Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo asked Liu Ya out for the second time, and it was at that same coffee shop.

He arrived early this time, sat back in his usual window seat, and ordered an Americano. Sunlight streamed in through the window, warming the wooden floor and making even the finest dust particles in the air clearly visible, like tiny stars. He checked his watch; it was ten minutes to three. He placed his phone on the table and waited. The phone case was black, its edges worn smooth from years of use. When Tangyuan was still around, she liked to lick the phone case, thinking it was something delicious, leaving it wet and stringy with saliva. He couldn't bear to replace it; Tangyuan's saliva still clung to the case, leaving a small, dark mark after it dried, like a birthmark. He touched that mark, a pang of sadness welling up inside him.

The wind chimes rang. A clear, tinkling sound, like the bells of a peddler's cart I heard as a child. Liu Ya arrived right on time, still wearing that light blue sweater, her hair tied in a ponytail, and black-rimmed glasses. The lenses reflected the light, obscuring her eyes, but he knew she was looking at him. As she entered, she brought a cool breeze, carrying the scent of sunshine from outside. She saw him, smiled, walked over, and sat down opposite him.

"Have you been waiting long? You always come so early. I'll come earlier next time too, I can't keep you waiting."

"No. I just arrived. I didn't wait." He had actually waited for almost twenty minutes.

She ordered an Americano, took a book out of her bag, and placed it on the table. The book wasn't thick, with a light blue cover titled "Local History of Jiangcheng," the text in vertical, traditional characters, and it looked quite old. She opened it; inside was a handmade bookmark, woven with red string, with a small wooden pendant carved with a lotus flower—delicate and exquisite. She pushed the book closer, her finger lightly tapping the cover.

"Take a look. I borrowed this from the school library. The materials inside are old, but very complete. There's a chapter specifically about the old pontoon bridge, written in great detail, even including the dimensions of the piers. There are also old photos; I've looked at those photos several times, recognizing each one, identifying the houses, recognizing the people. You'll definitely find it interesting."

Jiang Bo took the book and turned to the page with the bookmark. The photograph was black and white, yellowed, a reproduction, somewhat blurry, with a lot of noise, as if viewed through a layer of fog. An old pontoon bridge, the Qingyi River, the Zhongjiang Pagoda. On the bridge were pedestrians, pushing bicycles, carrying loads, and a few children squatting on the railing watching the water. Below the bridge were fishing boats, masts standing tall, fishing nets drying on the bows, glistening with water droplets. Along the riverbank were low tiled houses, one after another, the plaster peeling off the walls to reveal the bricks underneath, the windows dark and empty, like blind eyes. He looked at it for a long time, his finger slowly tracing the photograph from one end to the other, as if walking.

"What year was this taken? Can you tell what season it was?"

Liu Ya leaned closer to him, her hair brushing against his shoulder, tickling him. "1985. It's written in the book, in the corner. Look here." She pointed to the small print under the photo, so small you needed a magnifying glass to see it. "1985, the old pontoon bridge. How old were you then? Five or six? Did you live there when you were little? Did you ever go to that bridge?"

Jiang Bo shook his head. "No. I've never lived there. But my dad did. He used to be the local policeman, and the old pontoon bridge was his jurisdiction. He spent all his time patrolling that area, mediating disputes, and catching thieves. Later, he was transferred to the criminal investigation team, but he still went back often. When I was little, he would occasionally take me to play by the river. He would point to those dilapidated houses and say, 'This used to be the dock, that used to be the warehouse, this used to be the busiest place, with fishmongers, vegetable vendors, cloth vendors, you name it.' He had a very good memory; he remembered everything."

Liu Ya looked at him. "Where is your dad now? Your mom said he passed away. She didn't go into details about how he died, only that it happened while she was investigating a case. I didn't dare ask, afraid of upsetting her. She started crying as she spoke, and I cried too. She didn't say anything when she cried, just tears streamed down her face, and her shoulders trembled."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while. He looked at the photograph, at the places his father had once walked. Were those houses still there? Were those bridges still there? Were those people still there? He didn't know. He only knew that his father was gone.

