Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Three days after Tangyuan's death, Jiang Bo went to the old pontoon bridge again.

He went alone, without anyone else. Xiuying said she wanted to come along, but he didn't let her. The gentleman said he wanted to go and see, but he didn't let him either. He said he wanted to be alone for a while, to talk to Tangyuan. It couldn't understand, but it knew. It knew everything. When it was alive, it listened to every word he said, and although it couldn't answer, it would nuzzle his hand with its head, lick his face with its tongue, and wag its tail in its own reply. Now it's gone, but he still wants to talk. He's afraid that if he doesn't speak, it won't be able to hear him anymore.

He left before dawn. The hallway light was still out, and he groped his way down five flights of stairs in the dark. His car was parked downstairs, the dew glistening on the roof like a layer of diamonds. He opened the door, got in, and started the engine. The passenger seat was empty; Tangyuan wasn't there, lying on her paws, head resting on her hand, eyes half-open. That seat was empty, and would always be empty. He glanced at it, said nothing, shifted gears, and drove out of the complex.

He drove onto Changjiang Road. The streets were deserted, save for a few sanitation workers sweeping the ground. The streetlights were still on, their dim yellow light reflecting a cold glare onto the wet street. He rolled down the window a crack, letting in a gust of cold wind that cleared his head. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. Tangyuan (sweet rice balls) were in his heart too. They wouldn't disappear. They would always be there.

In the morning light, the old pontoon bridge resembled a forgotten battlefield. The bulldozers still stood there, their rust deepened, the moss on their tracks thicker, a dark, almost blackish green, like a velvet blanket. The weeds were blown about by the wind, some withered, lying flat on the ground, yellow and dry, about to break in the breeze. Others were still green, swaying in the wind, making a rustling sound, like countless hands whispering secrets. The door to the small hut was open, the light still on. The kerosene lamp's light was faint in the morning light, almost invisible, but it still shone. The gentleman wasn't there; he'd gone to the detention center. He had to report there every month on this day. During his probation, he couldn't leave Jiangcheng, couldn't leave his residence, and had to report once a month, reporting his situation and writing a self-criticism. He had written his name for over thirty years, written "I'm sorry" for over thirty years, and now he had to write a self-criticism. He never found it troublesome.

Jiang Bo parked the car in front of the ruins and turned off the engine. He sat in the driver's seat, not getting out immediately. He looked at the small house, at the lamp. It was still lit, dim and warm. He remembered what his husband had said: "Let it stay lit. Someone will come back." His husband came back, Dong Zhenhua came back, Sun Jianguo came back, Zhang Jianjun came back, Chen Weiguo came back, and Chen Zhiqiang came back too. They all left, and then they all came back. Only Tangyuan didn't come back. It wouldn't come back. It went to find them.

He pushed open the car door and got out. Without Tangyuan following him, his footsteps sounded particularly lonely on the broken bricks, each step like a heartbeat, like a countdown. He walked on the broken bricks, the sound crunching, the weeds scratching his trouser legs, the dew wetting his shoes. He walked to the willow tree, to Tangyuan's grave.

The grave wasn't large, just a small mound of earth with a few stones piled in front, serving as a tombstone. There were no inscriptions on the stones; he didn't want to. Tangyuan's name didn't need to be engraved on stone. It was in his heart, in Xiuying's heart, in her husband's heart. In the bloodstains it had smelled, in the murderers it had chased, in the people it had saved. A few wild grasses had sprouted on the grave, green and tender, as if just emerging from the ground, curiously observing the world. Dewdrops clung to the blades, shimmering in the morning light like tears, like diamonds.

He squatted down, pulled up the weeds, and tamped the soil down with his hands. The soil was damp and cool; he could feel the chill beneath his fingers. That coolness traveled from his fingertips to his arms, to his chest, and all the way to his heart. After pulling up the weeds, he found a few stones and piled them in front of the grave, reinforcing the mound. He was afraid the rain would wash it away, or the wind would blow it away.

He sat by the grave for a while, gazing at the river. The water shimmered in the morning light, fragments of gold, dazzlingly bright. The river flowed slowly, just as it had a hundred years ago, just as it had a thousand years ago. It had witnessed countless people, countless events, countless joys and sorrows. It had seen Tangyuan run around by the riverbank, seen it dart through the reeds, seen it sniff around along the riverbank. It had seen everything, and said nothing.

