Ho Kei-fai returns to Sham Shui Po, a district defined by its intense poverty and crowded streets, and re-enters the world of the street sleepers who have made a precarious home along Tung Chau Street. The moment their sleeping spot is raided by the police and cleaners, their few possessions are swept into a rubbish truck, and the group is left to reckon with a sudden, disorienting displacement. What follows is a tense, stubborn fight to claim dignity in the face of bureaucratic indifference and public scorn.
With grit and ingenuity, the survivors carve out a new shelter under a nearby flyover, fashioning makeshift wooden huts that become their contested sanctuary. A social worker named Miss Ho steps in, offering direction and a legal avenue: they file a lawsuit against the government, seeking not only compensation for the material losses but also a formal apology that acknowledges the harm done to their lives.
The community that takes shape inside the hut-lined space is diverse and fragile. Master, a Vietnamese boat person, brings a sense of history and longing for distant kin. Dai Shing, an electrician, works with small edges of light and power in an environment far from regulation. Chan Mui, who washes dishes for a living, and Lan, a paraplegic resident, anchor the group with everyday routines and shared burdens. A nonverbal young man arrives, given the name Muk, and he slowly becomes part of the circle. Over time, Fai nurtures a quiet bond with Muk, even as he wrestles with his own need to reconnect with his family elsewhere.
The social worker’s involvement brings a glimmer of hope but also a painful truth: Master manages to reconnect online with his migrated family, only to face a devastating outcome as he takes his life after that brief contact. As the case garners public attention, the lens becomes fixated on the backstories of the inhabitants—their histories, their losses, and the odds stacked against them—rather than the core injustice they are fighting against. The legal procedures drag on, and a settlement offer from the government looms, yet it feels insufficient to many.
Amid the ongoing talks, the authorities reveal a troubling discovery: illegal arms hidden inside the huts, prompting a plan to demolish the entire encampment. The revelation adds urgency and fear, and the group confronts the prospect of losing more than just their homes. Fai, seen by his companions as stubborn but principled, refuses to bend to the settlement’s terms without an apology. The rest accept the meager compensation, but his insistence on an official apology extends the legal process and deepens the sense of injustice.
As the clock tightens toward winter, the group faces an inevitable relocation. The others voice frustration with Fai’s rigidity, yet he remains steadfast, determined to keep the conversation about dignity alive. When Miss Ho arrives with supplies for the dwindling camp, he offers a faint, almost distant farewell before the imminent change.
In the closing moments, Fai stands at the threshold of an uncertain future, isolated by the looming winter and the looming end of their improvised home. He treks forward with a haunting sense of absence, imagining dialogues with a deceased son who appears in Muk’s form, suggesting a painful connection between past choices and present consequences. In a final act of desperation and sorrow, he uses drugs one last time and sets the wooden huts alight, choosing to face the flames as a solitary end.
The film closes by grounding its sorrow in reality, referencing a 2012 case and underscoring a broader, enduring truth: street sleepers continue to endure unjust treatment, their plight echoing beyond the screen into real-world lives. The narrative invites reflection on how societies treat the most vulnerable and how dignity can be contested even in the midst of hardship.
