Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

On their first weekend after their marriage, Jiang Bo and Liu Ya went to the old pontoon bridge to visit her husband.

The sky was overcast, the clouds hanging low like a worn-out gray cloth draped over the city. A strong wind blew, rustling the withered grass as if countless hands were whispering secrets. The door to the small house was open, and the light was still on. The kerosene lamp's light shone brightly and warmly in the overcast sky, like a star that refused to go out. The gentleman sat in the doorway, wearing his new, dark gray overcoat, perfectly crisp. Before him lay the notebook, its blue cover badly worn, the edges curled, revealing the gray cardboard inside. His fingers gently stroked the cover, as if touching something very precious.

He saw Jiang Bo's car, stood up, and, holding onto the door frame, made his way inside. His movements were slower than before, his knees creaking like rusty iron doors or old staircases. But there was a light in his eyes, as if he were waiting for something, as if he were hoping for something.

"You're here? You're here. Why didn't your mother come? Is she home alone? It's Sunday today, she should be off. She's always busy, busy her whole life. Tell her to come over, don't always stay alone."

Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked over. "My mom is making dumplings at home. She said you guys can come over for dinner tonight. She made a lot, pork and cabbage filling. She said your husband loves them, and she wants you to eat a few more. She said you're too thin and need to eat more. She went to the market yesterday and spent the whole morning picking out meat, specifically looking for pork belly."

The man smiled. "Okay. I'll go. Your mom's dumplings are delicious. They're better than the ones you buy outside. They taste just like home." He turned to look at Liu Ya. "You're here. Come in and sit down. It's windy and cold outside. You're wearing so little, you'll catch a cold. Young people should take care of themselves too, don't think you're immune to the cold just because you're young."

Liu Ya went over and helped him up. "Sir, you look great today. Better than last time. Your new coat looks good too, makes you look more energetic. You should wear new clothes more often, don't always wear that old one. It's all worn out, and the cuffs are frayed. You're not afraid of the cold, so dress warmly and don't catch a chill. If you don't want to buy one, I'll buy it for you. What size do you wear?"

The man patted her hand. "You have a sweet tongue. You know how to talk. It's Jiang's good fortune to have found you. He's not good with words, he doesn't know how to say nice things. But he knows what's going on. He cares about you. You don't need to buy him clothes, he's not picky. Just buy them for yourself. You're young, you should dress nicely."

Liu Ya smiled. "I know. He has me in his heart. He also has you, Mom, and those names in his heart. He carries so many people in his heart. But he's not tired. Because what he has in his heart are the people he cares about, not the case. A case is over once it's solved, but people are different. Once someone is in your heart, you don't want to take them away. A case can be closed, but a person can't be."

They entered the small hut. The kerosene lamp was still burning, its flame flickering and casting swaying shadows on the wall, like countless hands gesturing something. On the table lay notebooks, photographs, and letters, stacked high and low, thick and thin. The photographs were scattered on the table, some black and white, some color, some yellowed and curled at the edges. The letters were folded together, tied tightly with a yellowed rope, as if afraid they would come undone.

The man sat down, opened his notebook, and continued writing. His back was hunched, and his hands trembled, but his pen moved steadily. He wrote slowly, each stroke deliberate, as if carving characters, as if chiseling a name into stone. His fingers gripped the pen, his knuckles thick and veins bulging. The pen tip scratched across the paper, making a soft, rustling sound, like autumn leaves falling to the ground.

Jiang Bo stood behind him, watching him write. He wrote Ah Zhen's name. Next to it was the date, and below it, "I'm sorry." Ah Zhen, March 9th, 1993. He finished writing, put down his pen, and looked up. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light in them.

"Ah Zhen, 21 years old, a restaurant waitress. She disappeared on March 9, 1993. The old pontoon bridge. She was pregnant and about to give birth. Ding Laosan strangled her and threw her into the river. The baby survived. The baby was sent to an orphanage. The baby later died too. What was her name again? Xiao Ying. Yes, Xiao Ying. Xiao Ying died too. Her name is in the notebook. I remember it. I haven't forgotten."