"Tangyuan, I've come to see you. Are you doing alright over there? Have you found Ah Zhen? Have you found Xiao Mei? Do they recognize you? You're such a good girl, they must love you. Please tell them for me that the case is closed. The murderer has been caught. They can rest in peace now. Please tell Xiulan for me that Chen Zhiqiang has been caught too. He won't kill anyone again. She can rest in peace now. Please tell them for me that people still remember them. The master remembers them, I remember them. They won't disappear. Never."

A breeze blew, carrying the fishy smell of the river, along with the scent of grass and earth. The reeds rustled, like someone answering, or perhaps sighing. He looked up at the reeds. They were withered, yellowed, swaying in the wind, their spikes white, like an old man's hair. He remembered the first time Tangyuan came here; it was small, darting in and out of the reeds, chasing grasshoppers, butterflies, and its own tail. It ran so happily, its tail wagging like a windmill. It ran a lap through the reeds, emerging covered in grass seeds and mud, its eyes shining as it looked at him, as if saying, "This is so much fun!" Back then, he was young, and it was just a puppy. Now he was old, and it was old too. Now it's gone.

He stood up and brushed the dirt off his trousers. The mud clung to his legs, impossible to shake off cleanly. He walked to the small hut; the door was open, the light still on. He went inside and sat at the table. The kerosene lamp's light shone on his face, half bright, half dim. Dust settled on the lampshade, making the light hazy, as if seen through a layer of fog. On the table lay the notebooks, the photos, the letters. Mr. [Name]'s, Dong Zhenhua's, Sun Jianguo's, Zhang Jianjun's, Chen Weiguo's, Chen Zhiqiang's. They had all written, all recorded, all apologized. 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 edges curled, the pages yellowed, but the words inside remained. Some handwriting was neat, some hasty, some forceful, some light. Some were written slowly, each stroke like a carving in stone. Some were written in a hurry, crooked and shaky, as if someone was chasing them. They were all alive, breathing, and speaking.

He opened his husband's notebook and saw Ah Zhen's name. Next to it was the date, and below it, "I'm sorry." Ah Zhen, twenty-one years old, restaurant waitress. Disappeared on March 9, 1993. The old pontoon bridge. She was pregnant, about to give birth. She was strangled to death by Ding Laosan and thrown into the river. The child survived. The child's name was Xiao Ying. Xiao Ying was later killed. Her name was also in the notebook. He closed the notebook and opened Dong Zhenhua's. He saw Dong Jian'an's name. Dong Jian'an, the twin brother. He fell into the river at seven, was rescued, and trained as an assassin by the J organization. He killed so many people. He died. He said "I'm sorry" when he died. He closed the notebook and opened Chen Zhiqiang's. He saw Xiulan's name. Xiulan, Chen Zhiqiang's wife. She died by the river, pushed into the river. Chen Zhiqiang went mad. He killed all the women named Xiulan, killed all the women who resembled Xiulan. He died. He said "I'm sorry" when he died.

He closed his notebook and stood up. He walked out of the small house, stood in the doorway, and looked at the lamp. It was still lit, dim and warm, shining through the window like an eye that refused to close. A gust of wind blew, the flame flickered, then settled. Ash on the lampshade was blown up, dancing in the beam of light like countless tiny stars.

"Tangyuan, that lamp is still lit. It will always be lit. Your husband will come back, and he will write those names again, and he will write those 'I'm sorry's again. I will come back too, and I will watch over it for you. It won't go out. It won't go out. As long as someone remembers those names, it will never go out."

He turned, got into the car, and started the engine. The car drove off the old pontoon bridge. In the rearview mirror, the small house grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, but it was still there. The light was still on. Like a star, like an eye, like someone who had waited a long time. He drove onto the Yangtze River Bridge and looked at the river. The river shimmered in the sunlight, flowing slowly. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. Tangyuan (sweet rice balls) were also in his heart.

Back at the municipal police station, Liu Tong was organizing the final case materials. Rows of folders lay on his desk, each labeled with a name: A-Zhen, Xiao-Mei, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Zhao Xiuying, Liu Xiaoqin, Sun Xiaomei, Zhang Jianguo, Li Mei, Gao Deming, Xiulan, Lin Xiaoxue, Zhao Xiaoyun, Wang Xiaochen, Wang Xiulan. He made several copies of the notebooks, sending one to the archives, one to the provincial department, one to the municipal bureau's archives, one to his husband, and one to Jiang Bo. He said that even if one copy was lost, there would be other backups. Even if it burned, there would be other ones that wouldn't be damaged by water.

