Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Three days after Chen Zhiyuan was taken away, Jiang Bo went to the detention center. Not to see his teacher, but to see Chen Zhiyuan. He wanted to ask him a few more questions. Those were questions he hadn't asked during the interrogation. He had only asked about the case then, about the women, about the details of the murders. He hadn't asked Chen Zhiyuan about himself. Who was he? Where did he come from? Why was he alive? He wanted to know. He wanted to know how much hatred a person must have to kill so many innocent people. He wanted to know how much pain a person must have to endure to live in hatred for so many years. He wanted to know what those dead women looked like in Chen Zhiyuan's dreams.

He went alone, without Tangyuan. Tangyuan had been tired these past few days, running back and forth between Jinghu Park and the old pontoon bridge, and had lost weight. It needed rest. When Jiang Bo left, it lay on the sofa, its head resting on its paws, its eyes half-open, its tail wagging, but it didn't follow. It knew its master was going to see someone he shouldn't. It was better that it didn't go.

The detention center gate was still the same color, iron gray, with peeling paint. The guard recognized him, glanced at his ID, and let him through. He parked his car in the yard and turned off the engine. He sat in the driver's seat, not getting out immediately. He looked at the gray-white building, at the windows sealed with iron bars, at the rings of barbed wire on the walls. Sunlight shone on it, gleaming coldly. He remembered Chen Zhiyuan's last words: "I should die." He should die. He killed so many people, he deserved to die. But Jiang Bo felt a strange, indescribable feeling. Not sympathy, not pity, but something deeper. It was desolation. It was the feeling of those standing at the gate, unable to go in, unable to leave, only able to stand there, watching, waiting, and then going mad.

The meeting room was on the first floor. The corridor was long, and the fluorescent lights hummed softly. Jiang Bo's footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, each beat like a heartbeat. He hadn't brought Tangyuan (sweet rice balls) today, and the corridor was unusually quiet, with only the sound of his own footsteps. The police officer on duty saw him, nodded, and pointed to the third room. He pushed open the door and went in.

Chen Zhiyuan was already seated inside. He wore an orange vest, his hair completely white, even whiter than before, as white as snow, as white as paper. He had lost a lot of weight, his cheekbones high and prominent, his eye sockets deep-set; the vest hung loosely on him, like it was on a clothes hanger. But he sat very straight; although his back was hunched, his spine was still strong. He wasn't handcuffed; his hands were on the table, his fingers slightly curled. He saw Jiang Bo and smiled. The smile was very light, very faint, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but Jiang Bo felt a pang of sadness. In that smile, there was no fear, no expectation, only a weary acceptance.

"You've come. Is there anything else you want to ask? I've said everything I needed to say. I confess. I deserve to die. What else are you worried about?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. The chair was hard, uncomfortable, and jarring. He looked into Chen Zhiyuan's eyes, those cloudy, bloodshot eyes. "You've hated for so many years, killed so many people. Do you still hate them now? Do you still dream about them every night? Can you still sleep?"

Chen Zhiyuan lowered his head. He looked at his hands for a long time. Those hands, which had killed so many people. Now they were trembling. "I don't hate anymore. I've waited for you for so many years, I don't hate anymore. You came, you asked me, and I answered. I've paid my debts. I should die now. When I die, I'll go to see Xiulan. She's waited for me for so many years. She must be getting anxious. She's all alone over there. Without me by her side, she's afraid."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Have you seen her? Have you dreamt of her? What did she say to you? Is she doing well over there?"

Tears streamed down Chen Zhiyuan's face. He didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely. "I've seen her. I dream of her every night. She stands by the river, wearing a floral blouse, with two braids tied with red ribbons. When she sees me, she smiles. She says, 'Zhiyuan, you've come. I've been waiting for you for so long.' I say, 'Xiulan, I'm late.' She says, 'It's not late. It's good that you're here.' She says she's doing well over there, just a little cold because she's alone. She says the wind by the river is strong and gives her a headache. She says, 'Now that you're here, I'm not cold anymore.'"

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. "Does she hate you? You killed so many people, does she hate you? She knows you killed women who resembled her, does she hate you?"

