Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

It was completely dark when I left the hospital.

Jiang Bo drove back to the municipal bureau, his mind filled with Dong Jianping's words: "That child is J's."

A red bib. A baby. J.

He remembered his master's notebook, the torn-up piece of paper, and the words, "That child is still alive."

Is the child that Master mentioned the same child that Dong Jianping mentioned?

Is it him?

Outside the car window, streetlights swept by one by one, their glow casting long, blurry shadows on the wet asphalt. The November night wind was cold, seeping in through the slightly ajar window, carrying the scent of the river and the smell of smoke from distant factories. Tangyuan lay sprawled on the back seat, occasionally raising her head to glance at him in the rearview mirror before settling back down.

The car pulled into the city bureau compound. Jiang Bo got out, with Tangyuan following behind. The man and the dog walked into the building, took the elevator to the sixth floor, and the corridor was so quiet that they could hear their own footsteps. The emergency lights cast a dim yellow glow on the beige walls, making his shadow long.

He pushed open the office door and turned on the light.

The notebook was still on the table, open to the last page.

Jiang Bo sat down and began flipping through the pages. His master's handwriting was neat and tidy, penmanship, each stroke forceful, as if he were engraving those events onto the paper. The records were all about cases—robbery, theft, murder, fraud. Jiang Bo had been involved in some, others he hadn't heard of. When he reached the 1998 section, the paper had begun to yellow, the edges slightly curled, as if it had been repeatedly turned over.

"April 1998. The case of Ah Zhen's disappearance remains unsolved. Ding Laosan is a suspect, but there is no evidence."

"In May 1998, Zheng Jianguo committed suicide. My colleague, Old Zheng, what a pity. I went to his house to pay my respects, and his wife fainted from crying. I couldn't bear to look at her."

Jiang Bo paused for a moment. His master's handwriting trembled slightly here, as if he was in a state of turmoil when he wrote it.

"In June 1998, people from the provincial department came and said they were going to set up a special task force. I was the head of the task force. What were they going to investigate? They wouldn't say. They just said we'd find out when we got there. I felt uneasy."

"In July 1998, the special task force was established. There were five people in total, all transferred from various places. We were investigating an organization called J. We didn't know what it meant, only that it was a code name. The higher-ups said that this organization had been active in Jiangcheng for many years, specializing in taking in orphans, training them, and then sending them to various places. We didn't know what their purpose was. The higher-ups said, 'Investigate further.'"

Jiang Bo continued flipping through the pages.

"In August 1998, we found some clues. The J organization had a stronghold by the river, a house near the old pontoon bridge. When we went there, it was deserted. There were only some children's clothes and a few training manuals in the house. The training content was terrible: hypnosis, drugs, and mind control. They used children as tools."

"In September 1998, Dong Zhenhua came to see me. He was a member of the J organization, but also my informant. He said he knew a lot, but dared not speak. He said he would die if he spoke. I said I would protect him if he spoke. He laughed and said you can't protect me. No one can protect me. When he left, the look in his eyes was like a final farewell."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Dong Zhenhua was his master's informant.

"In October 1998, Dong Zhenhua came again. He said he had met the leader of the J organization once. He was an old man, over seventy years old, who spoke very slowly and had cold eyes. He didn't know his name, only that they all called him 'Sir.' The 'Sir' said that J represents fools and also judgment. They want to judge the evil of this world."

Mr.

The leader of Organization J is an elderly man in his seventies.

"November 1998. Something happened. Two members of the task force disappeared. They were nowhere to be found, neither alive nor dead. We were ordered to suspend the investigation. I said we couldn't stop. They said it was an order. I knew someone was scared. Someone had connections with the J organization."

"In December 1998, Dong Zhenhua came to see me for the last time. He said he was leaving to go to a safe place. He said he had left me something in his house in his hometown. He said I could go find it if I needed it. He also said that the child was still alive in Jiangcheng. I asked him what child, but he wouldn't say. He just looked at me with a strange look in his eyes. He said, 'You'll find out later.' After he left, I never saw him again."

The diary ends here. The next dozen or so pages are blank.

Jiang Bo flipped to the back cover and found something tucked inside.

