Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

When Chen Zhiqiang was brought into the interrogation room, it was already broad daylight. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his gray hair as if it were plated with silver. He was wearing his dark overcoat, sitting in a chair, his handcuffs removed, leaving two red, purplish-red marks on his wrists, like two scars. His hands rested on his knees, his fingers slightly curled, his head bowed, looking at his hands. Those hands were thin, with bulging veins, large knuckles, and short-cut nails. They hadn't killed anyone, but they had pointed the way. They had pointed in the direction of those women.

The interrogation room lights were bright, a stark white, making the wrinkles on his face appear as if sculpted by a knife. His skin was thin, almost translucent, revealing the veins beneath, winding like rivers. His lips were chapped, peeling with a layer of white skin, and his chin had unshaven stubble, white and stiff, like withered grass in winter. He didn't speak, didn't move, like a statue. His eyes were half-open, half-closed, his lips moving slightly, as if he were saying something, or perhaps reciting something. It was his wife's name. Xiulan. He had recited it for so many years, tens of thousands of times. Until his lips were calloused, until his tongue bled. He was still reciting it.

Jiang Bo sat opposite him, a notebook spread out in front of him. Liu Tong sat beside him, fingers on the keyboard, waiting. Tangyuan hadn't come; it was old. It stayed home with Xiuying. The interrogation room was quiet, save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, like countless flies swarming around their ears. The sound was annoying, but no one turned it off. They were used to it. The clock on the wall ticked away, the second hand leaping, each second feeling like a year.

"Chen Zhiqiang, do you know why I brought you here?"

The old man looked up at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still a light. That kind of light—the kind that only those who have waited a long time possess, the kind that only those who have finally waited for something possess. His lips trembled, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down a few times, as if he were swallowing something. "I know. I killed those people. I killed those women named Xiulan, I killed those women who looked like Xiulan. I killed Wang Xiulan, I killed those women who jogged at night, I killed those women who died by the river. I killed so many people. I waited so many years, waiting for you to come and arrest me. You've come. I've waited for this."

Jiang Bo gripped the pen tightly. "Who did you kill? How many did you kill? Can you remember their names? Can you remember their faces? Do you dream about them every night?"

Tears streamed down the old man's face. They welled from his sunken eyes, flowing down his wrinkles, like dried riverbeds, drop by drop, onto his coat, onto the table, onto the floor. "I can't remember. Too many. I've killed for decades, dozens of them. I only remember they were all called Xiulan, or looked like Xiulan. I can't remember their names, I can't remember their faces. In my dreams, they all have the same face. Xiulan's face. When she smiled, her eyes curved like crescent moons. She wore a floral blouse and had two braids. She stood by the river, looking at me. She asked me, 'Zhiqiang, why did you kill them?' I couldn't answer. I waited for you for so many years, waiting for you to ask me. You came. You asked me. I answered. I regretted it. I'm sorry."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Why did you kill them? What did they do to you? They were just named Xiulan, and they just looked like Xiulan. They weren't her. Why did you kill them? If you kill them, can your wife come back to life? Can you stop hating them? Can you sleep soundly?"

The old man stared at him for a long time. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "Because I hate. I hate this city, I hate this river, I hate the people who are alive. My wife is dead, but they are still alive. Their name is Xiulan, they resemble Xiulan, but they are not her. I hate them. I killed them. I have hated for so many years, killed so many people. Now I don't hate anymore. I have waited for you for so many years, and now I don't hate anymore. You have come. You asked me. I answered. You can leave now. Arrest me. Sentence me. Kill me. I deserve to die."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Sunlight shone on the river, shattering into pieces of gold. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Now there was another name. Chen Zhiqiang. He was also one of those standing at the door watching. He couldn't do anything either. He too had said sorry. But he had killed people. He had killed so many people. He deserved to die. He turned around. "Do you know Mr. Zhou? Do you know him? He's remembered those names for over thirty years. He wrote so many apologies. Have you gone to see him? What did you ask him? What did he say to you?"

The old man nodded. The nod was slow and light, as if a thousand pounds were pressing down on his neck. "I know him. He used to be my neighbor. He also lived near the old pontoon bridge, in that little house. His wife died too, by the river. Like me, he stood at the door, watching, unable to do anything. I went to see him and asked, 'How long are you going to keep remembering?' He said, 'Until I die.' I laughed. I said, 'You've kept remembering for so many years, written for so many years. Has the person you've been waiting for come?' He said no. I said, 'The one I've been waiting for hasn't come either. I've waited so many years, and he hasn't come. If you've waited for him, tell me. Let me know. Let me close my eyes in peace.' He asked me, 'Who is the person you're waiting for?' I said, 'I'm waiting for someone who can come and arrest me. I'm waiting for someone who can end my life. I've waited so many years, and he hasn't come. If you've waited for him, tell me.'"