Chen Zhiyuan looked at him, for a long time. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "She didn't know. She never asked. She just smiled. When she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons. She never asked me what I had done. She only said, 'Zhiyuan, you've come. I've been waiting for you for a long time.'"

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back. Chen Zhiyuan sat there, head down, looking at his hands. His tears dripped onto the table, one drop at a time, spreading into a small wet patch. He waved his hand. Chen Zhiyuan didn't see it. He turned and walked out of the meeting room.

Emerging from the detention center, Jiang Bo stood at the entrance, lighting a cigarette. The sunlight warmed his face. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood watching at the door were also in his heart. Chen Zhiyuan was the last. He arrested him, he confessed, he deserved to die. Those women jogging at night could rest in peace. Those families could let go. His husband could let go. But he couldn't let go yet. He had to continue. So many cases, so many names, so many apologies. He remembered Chen Zhiyuan's words: "She said the wind by the river was strong, giving her a headache." Xiulan was there, still by the river. She was still waiting. Waiting for Chen Zhiyuan to come to her. She had waited her whole life, and she still had to wait.

The phone rang. It was Liu Tong calling. His voice was a little hoarse, as if he had just cried, or as if he had stayed up too late.

"Officer Po, Chen Zhiyuan's sentence is in. Death penalty, to be carried out immediately. He did not appeal. He said there was no need to wait any longer. He's waited enough for so many years. He said he's going to see Xiulan. He's made her wait too long."

Jiang Bo stubbed out his cigarette, pressing the butt down several times in the sand table on top of the trash can. "Okay. Tell the families. I'll deliver it. Deliver it to each family, one by one. Tell them one by one. The last murderer has been caught. The case is completely closed."

Liu Tong was silent for a moment. "Officer Bo, are you still going? You've already been to all those families. Chen Fang's family, Li Mei's family, Liu Xiaoqin's family, Sun Xiaomei's family. You've been to them all. They all know the truth. They've all waited for this. You don't need to go anymore. You've already made several trips; your body can't take it."

Jiang Bo shook his head. "Go. Go one more time. Tell them that the last murderer has been caught. The case is completely closed. They can finally let go. Those who died can finally rest in peace. They waited their whole lives; they can't just get a phone call. I want to tell them in person. I want to look them in the eyes and tell them."

Jiang Bo made another trip to Wuhu, Hefei, Tongling, and Wuwei. He went to each family, informing them one by one. Chen Fang's sister, Li Mei's brother-in-law, Liu Xiaoqin's brother, and Sun Xiaomei's brother. When they heard that the last murderer had been caught, they all cried. They thought the case was long closed, but they never expected there was still one more. They waited, they waited for the last one. Chen Fang's sister held Jiang Bo's hand, crying so hard she couldn't speak. She said, "Thank you, thank you for letting my mother rest in peace." Li Mei's brother-in-law stood at the door, saying nothing, only shedding tears. Liu Xiaoqin's brother knelt on the ground and kowtowed three times to Jiang Bo. Jiang Bo helped him up, saying, "Don't do this, it's what I should do." Sun Xiaomei's brother hugged Jiang Bo, crying like a child.

It was already dark when Jiang Bo returned from Wuwei. He parked the car under the Yangtze River Bridge and turned off the engine. He sat in the driver's seat, looking at the river. The river shimmered silver in the moonlight, flowing slowly, just as it had a hundred years ago, just as it had a thousand years ago. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. They were gone, but he remained. He had to continue. There were still so many cases, so many names, so many apologies. He remembered what Chen Fang's sister had said: "Thank you for letting my mother rest in peace." Her mother was eighty-six years old, and every morning she would wake up and ask if Fangfang had returned. She would ask and then forget, only to ask again the next day. Now she didn't need to ask anymore. She knew. She could rest in peace.

The phone rang. It was Xiuying calling. Her voice sounded anxious and distressed.

"Xiao Jiang, why aren't you back yet? What time is it? Your husband is still waiting for you. We've cooked several pots of dumplings already, they've been reheated and cooled repeatedly. If you don't come back soon, the dumplings will turn into noodle soup."

