Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Liu Tong's reply came faster than Jiang Bo had expected. The next morning, as soon as he arrived at the office, a stack of printed materials was already spread out on his desk. Liu Tong's eyes were red, and he held a coffee cup in his hand, the cup stained with brown marks, clearly indicating he hadn't slept all night. There were also three empty coffee cups on the table, and a half-eaten sandwich; the bread was dry, and the edges were curled up.

"Officer Bo, I've investigated the case you asked me to investigate. In the past five years, there have been nine unsolved missing persons cases in Jiangcheng and the surrounding areas, all involving women aged between twenty-five and forty. In three of these cases, the victims had a habit of jogging at night. The other six cases had no obvious connection. But after going through the files, I found a common point."

Jiang Bo took off his coat and hung it on the hanger. "What do we have in common?"

Liu Tong opened one of the case files and pointed to the crime scene photos. "Look at this. The last places the victims were seen before they disappeared were all in the old city area. Not the old pontoon bridge, but the area around Shili Changjie. Demolition zone, blind spot for surveillance. It's very similar to previous cases. But that's not the most important thing. The most important thing is—" He turned the photo over, and there was a handwritten number on the back. "This is the original case file number. These cases were all handled by Dong Zhenhua back then. Just like before. Most of the cases he handled were left unresolved. But he left a mark in these case files."

Jiang Bo leaned closer to look. Below the number was a tiny symbol, drawn in pencil, so faint it was barely visible unless held up to the light. J. The J wasn't written neatly; the strokes were crooked, as if hastily drawn, or perhaps painstakingly carved out stroke by stroke. Jiang Bo stared at the symbol, examining it from various angles for a long time. He then picked up several other files, flipping through them. On the last page of each file, in the same spot, the same symbol. J. Nine files in total, nine Js.

"What does he mean by leaving this mark? Is he telling us that these cases are related to the J organization, or is he marking something himself? Why doesn't he dare to write it down? Who is he afraid of seeing it?"

Liu Tong shook his head. "I don't know. He was investigating the J organization at the time, infiltrating as an undercover agent. He was probably marking those cases that the J organization had intervened in. But he didn't dare to say it outright, so he could only do it this way. He knew that someone would find out sooner or later. The person he was waiting for might be you. These files have been gathering dust in the archives for over twenty years, and you were the first person to turn to the last page. Others may have borrowed them before, but no one noticed that symbol. It was too small, too faint, and you couldn't see it at all without looking carefully."

Jiang Bo was silent for a moment. "Are any of these cases still being investigated?"

Liu Tong flipped through the materials. "That's all. After Dong Zhenhua disappeared, these cases were shelved. Later, he was arrested and given a suspended sentence, and then these cases were even less taken care of. The files were sealed up, and no one accessed them. You're the first person to do this. When I went to retrieve the files, Old Sun in the archives even asked me why I thought of looking at these old almanacs. I said the leaders wanted to see them, and he stopped asking."

Jiang Bo walked to the window and lit a cigarette. Fog rose over the river outside, a white blur, obscuring everything. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those cases, those missing women, were also in his heart. He thought it was all over, that those women jogging at night were the last. No. There were more. Dong Zhenhua had left a mark; he was waiting. Waiting for someone to find it, waiting for someone to continue the investigation. He waited. But he was already dead. Did he die in prison, or outside? Jiang Bo didn't know. He had only seen Dong Zhenhua once, in that small house by the old pontoon bridge, living with his master. He was wearing a dark overcoat, his hair completely white, his back hunched. His last words were: "Let that lamp burn. Someone will come back." The lamp he spoke of was the kerosene lamp in his master's small house, and also these cases, these names, these apologies. They needed someone to continue recording them, to continue speaking them.

"Liu Tong, retrieve all the case files for these cases. Make copies, and we'll re-examine them. We'll check them one by one, verifying each one. We'll visit every family member we can, and gather all the evidence we can find. Those missing women can't just disappear like that. They came, they lived, they laughed, they cried. Someone waited for them. They shouldn't be forgotten."

