Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

On the day Chen Zhiyuan was executed, Jiang Bo didn't go to the execution ground. He didn't want to see it. He sat in his office, with those notebooks, those photos, those letters spread out in front of him. Mr. Chen's notebook, Dong Zhenhua's notebook, Sun Jianguo's notebook, Zhang Jianjun's notebook, Chen Weiguo's notebook, Chen Zhiyuan's notebook. They had all written, all recorded, all said sorry. They were gone, but these things remained. They were stacked on the table, some tall, some short, some thick, some thin. The covers were worn, the corners curled, the pages yellowed, but the words inside remained. Some of the handwriting was neat, some was messy, some was forceful, some was light. Some were written slowly, stroke by stroke, as if carved in stone. Some were written hastily, crookedly, as if someone was chasing him. They were all alive, breathing, speaking.

Tangyuan lay at his feet, its head resting on its paws, its eyes half-open and half-closed. It knew today was a special day. It didn't bark or make a fuss, quietly keeping him company. Its breathing was light and even, occasionally twitching its ears and making low whimpering sounds, as if it were dreaming. What was it dreaming of? The reeds by the river? The ruins? Or perhaps its master stroking its head? Jiang Bo didn't know. He stroked its head; it didn't wake up, but simply nestled its head into his hand, letting out a contented hum.

He opened the notebook; the last page bore Lin Xiaoxue's name. Next to it was the date, and below it, the words "I'm sorry." The gentleman had written slowly, each stroke deliberate, as if carving characters. He wondered what the gentleman was thinking as he wrote that name. Was he thinking of her face, or of her death? Was he thinking of those apologies, or of the debts he could never repay? He closed the notebook, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the sky over Jiangcheng was a hazy gray, threatening rain. The clouds hung low, like a worn-out gray cloth draped over the entire city. In the distance, the Yangtze River Bridge was teeming with traffic, one car after another, forming a flowing river. Several cargo ships sailed on the river, leaving long trails of water like silver ribbons. 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 remembered Chen Zhiyuan's last words: "Xiulan, I've come to find you." He went to find her. She had waited for him for so many years. She must have been anxious. Now that he was there, she wouldn't be cold anymore.

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The smoke drifted in the lamplight, like those names, like those apologies, like those people who would never return. He remembered what Chen Zhiyuan had said in the interrogation room: "She stood by the river, wearing a floral blouse and two braids. When she saw me, she smiled. She said, 'Zhiyuan, you've come. I've been waiting for you for a long time.' I said, 'Xiulan, I'm late.' She said, 'It's not late. It's good that you're here.'" He had waited. He went to find her. She wouldn't be cold anymore.

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

"Police Officer, Chen Zhiyuan was executed. He passed away peacefully. There was no struggle, no shouting. When he reached the execution ground, he looked up at the sky and said, 'The weather is nice today, Xiulan should like it too.' He said his last words, 'Xiulan, I've come to find you.' And then he was gone."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. His cigarette butt trembled too. "Okay. I understand. Have you notified his family? Does he have any other family members?"

Liu Tong was silent for a moment. "No. He had no family. His wife died, his children died. He was all alone. After he left, no one remembered him. Except for us, except for Mr. Liu."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and stood by the window. He stubbed out his cigarette, pressing the butt several times in the ashtray. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. Chen Zhiyuan was the last. He was gone. Those women who jogged 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. He remembered his husband's words: "Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they are truly gone." He remembered. He remembered everyone. Chen Zhiyuan was one of them. He was also one who stood at the door watching. He couldn't do anything either. He also said sorry. But he killed people. He killed so many people. He deserved to die. He died. He went to find Xiulan. She won't be cold anymore.

In the afternoon, Jiang Bo went to the detention center to visit his husband. He wanted to tell him that Chen Zhiyuan had been executed. He was gone. He went to find Xiulan. He had waited. He could rest in peace now. He wanted to tell his husband that the women who jog at night could rest in peace. The families could let go. His husband could let go too. He had waited so many years, and it had finally come to an end. He should rest now.

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 through the clouds, gleaming coldly on the walls. He remembered his husband's words: "Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they're truly gone." He remembered. He remembered everyone. He would also remember his husband.

The meeting room was on the first floor, in a long corridor with the fluorescent lights humming softly. Jiang Bo's footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, each beat like a heartbeat. Tangyuan followed behind, its paws tapping lightly on the floor, making no sound. The police officer on duty saw him, nodded, and pointed to the second room. He pushed open the door and went inside.

The gentleman was already seated inside. He was wearing that 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. On the table in front of him lay the notebook, its blue cover worn and the edges curled, revealing the gray cardboard inside. He had filled most of it, the handwriting neat and tidy, each stroke like an engraving. He saw Jiang Bo and smiled. The smile was light and faint, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart.

"They're here? The case's all closed? Chen Zhiyuan's gone?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "It's settled. Chen Zhiyuan carried it out. He's gone. He went to find Xiulan. He got what he wanted. Those women who used to jog at night can rest in peace. Their families can let go now. Sir, you can let go now too."

The man paused. His hand hovered in the air, the pen tip pointing at the notebook, not falling. His fingers trembled slightly. "He waited. He waited for you. He should die now. Those who died can rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can let go. He can let go too. Xiulan waited too. She waited for him. She won't be cold anymore."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Sir, what about you? Did you wait? What did you wait for? You waited for so many years, wrote for so many years. What did you wait for? Was your wife waiting for you too? Was she also standing by the river, wearing a floral blouse and with her hair in a braid?"