Jiang Bo started the engine and drove off the bridge. "Mom, I'm back. Wait for me. I'll be right there. Let your husband eat first, don't wait for me."

Xiuying said, "He refused. He said he wanted to wait for you. He said you were out there all alone, not even able to get a hot meal. He felt sorry for you."

The car drove into the residential area and parked downstairs. Jiang Bo went upstairs and opened the door. The house was warm, and the dumplings were steaming hot, with several plates on the table. The man was sitting at the table, holding the notebook. He saw Jiang Bo and smiled. It was a very light and faint smile, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart.

"They're back? The case's closed? And they caught the last one?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "It's over. The last one's caught too. Chen Zhiyuan. He killed those women who were jogging at night. He confessed. He was sentenced to death. He didn't appeal. He said there was no need to wait anymore. He'd waited so many years, that's enough. He said he was going to see Xiulan. He'd made her wait too long."

The man paused. His hand hovered in mid-air, chopsticks holding a dumpling, forgotten to put it in his mouth. "He waited. He waited for you. He should die now. Those who have died can rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can let go. He can let go too. He's remembered for so many years, written for so many years, it's time to rest. Xiulan waited too. She waited for him. She won't be cold anymore."

Xiuying brought over a plate of freshly cooked dumplings and placed it on the table. "Eat up. Eat them while they're hot. Don't just talk. The dumplings won't taste good when they get cold. This is the last batch; if you don't eat them soon, they'll really turn into noodle soup."

Jiang Bo picked up his chopsticks, took a dumpling, and put it in his mouth. The pork and cabbage filling was as delicious as ever. Thin skin, generous filling, and juicy goodness. As he chewed, tears welled up in his eyes. He thought of the families, those who had waited their whole lives. They had waited. They could finally let go. The dead could finally rest in peace. Those who stood watching at the door could finally let go. But he couldn't let go yet. He had to continue. There were still so many cases, so many names, so many apologies.

Xiuying looked at him, her eyes reddening. "Eat slowly, don't choke. Nobody's going to take it from you."

The man also picked up his chopsticks, took a dumpling, put it in his mouth, and chewed for a long time. He had lost several teeth, and the remaining ones were loose, making chewing very difficult. He chewed very slowly, as if savoring something, as if remembering something. "Delicious. Your mother's dumplings are delicious. Yizhou used to bring me some too. Every time he came to see me, he brought dumplings. He said his wife made them. He smiled very happily. He was young then, with bright eyes that curved like crescent moons when he smiled."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. "As long as he's happy. As long as he's happy. He's never smiled much in his life. He only smiles when he's with me. He smiles when he's with his husband. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle like crescent moons. You don't know, when he first met me, he was so serious. He only started to smile slowly after we got to know each other. The first time he smiled, I was stunned. He said, 'What are you looking at?' I said, 'I'm looking at you smiling.' And then he blushed."

After finishing the dumplings, the man sat on the sofa, holding the notebook. He looked at Jiang Bo, his eyes bright.

"Xiao Jiang, what are you going to do with those notebooks? Are you going to keep them forever? Who are you going to pass them on to? Are you married? Do you have children?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "Keep it. Keep it for the families to see. Keep it for the dead to see. Keep it for those who stood at the door watching. They know that someone remembers them. They won't disappear. After all the families have seen it, know it, and let it go, I'll think of something else. Maybe donate it to the archives, maybe publish a book, maybe just keep it like this and pass it on to the next generation. I'm not married yet, I don't have children. But I have Tangyuan. It keeps me company. It can't speak, it can't write, but it will keep me company. It will always be with me."

The man nodded. "Okay. You remember. You remember for us. Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they're truly gone. I'm old, I can't remember anymore. You remember for me. You remember for all of us. When I die, you still have to remember. When you're old too, tell your children to remember. Keep remembering, don't let it stop. Tangyuan can't write, but you can. You write for it."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the night view of Jiangcheng; in the distance, the headlights of cars on the Yangtze River Bridge formed a river of light, flowing from one side of the river to the other. Several boats sailed slowly on the river, their lights illuminated, casting long shadows on the water like wandering souls. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. They were gone, but he remained. He had to continue. So many cases, so many names, so many apologies. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.