Tears streamed down Liu Ya's face. "Sir, you've remembered for so many years. You've worked so hard. From now on, Jiang Bo and I will help you remember. When you can't write anymore, we'll write for you. When you can't remember anymore, we'll remember for you. We won't forget those names. Don't worry, as long as you're here, we'll be with you. Even when you're gone, we'll still remember. We'll remember for a lifetime."

The man looked at her. "Alright. You two will remember for me. I'm old and can't remember anymore. What I wrote yesterday, I've forgotten today. I have to go back and look to realize I wrote it. Just now, when I was writing Ah Zhen's name, I almost forgot it. I thought for a long time before I remembered. You are young and have good memories. You will remember for me. When you get old, have your children remember for me. It must be passed down and never be broken."

Jiang Bo nodded. "Sir, I will. I will teach my children to remember these names and say 'I'm sorry.' They will continue the tradition. When they grow up and have their own children, they will teach them as well. It will continue indefinitely, without interruption."

The man smiled. "Good. Your father would be happy if he knew. He waited his whole life, but he didn't live to see you get married. Now that you're married, he can't see it. But he knows. He's watching from heaven. He sees that you have a wife, a home, and someone to care for. He won't worry about you anymore. You used to be his biggest worry. He was afraid you'd be alone, with no one to take care of you. Now he's not afraid anymore. You have Xiaoya."

At noon, they went to Xiuying's place for lunch. Xiuying made dumplings, with pork and cabbage filling. She set out a table full of steaming dumplings, each one white, plump, and neatly arranged. She also made several cold dishes: smashed cucumber, mixed wood ear mushrooms, and braised beef. She said that since her husband was here, they couldn't just eat dumplings; they needed some snacks to go with his drinks. Although her husband didn't drink, he was still happy to see them.

The man sat at the table, picked up his chopsticks, took a dumpling, put it in his mouth, and chewed for a long time. He had lost several teeth, and the remaining ones were loose, making chewing very difficult. He chewed very slowly, as if savoring something, as if memorizing something. His cheeks bulged and moved rhythmically.

"It's delicious. Your mom's dumplings are so good. Yizhou brought me some before too. He always brings dumplings whenever he comes to visit. He says his wife makes them. He smiles so happily. Your dad's eyes crinkle when he smiles, like crescent moons. Just like you. Your eyes crinkle when you smile too, like crescent moons. You two are so alike."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. "Sir, please stop. Yizhou is gone, gone for so many years. You still remember him, remember his tastes, remember he loved salty food. Please stop, or I'll start crying. I can't stop crying. You know that."

The man nodded. "Don't say anything. Eat dumplings. Eat a few more. They're delicious. Don't waste them."

After finishing their dumplings, Jiang Bo drove his husband home. It was already afternoon when they reached the old pontoon bridge. Sunlight peeked through the clouds, illuminating the ruins, the small house, and the lamp. The husband got out of the car and walked slowly back to the house. His new overcoat shimmered softly in the sunlight, but it still looked too big and loose on him.

Jiang Bo stood in the doorway, watching him light the lamp. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, casting a swaying shadow on the wall. The gentleman sat at the table, opened the notebook, and picked up a pen. He continued writing, writing those names, writing those apologies.

"Sir, please don't write too late. Go to bed early. I'll come see you again tomorrow. If you need anything, just call me. My phone will always be on, I won't turn it off. Don't worry about bothering me, I'm not afraid of trouble. I'm worried if you don't call. I'm afraid something might happen to you if you're alone."

The man looked up at him. "Go. Don't worry about me. I'll go to sleep after I finish writing. You live your life well. Take your time investigating those cases. Don't overwork yourself. You have a wife now, you can't act like before. You need to take care of your family. Don't let her wait for you alone at home. She'll be scared. She's afraid of the dark. She won't dare turn off the lights when you're not there."

Jiang Bo nodded. "Sir, I know. I will take care of the family. I won't leave her alone. I promised her I would come home on time, eat on time, and go to bed on time. I won't lie to her."

Jiang Bo turned around, walked to the car, and glanced back. The door to the small house was open, and the man sat there with his back to him. His shadow was cast on the wall, long and thin. The lamp was still on. He got into the car, started the engine, and 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 lamp was still on.