"He died while investigating a case; he was murdered. I wasn't even born that year; he was in my mother's womb. He only knew my mother was pregnant, but he didn't know if it was a boy or a girl, what I looked like, or that I later became a policeman. He knew nothing. When he left, he didn't even have time to name me. My mother chose the name herself: Jiang Bo. Bo as in the ripples of a river." His voice was calm, as if he were talking about someone else's story. But his fingers were trembling, and the photograph shook along with them.

Tears streamed down Liu Ya's face. She didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely down her cheeks, dripping onto the table and onto her books. "He knows. He must know. He's watching you from heaven, always watching you. He's been watching since you were in your mother's womb. Watching you born, watching you grow up, watching you take the police academy entrance exam, watching you put on your police uniform, watching you stand by the river, watching you solve those cases. He knows it all. He knows you're his son, knows you're a good policeman, knows you finished investigating the cases he hadn't yet solved. He's proud of you."

Jiang Bo lowered his head. His tears dripped onto the photograph, spreading into a small wet patch that mirrored the surface of the river, like ripples. "If he were still alive, he would be over sixty this year. His hair would be white, his back hunched, and he might have gained weight, developing a beer belly. But he would definitely still go to the riverbank, and point to those houses, saying, 'This used to be a dock, that used to be a warehouse.' He had a very good memory; he remembered everything. He would hold my hand, just like when I was a child. His hands were big and warm, able to envelop mine."

They sat there for a long time. Sunlight moved from one end of the window to the other, shining on the wall and the row of old photographs. People came and went in the café, three or four groups of them changing. Jiang Bo told her about the old pontoon bridge. Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Chen Fang, those women who died by the river, those who waited half their lives. He didn't go into details, didn't talk about the blood, the tears, the apologies. He only gave a general account, saying that some people died, some waited their whole lives, some remembered for over thirty years. She listened, tears streaming down her face. She didn't speak, just listened, occasionally nodding, occasionally squeezing his hand tighter.

"Do you hate them?" she asked. "The murderers, the people standing at the door watching, the people saying sorry. Do you hate them?"

Jiang Bo thought for a moment. "I hated. I hated for many years. I hated Dong Jian'an for killing my father, I hated Ding Laosan for killing Azhen, I hated Lao Liu for killing those women who went for a run at night, I hated Chen Zhiqiang for killing those women named Xiulan. I hated them for not dying sooner. Now I don't hate them anymore. They were pitiful people too. They waited for so many years, and they said so many apologies. They died too. They paid their debts and received their punishments. I don't hate anymore. I can't hate anymore. I'm tired of hating for so many years."

Liu Ya looked at him. "Will you still investigate these cases in the future? Those women who jog at night, those women named Xiulan. They're all dead, and the murderers have been caught. Will you still investigate other cases? Will you still work as hard as before?"

Jiang Bo nodded. "Yes. There are still so many cases, so many names, so many apologies. I can't stop. My husband is old and can't remember anymore. I have to remember for him. My mother is old and can't walk anymore. I have to walk for her. Tangyuan is gone, and there's no one to keep me company. But I still have to continue. I have to continue even if I'm alone."

As they parted, Liu Ya asked him when he would be free next time. He said next weekend, same time, same coffee shop. She said okay, she remembered. She waved and left. Her ponytail swayed, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. After a few steps, she stopped, turned back, and looked at him.

"Jiang Bo, aren't you lonely all by yourself? Tangyuan is gone, your husband is getting old, and your mother has her own things to do. Aren't you lonely all by yourself?"

Jiang Bo stood at the entrance of the coffee shop, watching her. "Lonely. But I'm used to it. I'll get used to it. I still have those names, those 'I'm sorry's. They're with me. They can't speak, but they won't leave."