Liu Tong nodded. "Brother Bo, you're newly married, shouldn't you take a few days off? You've only been married for less than half a month, and you're already running around every day. Doesn't your wife mind? She knits you a scarf, but you don't even have time to wear it. She's all alone at home, how lonely she must be."

Jiang Bo stubbed out his cigarette, stubbing the butt out several times in the ashtray. "We can't rest. Those women can't wait. Their families can't wait either. Lin Xiuying's daughter has waited for over twenty years, from age five to thirty-three. Every year on her birthday, she makes a wish for her mother to come back. Every year she goes to the police station to ask if there's any news. Every year she's disappointed. We can't let her wait any longer."

Liu Tong didn't say anything more, turned around and left.

Jiang Bo sat back down at the table and opened the files. The first one listed the missing person as Lin Xiuying, 35 years old, a supermarket cashier. She disappeared in July 1998. Her last known location was near the old pontoon bridge on Shili Changjie Street. Dong Zhenhua was the investigator at the time, interviewing dozens of people and taking thick stacks of statements—from neighbors, colleagues, and passersby, page after page, densely packed. But there were no results. Tucked inside the file was a blurry, black-and-white photograph—Lin Xiuying's ID photo. Round face, big eyes, a sweet smile, the corners of her mouth turned up, revealing a row of neat teeth. He had seen several people with the same name as her. They were all dead or missing. He closed the file and rubbed his eyes. Sunlight streamed in through the window, warming the table, but his heart felt icy cold.

At noon, Liu Ya called.

"Jiang Bo, are you coming home for lunch? Mom made dumplings and brought them over. She said your husband won't be coming at noon because it's cold and she's worried he'll catch a cold. She asked me to bring them to you. Which building and floor is your office on? Can I find it? Send me the address and I'll take a taxi there."

Jiang Bo held her phone, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside her. She worried he was hungry, worried he was eating instant noodles, worried he had a stomachache. Every day she would ask if he had eaten, what he had eaten, and if his stomach hurt. Before, he was alone, and no one asked him anything. He would eat when he was hungry and not eat when he wasn't. If his stomach hurt, he would endure it, and if he couldn't bear it, he would take a pill. Now that someone was asking, he felt strangely uncomfortable.

"You don't need to come. I'm going back. I'm going back right away. Don't go out, it's cold outside. You haven't finished knitting your scarf yet, don't get cold."

Liu Ya was taken aback. "Aren't you at work? Aren't you going to stop investigating the cases? Didn't you say those cases couldn't wait?"

"Investigate. But we need to eat too. Those cases have been pending for over twenty years; a meal won't make a difference. Wait for me." He hung up the phone, tidied the files on his desk, and locked them in a drawer. He picked up his coat and walked out of the office. Liu Tong saw him in the hallway and smiled.

"Officer, are you going home for dinner? Your bride is waiting. You can go ahead, I'll keep an eye on things here. I'll call you if anything urgent comes up."

Jiang Bo nodded, went downstairs, and got into the car. The car drove out of the Municipal Public Security Bureau and onto Changjiang Road. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, shining brightly on the windshield. He squinted, looking ahead. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. The cases were still under investigation. But he couldn't work day and night like before. He had promised Liu Ya he would come home on time and eat on time. He couldn't lie to her. She didn't want anything from him, just him. He had to live up to her expectations.

When he arrived home, Liu Ya had already set out the dumplings. The table was steaming hot: two plates of dumplings, a bowl of vinegar, a dish of minced garlic, and a bowl of dumpling soup with a few drops of oil floating on top. She was wearing her pink sweatshirt, her hair in a ponytail, and a smile on her face. Seeing Jiang Bo enter, she went to greet him, helped him take off his jacket, and hung it on the hanger.

"You're back? Go wash your hands. The dumplings are fresh out of the pot, still warm. Mom said to eat them while they're hot. They're not good for your stomach if they're cold. She also said not to dip them in too much vinegar, as it's too sour and can upset your stomach."

Jiang Bo washed his hands and sat down at the table. Liu Ya sat down opposite him and watched him eat. Her eyes were bright, like the shimmering water on a river.

"Is it good? Mom said you've loved dumplings since you were little, especially the pork and cabbage filling. Your dad loves them too. Your husband loves them too. You all like them."