The man looked at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "I've waited for you. You've come. You asked me. I answered. I've written what I needed to write, said what I needed to say. I've waited. I can let go now. Those names, those apologies, someone remembers them. You remember them. You remember them for me. You remember them for all of us. My wife is waiting for me too. She's standing by the river, wearing a floral blouse, her hair in braids. She's waited for me for so many years. She must be getting impatient. I should go find her now."

Jiang Bo's tears flowed even more fiercely. "Sir, you can't leave yet. You have to live. You have to write those names, you have to write those 'I'm sorry's. Write until you can't write anymore. Live until you can't live anymore. Your wife will wait for you. She's not in a hurry."

The man smiled. "Alright. I'll live. I'll write. I'll write until you get married, until you have children. I'll write until your children call me Grandpa. I'll write until they can remember those names too. I'll write until they can say sorry too."

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back. The gentleman sat there, holding the notebook, looking at him. His eyes were bright, like the waters of a river in winter. He waved. Jiang Bo waved back. Then he turned and walked out of the meeting room. Tangyuan was waiting for him outside, lying on the floor of the corridor, its head resting on its paws. Hearing the door open, it raised its head, stood up, and wagged its tail.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, gleaming gently in the dim light of the corridor. "Tangyuan, the case is closed. Those women who used to jog at night can rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can let go. My husband can let go too. He still has to live, still has to write those names, still has to write those apologies. He still has to wait until I get married, until I have children. He still has to wait until my child calls him grandpa." Tangyuan called out, its voice echoing in the detention center corridor.

Emerging from the detention center, Jiang Bo stood at the entrance and lit 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. They were gone, but he remained. He had to continue. So many cases, so many names, so many apologies.

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? Is your husband with you? Didn't he go to the detention center today? Has he come back yet?"

Jiang Bo started the engine and drove out of the detention center. "Mom, my husband is still in the detention center. I'm going to see him. He's doing well. He's still writing those names, still writing those 'I'm sorry's. He wants to live, he wants to write until I get married, until I have children. He wants to wait until my children call him grandpa."

Xiuying was silent for a moment. "Then when are you getting married? You don't even have a girlfriend. You're investigating cases every day, how can you have time to date? You're almost forty. If you don't get married soon, I'll get too old. And when I'm old, I won't be able to take care of the children."

Jiang Bo smiled. "Mom, you're only in your fifties. You're not old. You can still take care of me for many more years. I'll get married when I find the right person. Don't rush me."

Xiuying sighed. "I'm not in a hurry. Why should I be in a hurry? I just feel sorry for you. You're all alone, with no one to talk to. Tangyuan can't talk. It can only listen. You're tired, and there's not even anyone to pour you some water."

Jiang Bo didn't speak. He drove, staring at the road ahead. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing 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.

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. Her husband wasn't there; he was still in the detention center. Only Xiuying was at the table. She sat at the table, holding the notebook—it belonged to her husband, and she had borrowed it. She saw Jiang Bo and smiled.

"He's back? Chen Zhiyuan left?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite her. "He's gone. He went to find Xiulan. He waited for her. He should go now."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. "He waited. He waited. He went to find her. She won't be cold anymore. Your father waited too. He waited for you too. He can rest in peace now."

Jiang Bo picked up his chopsticks, took a dumpling, and put it in his mouth. It was pork and cabbage filling, just as delicious as before. As he chewed, tears welled up in his eyes. Xiuying looked at him, her eyes reddening.

"Eat slowly, don't choke. Your dad used to do that too, wolfing down his dumplings. When I told him to, he would stop eating. He would look at me and smile."

Jiang Bo swallowed the dumpling. "Mom, my husband said he wants to live. He wants to write those names again, and he wants to write those 'I'm sorry's again. He wants to wait until I get married, until I have children. He wants to wait until my children call him grandpa."

Xiuying smiled. "Then you should get married quickly. Don't keep your husband waiting too long. He's over eighty. He can't wait a few more years."

Jiang Bo nodded. "Okay. I'll hurry. Mom, don't worry. I'll find her. I'll find a good girl. She'll be willing to listen to me say those names, those apologies. She'll be willing to remember them with me. She'll be willing to stand with me at the door, and then go inside."

Xiuying looked at him. "Yes. You will find it. You're just like your father. Good people will be rewarded."

After finishing the dumplings, Jiang Bo cleared the dishes. Xiuying sat on the sofa, holding the notebook. She turned to a page, looking at the names and the apologies. Tears streamed down her face.

"These names, these women, they are all dead. Their families waited so many years. They got their wish. They can rest in peace now."

Jiang Bo walked over and sat down beside her. "Mom, they're at peace now. They're no longer cold. They have someone with them over there. My husband remembers them, and I remember them. They won't disappear."

Xiuying closed the notebook and hugged it. "You remember. You remember for us. Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they're really gone. I'm old, I can't remember anymore. You remember for me. You remember for all of us."

Jiang Bo nodded. "Mom, I remember. I remember for you. I remember for Mr. Jiang. I remember for everyone."

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the night view of Jiangcheng, the car lights on the distant Yangtze River Bridge forming a river of light. 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.