Liu Ya stared at him for a long time. Then she smiled, turned around, and left.

That evening, Xiuying asked him how it went. She sat on the sofa, the cushion in her arms crumpled from her grip. She said she had been anxious all afternoon, doing nothing but waiting for his call. She was afraid he wouldn't go, afraid the other woman wouldn't like him, afraid he wouldn't like her. She had imagined countless possibilities, each one keeping her awake at night. She said this was the most worrying thing she had ever experienced in her life, more worrying than the twenty-two years she had spent walking. She wasn't afraid of walking those roads. She wasn't afraid of going hungry. She wasn't afraid of being bullied. The only thing she feared was him spending his whole life alone.

Jiang Bo said she was fine. Xiuying asked again, "What's so good about her?" He said she was a nice person, very kind, a good listener, and never got annoyed. Xiuying smiled. "Kindness is good. Your dad used to say that when looking for a wife, you should look for someone kind. He said looks aren't important, a good heart is what matters. Your dad is very good at judging people. He can tell whether someone is good or bad just by looking at them. He's never been wrong."

Jiang Bo nodded. "Mom, I know."

He walked to the window and looked outside. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. He remembered Liu Ya's words: "He knows. He must know. He's watching you from heaven." His father was watching him from heaven. He was watching him. Liu Ya was watching him too. She was there too.

Over the weekend, Jiang Bo took Liu Ya to the old pontoon bridge.

The sky was overcast, the clouds hanging low like a worn-out gray cloth covering the entire city. The wind was strong, swaying the wild grass and making the door of the small house creak. The bulldozer was still there, its rust deepened, its tracks covered in a dark, almost black, green moss. The door of the small house was open, the light still on. The kerosene lamp's light shone brightly in the overcast sky, warm and gentle, like a star. The gentleman sat in the doorway, wearing his dark overcoat, his hair completely white, fluttering in the wind like reeds on a river. Before him lay the notebook, its blue cover badly worn, the edges curled, the pages yellowed. He saw Jiang Bo get out of the car, then saw Liu Ya get out, and paused for a moment. He leaned against the doorframe, stood up, and let them in.

"You're here? This is... your friend? You've never brought a friend before. This is the first time."

Jiang Bo walked over. "Sir, this is Liu Ya. Xiao Ya, my friend. She wanted to see the old pontoon bridge. I brought her here. She wants to see those names, those 'I'm sorry's. She wants to remember them."

The man looked at Liu Ya for a long time. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still a light. That kind of light was something only someone who had seen too much could have, something only someone who had remembered too many names could have, something only someone who had said "I'm sorry" too many times could have. "Okay. Take her to see them. Let her see those names, let her see those apologies. Let her know. Let her remember."

Liu Ya stood in the doorway, looking into the room. The kerosene lamp was still lit, its flame flickering and casting swaying shadows on the wall. On the table lay notebooks, photos, and letters, stacked high and low, thick and thin. The photos were scattered on the table, some black and white, some color, some yellowed and curled at the edges. She went in, picked up a notebook, and opened it. The first page had Ah Zhen's name, next to it was the date, and below it, "I'm sorry." Ah Zhen, March 9, 1993. She looked at it for a long time, and tears streamed down her face.

"You memorized all these names? You've been memorizing them for over thirty years?"

The man nodded. The nod was slow and gentle. "Yes. I've remembered them for over thirty years. Ah 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. And many more. I've remembered so many, but I still haven't remembered them all. Some names I don't know. Some names I've forgotten. I'm old, I can't remember anymore. You're young, you remember them for me. You remember them for me."

Liu Ya closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest. "I remember. I remember for you. Those names, those apologies, will be remembered. They won't disappear. I remember them, I remember their names, I remember their stories. I will tell my students, so they can remember too. It must be passed down, it must not be interrupted."