That night, Jiang Bo and Liu Ya lay in bed. The lights were off, and the moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating the floor. The curtains weren't drawn tightly, and a gust of wind caused them to flutter, making the moonlight sway.

"Jiang Bo, will you teach our children to remember those names in the future? They're still too young, will they be able to remember them? At what age should we start teaching them? Three? Five? Or should we wait until they start elementary school?"

Jiang Bo thought for a moment. "Yes. Teach them from a young age, and they'll gradually remember. Just like how my teacher taught me. When I was little, he taught me how to investigate cases, how to verify evidence, and how to judge people. He taught me a lot. Now I'm teaching our children the same things. Let's start with the simplest ones, like Ah Zhen and Xiao Mei, one by one. Memorize one a day, and you'll have over three hundred in a year. You'll have memorized them all in a few years. There's no rush."

Liu Ya turned over and looked at him. "When you were little, was this what your teacher taught you? Wasn't he your father's teacher? How could he teach you? Shouldn't he be teaching the police? You were too young then, could you understand?"

"After my father died, my teacher treated me like his student. He taught me how to investigate cases, how to verify evidence, and how to judge people. He taught me everything he knew. He was afraid I would go astray or suffer losses. In his whole life, he only taught two students. One was my father, and the other was me. After my father passed away, he only had me left. He treated me like his son. His son died, and no one called him 'Dad.' When I came, he was happy. He didn't say it, but he was happy in his heart."

Liu Ya hugged him. "He'll always have you. You'll always have him. Neither of you will be alone. I won't be alone either. Neither of us will be."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Thank you. Thank you for being willing to marry me, for accompanying me to the old pontoon bridge, for helping me see my husband, for helping me remember those names. You don't mind that I'm busy, you don't mind that I don't have time for you. You even cook for me, make noodles for me, and do my laundry. You are my blessing."

Liu Ya buried her face in his chest. "You are my blessing too."

Night deepened. Moonlight shifted onto the wall, illuminating the couplet: "The river flows on, recording a thousand years of grievances. Mirror Lake remains forever, witnessing a lifetime of love." The horizontal inscription read: "The lamp shines eternally." Those words gleamed softly in the moonlight.

Looking at those words, Jiang Bo suddenly remembered something. When the master wrote this couplet, he also wrote a line of small characters on the back. He hadn't noticed it at the time, but saw it later when it was being framed. The line of small characters read: "J is still here. The lamp will not go out."

He never asked the man what it meant. He was afraid the answer would be something he didn't want to hear. He was afraid there were still remnants of the J organization, that the cases weren't over, that the names weren't all remembered, that the apologies weren't all said. He was afraid that light would never go out.

Liu Ya was already asleep. Her breathing was light and even. He gently withdrew his hand from her embrace, picked up his phone, and sent a WeChat message to Liu Tong:

"Check tomorrow at work to see if there are any similar unresolved cases in recent years. Don't overlook anything related to J."

Liu Tong quickly replied: "Received. Officer Bo, aren't you asleep yet? On your wedding night, instead of spending time with your bride, you're still thinking about the case. You really are..."

Jiang Bo didn't reply. He placed his phone on the bedside table and closed his eyes. Those names, those apologies, went through his mind again. 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, Wang Xiulan. He went through them again and again.

Nothing was missed. I've remembered everything.

But he knew there was more. The man had said J was still around. The light was still on. That light wasn't just the kerosene lamp in the man's hut. That light was a code for J's organization. The light not going out meant they were still active. They were still somewhere, waiting. Waiting for what? For someone to come to them? For a new case to happen? Or for him?

He dared not think about it. But he knew he had to investigate. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, no one would remember those names. If he stopped, no one would say sorry. If he stopped, that light would go out.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Outside the window, the moonlight was bright. In the distance, the headlights of cars on the Yangtze River Bridge formed a river of light. That river, flowing for so many years, was still flowing. So many cases had been solved, yet new ones kept appearing. He remembered what Old He had said: "The J organization won't disappear so easily. They're like water; you can't hold onto them, you can't stop them. You can only follow them and wait for them to rise to the surface."

He closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be a new day. He would have new cases, new names, new apologies. He would have Liu Ya, Xiuying, and Mr. [Name]. He would have that lamp. The lamp would not go out. He could not let it go out.