"It's delicious. Have you eaten? Don't just watch me eat, you should eat too. There's so much, I can't finish it all by myself."

"I ate. I ate with Mom when she came. She sat for a while and then left. She said she was going to the market and would stew pork ribs for you tomorrow. She said you're too thin and need to eat more. She bought a free-range chicken, saying it was brought from the countryside by a relative. It's a genuine free-range chicken, and stewing it in soup is the most nourishing."

Jiang Bo lowered his head and ate his dumplings. His eyes were a little red, but he didn't cry. "She's alone, don't let her run around. I'll go buy some. It's on my way home from work, I pass by the market. Her legs aren't good, her knees hurt if she walks too much."

Liu Ya smiled. "She wouldn't let me. She said you're busy and don't have time to pick things out. She's afraid you won't find anything good, afraid you'll get ripped off. She's been buying groceries her whole life; she knows which vendor's meat is fresh, which vendor's vegetables are cheap, and which vendor's fish are wild. Let her go. She'll be happy. She's loved going to the market her whole life. Before, when she was wandering around alone, she had nowhere to go to the market. Now she has a home, she has a market, and she's happy."

After finishing the dumplings, Jiang Bo started clearing the dishes. Liu Ya wouldn't let him and took over washing them. Jiang Bo stood at the kitchen doorway, watching her back. She washed the dishes meticulously, rinsing each one several times, drying them thoroughly before placing them in the cupboard, rim down, stacked neatly. She also wiped the stove, scrubbed the sink, and washed the dishcloth, hanging it on the hook. He thought of Xiuying, his husband, and Tangyuan. They were all in his heart. Now there was another one. Liu Ya. She would always be in his heart.

In the afternoon, Jiang Bo didn't go to the office. He stayed home with Liu Ya. They sat on the sofa watching TV. An old, black-and-white film was playing; he had seen it when he was a child. Liu Ya leaned on his shoulder, knitting the gray scarf with soft yarn that twirled between her fingers. She said she wanted to knit one for her husband, as he was sensitive to the cold. She explained that he lived alone without heating, making winters very difficult for him. She also wanted to knit one for Xiuying, saying that Xiuying was also sensitive to the cold and had knee pain, so she needed to protect her with the yarn.

"Jiang Bo, aren't you going to work this afternoon? Are you abandoning the case? Didn't you say those missing women couldn't wait any longer? Lin Xiaoyu is still waiting for news. She's waited for her mother for over twenty years; you can't make her wait any longer."

"I'm not going. I'll rest today. I'll investigate again tomorrow. Those cases have been pending for over twenty years, one more day won't make a difference. I'll stay home with you today. I'm worried about you being alone."

Liu Ya looked up at him. Her eyes were red. "You've changed. You never used to rest. You only had cases on your mind. You only had those names and those apologies on your mind. Now you have me in your heart. You put me first. The cases come second."

Jiang Bo took her hand. "You've always been in my heart. You always were. I just never said it. I'm clumsy with words, I don't know how to express myself. But you know. You know everything."

Liu Ya blushed. "I know. You don't need to tell me, I already know. The way you look at me is different from how you look at others. When you're looking at cases, your eyes are hard and cold. When you look at me, your eyes are soft and warm. I can feel it."

Around four in the afternoon, they went to the old pontoon bridge to see their teacher. It was getting dark; the setting sun cast a golden-red glow on the ruins, like blood, like fire, like those women who would never return. The door to the small house was open, and the light was still on. The kerosene lamp's light shone brightly in the twilight, warm and gentle, like a star that refused to go out. The teacher sat in the doorway, wearing his new overcoat, dark gray, impeccably tailored. He didn't write his name, didn't flip through his notebook; he simply sat there, looking at the ruins, looking at the river. He saw Jiang Bo's car, stood up, and, holding onto the doorframe, made way for him. His movements were slower than before, his knees creaking, his eyes blurry, squinting at the license plate.

"You're here? You're here. It's not the weekend, what brings you here? Xiao Jiang, aren't you at work? If you're not at work, who will investigate the case? Who will look for those missing women?"

Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked over. "Sir, we've come to see you. You're off today. Xiaoya is knitting you a scarf. She said you're sensitive to the cold, and it's getting cold, so you should wear a scarf. She's been knitting it for several days, and it's almost finished."

Tears streamed down the man's face. He wiped them with the back of his hand, but the tears wouldn't stop; the more he wiped, the more they flowed. "Okay. Hello. Take care of yourselves. I'll wear it. Wearing your scarves will keep me warm. In my whole life, no one has ever knitted me a scarf. My mother passed away early, and my wife passed away early too. No one has ever knitted me one."

Liu Ya went over and helped him up. "Sir, please don't cry. If you cry, I'll want to cry too. We won't cry. We're happy. We've come to see you; you should be happy. You're not alone. You have us."

The man nodded. "I'm happy. I'm happy. I'm happy that you're here."

They entered the small hut. The man sat at the table, opened the notebook, and continued writing. The light from the kerosene lamp illuminated his face, deepening his wrinkles. His hand trembled, but the pen was steady. Jiang Bo stood behind him, watching him write. He wrote Lin Xiuying's name. Next to it was the date, and below it, "I'm sorry."

Lin Xiuying, female, 35 years old, supermarket cashier. She went missing in July 1998. Near the old pontoon bridge on Shili Changjie Street. She had a daughter named Lin Xiaoyu. She was five years old then. She would be 33 now.

He finished writing, put down his pen, and looked up. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "Lin Xiuying, thirty-five years old, supermarket cashier. Disappeared in July 1998. Ten-mile long street, near the old pontoon bridge. She passed by there on her way home from get off work and never went back. She had a daughter who was only five years old at the time. Her daughter must be over thirty now. I don't know where she is. I don't know if she still remembers her mother. What did her mother look like? Does she remember her mother's smile?"

Tears streamed down Liu Ya's face. "Sir, you remembered her. She will know. Her daughter will know too. Her daughter will think of her every day. Her daughter won't forget. Her daughter is like her, her eyes crinkle when she smiles, just like her."

The man looked at her. "You're a good girl. Go and see her daughter for me. If you find her, tell her that her mother didn't die in vain. Someone remembers her. Someone apologizes on her behalf. Her mother won't be lonely over there. Someone is with her."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist. "Sir, do you know Lin Xiuying's daughter? Where is she? Have you seen her?"

The man shook his head. "I don't know him. I don't know him. But Dong Zhenhua knows. He left clues. He left marks. Go find him. He's waiting for you. He's waited his whole life for you to come."

Jiang Bo recalled the case files, the symbols, the J's. Dong Zhenhua was waiting. He waited. He left clues, he left marks. He was waiting for someone to find them. Those nine cases, nine missing women, nine J's. Each J's represented a life, a wait, an apology.

It was already dark when they returned from the old pontoon bridge. Jiang Bo was driving, and Liu Ya was in the passenger seat. She was holding the unfinished scarf in her hand, knitting stitch by stitch. The streetlights shone in, casting shadows on her face. Jiang Bo looked at her in the rearview mirror, feeling a warm glow in his heart.

"Jiang Bo, are you really going to look for Lin Xiuying's daughter that the gentleman mentioned? Do you think you can find her? It's been over twenty years, does she still remember her mother?"

"Find her. Go tomorrow. There are still some old residents in that area of ​​Shili Changjie. Ask them, maybe someone remembers. What does she look like? Where does she live? What's her daughter's name? We'll find her eventually. As long as someone remembers, we'll find her."

Liu Ya looked at him. "You're going to be busy again. You'll be going on business trips, staying up late, and not having time to eat. Your stomach isn't good; you can't keep doing this."

Jiang Bo gripped the steering wheel. "Once this is over, everything will be fine. After these cases are investigated, I'll spend more time with you. We'll go to the movies, take walks along the river, go hiking. Wherever you want to go, I'll go with you."

Liu Ya lowered her head and continued knitting the scarf. She knew the cases would never end. One after another, old ones closed, new ones arriving. Those names, those apologies—she could never remember them all, never say them all. But she wouldn't say them. She simply whispered, "I'll wait for you. When you're done, I'll still be here. I won't leave."