The man looked at her and smiled. It was a very light, faint smile, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart. "You're a good girl. If Yizhou were here, he would like you too. He would treat you to dumplings, pork and cabbage dumplings. He would watch you eat with a smile, telling you to eat slowly so you don't choke."

Jiang Bo's tears flowed down his face. He walked to the window and looked at the river.

Jiang Bo took Liu Ya to see Tangyuan's grave. Under the willow tree, there was that small mound of earth and those few stones. A few wild grasses had sprouted on the grave, green and tender, the dewdrops on their leaves glistening in the sunlight. Jiang Bo squatted down, pulled up the wild grass, and patted the soil down with his hands. The soil was damp and cool; he could feel the chill beneath his fingers.

"Tangyuan, I brought a friend to see you. Her name is Liu Ya. She's a good person. She loves dogs; she had a yellow dog when she was little, and she raised it for eight years. She understands you. She knows you're a good dog. You've been with me for so many years; you've worked so hard. Take care over there, and I'll come find you. Please keep Ah Zhen company, keep Xiao Mei company, and keep Xiu Lan company. They're lonely with no one to keep them company. Once you're here, they won't be lonely anymore."

Liu Ya squatted down and touched the stone. The stone was cool, rough, and painful to the touch. She didn't pull her hand away, just kept touching it. "Tangyuan, hello. I'm Liu Ya. Your owner often talks about you. He says you're a good dog, that you run very fast, that you have a keen nose, and that you've solved many cases. He also says your favorite food is dumplings, pork and cabbage filling. You've been with him for so many years. You've worked so hard. Take care over there, don't worry about him. He still has me. I'll stay with him."

A breeze rustled through the reeds, a sound like an answer, or perhaps a sigh. Jiang Bo stood up, gazing at the river. The water shimmered in the sunlight, 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 watching at the door were also in his heart. Tangyuan was in his heart. Liu Ya was in his heart.

Returning from the old pontoon bridge, Liu Ya remained silent. She sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window at the fleeting fields, villages, and rivers. Her eyes were red, as was the tip of her nose. As the car crossed the Yangtze River Bridge, the water shimmered dazzlingly beneath it. Suddenly, she spoke, her voice soft, as if drifting from a great distance.

"Will you come to the old pontoon bridge again? Will you come to see the teacher, look at those notebooks, and see the glutinous rice balls again?"

Jiang Bo nodded. "Yes. Mr. is still there. Those notebooks are still there. Tangyuan is there too. I will come often. Once a week, sometimes twice. To sit with Mr., to talk to him. He is lonely, no one to talk to. Although he doesn't want me to keep him company, he is happy when I go. He doesn't say it, but he is happy."

Liu Ya looked at him. "Next time, bring me. I want to come too. I want to see those names, those 'I'm sorry's. I want to remember them. I also want to see Mr. [the teacher], see him write those names, see him write those 'I'm sorry's. He's all alone, I want to keep him company."

Jiang Bo gripped the steering wheel. "Okay. I'll bring you next time. Next weekend, at the same time. I'll pick you up. Wait for me at home, I'll call you when I get there. Don't come by yourself, the way is hard to find."

Liu Ya nodded. "Okay. I'll wait for you at home."

The car drove into the city and stopped downstairs at Liu Ya's apartment building. She got out, stood at the door, and looked at him. The wind blew her hair, making it flutter. She waved and smiled.

"Jiang Bo, you're not alone anymore. You have me. Tangyuan is gone, your husband is old, and your mother has her own things to do. But you have me. I'll be with you. When you're investigating a case, I'll wait for you to come back. When you're tired, I'll pour you water. When you're hungry, I'll cook for you. I'll remember all your names and all those apologies. I'll remember them all for you."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. He didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely. "Okay. You remember them for me. You remember them for me. When I can't remember, remind me. When I'm old, you tell me for me. Thank you. Thank you for listening to me about those cases, thank you for coming to the old pontoon bridge, thank you for staying with me."

Liu Ya stared at him for a long time. Then she smiled, turned around, and left.