On his desk lay a photo of Tangyuan. It was taken last year; Tangyuan was lying at Jiang Bo's feet, squinting in the sun. The sunlight shone on it, making its fur gleam like satin. Its ears were drooping, its nose was wet, and the corners of its mouth were slightly upturned, as if it were smiling. Its paws were resting on Jiang Bo's shoes, and it was fast asleep. Jiang Bo didn't know when he took the photo, but it was very well taken. Tangyuan was very photogenic.

"Officer, everything's taken care of. The families have all been notified. Chen Fang's sister, Li Mei's brother-in-law, Liu Xiaoqin's brother, and Sun Xiaomei's brother. They all thanked you. They also thanked Tangyuan. They said Tangyuan was a good police dog. Without it, those cases might not have been solved. Without it, those murderers might not have been caught. They asked me to thank it for them."

Jiang Bo took the photo and looked at it for a long time. His finger slowly traced across the photo, from the glutinous rice ball's head to its tail. It wasn't long, just a tiny little thing, curled up at his feet, taking up very little space. But now that it was gone, that space was empty. So empty that it made the whole room feel huge, boundless.

"It was a good dog. It was with me for so many years. It didn't die in vain. It solved so many cases and saved so many people, it didn't even know it. It didn't ask for anything in return. It just followed me, ran, sniffed, and barked. It did that its whole life. It was tired."

The phone rang. It was Xiuying calling. Her voice was a little hoarse, as if she had just cried, or as if she had stayed up too late.

"Xiao Jiang, come back for dinner. Your husband is back too. He's waiting for you. The dumplings are ready, pork and cabbage filling. I put away the bowl for the glutinous rice balls. I shouldn't have left it there. It won't come back. It went to find them. I waited for it for three days, but it didn't come back. It won't come back. I'm not waiting anymore."

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

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, with several plates on the table. The man 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.

"You're back? Tangyuan's gone, but you have to keep going. Those cases aren't over. Those names aren't all remembered. Those apologies aren't all said. You can't stop. If you stop, no one will remember those names. If you stop, no one will say those apologies."

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "Sir, all those cases are closed. All the murderers have been caught. All the names have been recorded. What's left unresolved? Chen Zhiqiang is dead, Chen Zhiyuan is dead, Zhang Jianjun is dead, Dong Jian'an is dead, Old Liu is dead. They're all dead. Those women who used to jog at night can rest in peace. Those women named Xiulan can rest in peace too. What's left unresolved?"

The man looked at him. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "And you. You're not married yet, you haven't had children yet. You haven't found someone to remember those names for you. You haven't found someone to say those apologies for you. You can't remember so many by yourself. You can't say so many by yourself. You need to find someone to remember with you, to say them with you."

Xiuying brought over a plate of dumplings and placed it on the table. "Eat. Eat while it's hot. Don't just talk. Your husband is right. You should settle down. You're almost forty. If you don't get married soon, I'll be too old to take care of the children. Tangyuan is gone, and you won't even have anyone to keep you company. You'll be all alone, with no one to talk to. You can't talk to your husband every day, can you? He has his own things to do. He still has to write those names and those apologies."

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. He chewed, tears welling in his eyes. He remembered Tangyuan lying at his feet, looking up at him, drool dripping down her 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 chewing, then looking up at him again, its tail wagging like a windmill. It loved dumplings. Pork and cabbage filling. Just like her husband, just like his father. They all loved pork and cabbage dumplings.

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, Tangyuan is gone. You've taken her bowl. What else are you worried about? All those cases are closed. All those murderers have been caught. All those names are remembered. What else is on your mind? What else is left unfinished?"

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 too. It will keep going, it can't be broken. Get married, have a child. Tell him those names, tell him those apologies. Let him continue to remember, let him continue to say them. It will be passed down, 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 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. He wanted to get married, to have children, to tell those names to his children, to tell them those apologies. He wanted them to continue remembering, to continue saying them. The story had to continue, it couldn't be broken.

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.