Jyun Lai

Two 60-ish Taiwanese men share ambiguous closeness, built on ritual and obscurity in an old local bathhouse. Amidst a near-death accident, the body offers a final confession, revealing a lifetime of repressed desire that surfaces only when time runs out.

Ah Fei, a Vietnamese who left home to work in Taiwan, escapes from his Taiwanese employer in hope to earn more money to send back home to his father. One day, he runs into Ah Hai, a police patrol officer, at the beach. Ah Hai sees Ah Fei in possession of syringes and uses the baton on him without giving him a chance to explain. By the beach, nine shots were eventually fired at Ah Fei. It’s the first time Ah Fei’s father is travelling out of Vietnam, only to be bringing home his son’s lifeless body.

Two 60-ish Taiwanese men share ambiguous closeness, built on ritual and obscurity in an old local bathhouse. Amidst a near-death accident, the body offers a final confession, revealing a lifetime of repressed desire that surfaces only when time runs out.

Two 60-ish Taiwanese men share ambiguous closeness, built on ritual and obscurity in an old local bathhouse. Amidst a near-death accident, the body offers a final confession, revealing a lifetime of repressed desire that surfaces only when time runs out.

Ah Fei, a Vietnamese who left home to work in Taiwan, escapes from his Taiwanese employer in hope to earn more money to send back home to his father. One day, he runs into Ah Hai, a police patrol officer, at the beach. Ah Hai sees Ah Fei in possession of syringes and uses the baton on him without giving him a chance to explain. By the beach, nine shots were eventually fired at Ah Fei. It’s the first time Ah Fei’s father is travelling out of Vietnam, only to be bringing home his son’s lifeless body.