Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

It was drizzling the day Tangyuan died.

Jiang Bo returned from the Municipal Public Security Bureau; it was already completely dark. He pushed open the door. The house was quiet. There was no sound of Tangyuan's footsteps approaching, no pattering of its paws on the floor, no rustling of its tail brushing against the coffee table legs. He paused, standing in the doorway, looking into the living room. Xiuying sat on the sofa, holding Tangyuan. Tangyuan's eyes were closed, its head resting on her lap, its body already cold. Its fur was still so soft, so warm, but it was no longer breathing. Its belly was no longer rising and falling, its ears were no longer moving, and its tongue was no longer licking his hand.

Xiuying's tears dripped onto it, one drop at a time, leaving a small wet patch on its gray fur. She saw Jiang Bo, her lips trembling, unable to utter a word for a long time. Her eyes were red and swollen, clearly she had been crying for a long time.

"It's gone. It was fine this afternoon, drank some porridge, and lay down at my feet. I fell asleep, and when I woke up it..." Her voice trailed off, like a string that had been stretched for too long finally snapping.

Jiang Bo walked over, squatted down, and stroked Tangyuan's head. Its eyes were closed, the corners of its mouth slightly upturned, as if it were having a sweet dream. What was it dreaming of? The reeds by the river? The ruins? Or perhaps its master stroking its head? Its ears were still so soft, its nose still so cool, its fur still so smooth. But it wouldn't move. It wouldn't bark. It wouldn't run. It was asleep forever.

He remembered the first time it came to him. It was an autumn day many years ago when he brought it home from the police dog base. It was just a puppy, huddled in a cardboard box, shivering, its eyes dark and bright, like two washed pebbles. He took it out, and it licked his hand—wet and warm. It wasn't afraid of him. It recognized him.

From that day on, it became his shadow. When he worked overtime, it lay on the office floor. When he went out on calls, it jumped into the passenger seat. When he rushed to crime scenes, it followed behind, stopping every few steps to look back at him, as if saying, "Keep up, don't get lost." How many cases did it help him solve? He couldn't count. The Fang Min case, the Li Hongmei case, the Xu Yanran case, the Lin Xiaoxue case, the Zhao Xiaoyun case, the Wang Xiaochen case. Those women jogging at night, those women who died by the river, those women named Xiulan. Every single time, it was there. It smelled the bloodstains, searched for the traces, chased the murderers. It couldn't speak, but it understood everything. It used its nose to tell him directions, its barks to warn him of danger, and its head against his hand to tell him, "Don't be afraid, I'm here."

It's old. In recent years, it's walked slower, can't run anymore, and has lost its teeth. It no longer jumps onto the car and needs to be carried. It no longer runs ahead, but can only follow behind, panting heavily. It no longer stays up all night guarding the scene; it falls asleep as soon as it lies down on the ground. It's tired. It wants to rest.

"Mom, it's gone. It went to find those people. Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Xiu Lan, Lin Xiaoxue, Zhao Xiaoyun, and Wang Xiaochen. It's with them over there. It won't be lonely. It's so well-behaved; everyone likes it wherever it goes."

Xiuying burst into tears. She cried silently, tears streaming down her face, her shoulders trembling. She hugged Tangyuan, burying her face in its fur. Jiang Bo held her, saying nothing. The rain outside grew heavier, pounding against the windowpane like countless hands knocking.

They sat for a long time. Xiuying, exhausted from crying, leaned against the sofa with her eyes closed. Jiang Bo took Tangyuan from her arms, placed it on the floor, and covered it with a blanket. The blanket was knitted by Xiuying; it was blue, and the edges were a little frayed. Tangyuan used to love lying on this blanket; in winter, it would curl up into a ball, its head resting on its paws, its eyes half-closed.

As dawn broke, the rain stopped. Jiang Bo put Tangyuan into a wooden box. He had nailed the box himself; it wasn't big, just big enough for Tangyuan to curl up and sleep inside. He lined the bottom of the box with a layer of cotton cloth, sewn by Xiuying from one of her old cotton-padded jackets. She had said that Tangyuan was afraid of the cold and couldn't be allowed to get cold.

He carried the suitcase downstairs. Xiuying followed behind, holding an umbrella. She walked slowly, one step at a time, her legs trembling. Jiang Bo glanced back at her. "Mom, you wait at home. I'll go."

Xiuying shook her head. "No. I have to go. I have to see it off. It's been with me for so long, I can't not go."

The car drove to the old pontoon bridge. In the morning light, the ruins resembled a forgotten battlefield. The bulldozers still stood there, rusted and battered, raindrops dripping from their steel bodies like tears. The weeds were wet, lying prostrate on the ground, as if they had wept. The door of the small house was open, the light still on. The man stood in the doorway, holding an umbrella, his back hunched. He saw Jiang Bo's car but didn't stand up to wave as usual. He simply stood there, watching.

Jiang Bo parked the car in front of the ruins and got out, carrying the box. Xiuying followed behind, holding an umbrella for him. There was a willow tree by the river, its leaves all gone, its bare branches stretching towards the sky like a withered hand. That tree was the spot Jiang Bo had chosen. Tangyuan used to love running around there, darting in and out of the reeds, sniffing around by the river. It considered that place its territory.

He dug a hole. The soil was wet and heavy; he dug deep, shovel by shovel. The gentleman walked over and stood beside him without saying a word. Xiuying stood on the other side, holding an umbrella, tears streaming down her face again.

