave in search of a new beginning. When “New Territories” becomes more than a place name—becoming a forced redrawing of life’s boundaries—they search within the wind and waves for a direction that can still lead them to shore.

Twelve-year-old Sho lives with his mother Miho, relying on each other. In a lonely summer, he meets Kazuo, a long-lived elderly man. Across generations, the two keep each other company through walks and conversation. Through the old man, Sho feels the weight of time—and for the first time understands his mother’s hardship and silence. When the clouds and mist finally clear, it is not a dramatic transformation, but learning to speak one’s longing out loud.

Newly arrived in Hong Kong, Meifang hires Lisa, a Filipina domestic helper, to care for her son. At first, their relationship is filled with tension and misunderstanding—class and prejudice forming a wall between them. But through daily care and growing mutual understanding, Lisa builds a deep bond with Tianyou, and Meifang begins to see that a person is not a tool. Adapted from the director’s own experience, the film asks us to reconsider the labels we use and the gaze we cast upon migrant workers.