Jiang Bo looked at him. "Who are you waiting for? You've waited all these years, who are you waiting for? Is it your wife? Or the person who killed your wife? Or those people who resemble your wife? Or me? You've waited all these years, who exactly are you waiting for?"

The old man looked at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "I've been waiting for you. I knew you would come. Your father investigated those cases, and he died. You will continue investigating. You will find me. You will come to arrest me. I've waited for you for so many years. You've come. You asked me. I answered. You can leave now. I've waited. I've said everything I needed to say. I've paid my debts. I should die now. Arrest me. Sentence me. Kill me. I won't appeal. I've waited so many years for this day."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out of the interrogation room. He stood in the corridor and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted under the light, like those names, like those apologies, like those people who would never come back. He remembered what his husband had said: "Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they are truly gone." He remembered. He remembered everyone. Chen Zhiqiang was one of them. He was also one of those standing 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. His fingers trembled, and the cigarette butt trembled with them. He took a deep drag and coughed twice, choking on the smoke.

Liu Tong came out and stood beside him. His eyes were red, and so was the tip of his nose. "Officer, he confessed everything. He killed Wang Xiulan, he killed those women who jogged at night, he killed all the women named Xiulan. He used the name 'Jiang Shui.' He used the boss's computer. He waited all these years, and now it's finally happening. He deserves to die. Let's write the case report. This time it's for real. There are no survivors. He killed all those women who jogged at night. He killed all those women named Xiulan. He killed them all by himself. He stood at the door watching. He couldn't go in. He couldn't do anything. He waited all these years, and now it's finally happening. He deserves to die."

Jiang Bo stubbed out his cigarette, pressing the butt several times in the ashtray until he was sure it was completely extinguished before letting go. "That's it. Write the case report. Arrest those who should be arrested, sentence those who should be sentenced. He's sentenced to death. He killed so many people, he deserves to die. Those women who jogged at night can rest in peace. Those women named Xiulan can also rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can also let go. The gentleman can also let go. He waited so many years, he's finally here. He deserves to rest."

Liu Tong nodded and walked into the interrogation room.

Jiang Bo stood in the corridor, looking at the sky outside the window. The sky had cleared, and sunlight shone on the river, shattering into countless pieces of gold. 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 wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.

In the afternoon, Jiang Bo went to visit his husband at the detention center. He wanted to tell him that Chen Zhiqiang had been caught. He had confessed. He was the murderer. He killed those women. He was also one of those who stood at the door watching. There was nothing he could do. He had also said sorry. But he had killed people. He deserved to die. He wanted to tell his husband that the person he was waiting for had arrived. He had waited. He could finally let 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 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 hadn't followed, and the corridor was unusually quiet. The police officer on duty saw him, nodded, and pointed to the second room. He pushed open the door and went in.

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.

"You're here? The case's closed? You look better, and your eyes aren't red anymore. Did your mom make dumplings for you again? Eat more, you're too thin."

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "It's over. Chen Zhiqiang has been caught. He confessed. He's the murderer. He killed those women. He was also one of those who stood at the door watching. There was nothing he could do. He even apologized. But he killed people. He deserved to die. Those women who used to jog at night can rest in peace. Those women named Xiulan can also rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching can also let go. Sir, you can let go too. You've waited so many years, and you've finally gotten it. You should rest now."

The man paused. His hand hovered in the air, pen tip pointing at the notebook, not falling. His fingers trembled slightly. "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."

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 get?"

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 'I'm sorry,' someone remembers. You remember. You remember for me. You remember for all of us. Even when I die, you must remember. When you're old, let your children remember. Keep remembering, never let it stop."

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back. The man 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.

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.

My phone rang. It was Xiuying calling.

"Xiao Jiang, come back for dinner. Your husband is here too. He's waiting for you. The dumplings are ready, pork and cabbage filling. Tangyuan is hungry too, she's lying by my feet, watching the pot. Come back quickly."

Jiang Bo started the engine and drove out of the detention center. "Mom, I'm back. Wait for me. I'll be right there."

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.

"You're back? The case's closed?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite her. "It's over. Chen Zhiqiang has been caught. He confessed. He's the murderer. He killed those women. He deserves to die."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. "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. Your father can rest in peace now. He waited. He waited for you."

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.