Jiang Bo put the box inside and covered it with soil. He tamped the soil down with his hands, then found a few stones and piled them up in front of the grave as a tombstone. He knelt before the grave and kowtowed three times. Xiuying also knelt down and kowtowed three times. The gentleman did not kneel; he simply stood there, gazing at the small mound of earth for a long time.

"It was a good dog. It was with you for so many years. It didn't die in vain. Remember it. Live for it."

Jiang Bo stood up and looked at the river. The river flowed in the rain, a hazy gray, obscuring everything. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. Tangyuan was gone too. It went to find them.

Returning from the old pontoon bridge, Jiang Bo sat in his office, the notebooks, photos, and letters spread out before him. Mr. [Name]'s notebook, Dong Zhenhua's notebook, Sun Jianguo's notebook, Zhang Jianjun's notebook, Chen Weiguo's notebook, Chen Zhiqiang's notebook. They had all written, all recorded, all said sorry. They are gone, but these things remain. Tangyuan is gone too. It remains too. In his heart.

He opened the notebook; the last page bore Wang Xiaochen's name. Next to it was the date, and below it, the words "I'm sorry." The man had written slowly, each stroke deliberate, as if carving characters. He wondered what the man 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 overcast and gloomy, threatening rain. In the distance, traffic thronged the Yangtze River Bridge, and several cargo ships sailed on the river. 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.

My phone rang. It was Liu Tong calling.

"Sir, the archives have taken those notebooks. They said they will preserve them well so that more people can see them. Those names, those apologies, will be remembered. They won't disappear. They also said they will publish a special volume, compiling the materials from those cases over the years, to preserve them as historical archives."

Jiang Bo held his phone. "Okay. Thank you. Please thank them for me. Those names cannot have died in vain. Those people cannot have lived in vain."

He hung up the phone, stood by the window, and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted in the lamplight, like those names, like those apologies, like those people who would never return. He thought of Tangyuan, of it licking his hand, of it lying at his feet, of it running ahead, stopping after a few steps to look back at him. It wouldn't come back. It went to find them.

My phone rang again. 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 gone, and I haven't cleared its bowl yet. I filled a bowl for it and put it where it used to lie. If it comes back, it can still eat. It loves dumplings the most, and it always drools when it sees you eating them."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Mom, I'm back. Wait for me."

He walked out of the office; the corridor was quiet. Tangyuan wasn't there, and no dog followed him. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, each beat like a heartbeat. He went downstairs, got into his car, and started the engine. The car drove out of the municipal bureau and onto Changjiang Road. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. Tangyuan was also in his heart.

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 was sitting at the table, holding a notebook. He saw Jiang Bo and smiled. It was a very light and faint smile, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart.

"It's back? Tangyuan left. It went to find them. It won't be lonely over there. It has Azhen, Xiaomei, and Xiulan. They'll keep it company. It's so well-behaved; everyone likes it wherever it goes."

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "Sir, the archives have taken those notebooks. They will preserve them well. Those names, those apologies, will be remembered. They won't disappear. They're also going to publish a special collection, organizing the information from those cases so that more people can know about them."

The man nodded. "Good. You did a good job. You're just like your father. You're meticulous and thoughtful. He wouldn't misjudge people. He'd be happy if he knew you donated those notebooks so more people could see them. He spent his whole life investigating, just wanting people to know the truth. You've done it for him."

Xiuying brought over a plate of 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're cold. I put the bowl of glutinous rice balls in its bowl. If it comes back, it can still eat them. It loves your mom's dumplings the most." As she spoke, tears streamed down her face again.

Jiang Bo picked up his chopsticks, grabbed a dumpling, and put it in his mouth. It was pork and cabbage filling, just as delicious as before. Thin skin, generous filling, and juicy goodness. As he chewed, tears welled up in his eyes. He remembered Tangyuan lying at his feet, looking up at him, drool dripping down its face. He remembered it nudging his hand with its head, as if saying, "Give me one, give me one." He remembered how it ate dumplings, swallowing them whole without even chewing, then looking up at him again, its tail wagging like a windmill.

Xiuying looked at him, her eyes reddening. "Eat slowly, don't choke. The glutinous rice balls are gone, but you still have me. I'm still here. Your husband is here too. You're not alone."

Jiang Bo swallowed the dumpling. "Mom, I know. I'm not alone. I have you, I have my husband, I have those names. They're all in my heart. They won't disappear."

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

"Xiao Jiang, those notebooks have been donated. Tangyuan is gone too. What else are you worried about? All those cases are closed. All those murderers have been caught. All those names have been recorded. What else is on your mind?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "Sir, I can't let go of those names. I can't let go of those apologies. I can't let go of those people who stood at the door watching. They're gone, but I'm still here. I can still remember them. I can still remember them for them. I'm afraid that when I get old, I won't be able to remember anymore. I'm afraid that when I die, no one will remember. Those names will be gone, and no one will say those apologies anymore."

The man nodded. "You won't forget. You've remembered for so many years, you can't forget. You're old, but you still have your children. Your children will remember for you. Your children's children will remember for you. Keep remembering, it can't be broken."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the night view of Jiangcheng stretched out, 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 thought of Tangyuan. It wouldn't come back. It went to find them. It's over there, with Ah Zhen, with Xiao Mei, with Xiu Lan. It won't be lonely. He won't be lonely either. He still has those names, those apologies. He still has his husband, and Xiu Ying. He still has himself.