It's a key. Made of brass, very old, with the number 7 engraved on it. A band of tape, yellowed and hardened, is wrapped around the handle, as if it was applied many years ago.

7 number.

Where is Dong Zhenhua's house in his hometown?

He picked up the phone and called Liu Tong.

"Check Dong Zhenhua's place of origin. Where is his hometown?"

Liu Tong quickly replied: "Wuwei County, Shijian Town, Dongjia Village. That's the address on the file."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and stood up.

Tangyuan also stood up and looked at him.

"Let's go, let's go to Wuwei."

It was already nine o'clock at night when the car left the city. There were few cars on the provincial highway, and the streetlights were sparse, making the road surface appear dim and intermittent. Tangyuan lay on the back seat, occasionally raising its head to look out the window before lying down again. Its eyes reflected a faint light in the darkness, like two tiny luminous pearls.

Zhang Yuhang sat in the passenger seat, flipping through the documents sent by Liu Tong.

"Dong Zhenhua was born in 1950 in Wuwei County. He joined the police force in 1970, was transferred to the Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau as deputy director in 1990, and was transferred to the provincial department in 1998. He then disappeared. His hometown is Dongjia Village. His parents died early, and he also had an older sister who passed away. That house should be empty and uninhabited."

Jiang Bo remained silent, his eyes fixed ahead. The headlights cut into the darkness, illuminating stretches of road. Occasionally, a truck would approach from the opposite direction, its blinding lights flashing by before fading back into the long darkness.

Two hours later, the car entered Dongjia Village. The village was small, with only a few dozen households scattered across the hillside. The night was quiet, with only a few barks from dogs and the rustling of the wind through the treetops. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a pale, eerie light on the village road.

According to the address, Dong Zhenhua's old home was at the east end of the village, an old-fashioned brick house. Half of the courtyard wall had collapsed, and the yard was overgrown with weeds, some as tall as a person. Dewdrops clung to the grass blades, shimmering faintly in the moonlight. The door was made of wood, the paint peeling off to reveal the grayish-white wood grain. The door knocker was made of iron, badly rusted, and creaked with every movement.

Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked to the door.

The key was inserted into the lock and turned.

The door opened.

A musty smell hit him, mixed with the stench of rat droppings and the odor of rotten wood. Jiang Bo shone his flashlight inside—the main room was small, containing an eight-immortal table, a few chairs, and several yellowed photographs hanging on the wall. Dust was everywhere, there were rat droppings on the floor, and a few dead insects.

Tangyuan sniffed around inside the house and suddenly barked at the inner room.

Jiang Bo went inside. The inner room was a bedroom with a bed, a wardrobe, and a table. The bed was covered with moldy bedding, and the wardrobe door was ajar, revealing a few old clothes hanging inside. On the table sat a small wooden box, about the size of a palm, covered in dust, but the lid was clean, as if it had been recently disturbed.

Jiang Bo's heart tightened. Had someone been here?

He picked up the box. It wasn't locked; he opened it with a gentle lift.

Inside was a stack of photos.

The top picture is of a baby. Wrapped in a red bib, eyes closed, sleeping peacefully. The baby's skin is wrinkled, and its tiny hands are clenched into fists and placed against its chest. The background is a white sheet, like a hospital bed.

The back reads: "March 10, 1993, Jiangcheng Welfare Home".

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

March 10, 1993. The day after Ah-Zhen died.

He continued flipping through the pages. The second picture was of the same baby, a little older, being held in someone's arms. The person holding him was a young woman, dressed in a nurse's uniform and wearing a white cap, standing at the entrance of the orphanage. Sunlight shone on her face, and she was smiling, a very gentle smile.

The back reads: "May 1993, before adoption."

The third picture shows a baby being held in the arms of a middle-aged couple. The man is wearing work clothes, and the woman is wearing a floral blouse. They are standing in the doorway of a bungalow, smiling happily. The man looks somewhat reserved, while the woman's eyes are full of love.

The back reads: "June 1993, at my adoptive parents' home."

Jiang Bo recognized the couple.

His adoptive parents.

His hands trembled even more violently. The photo slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Tangyuan walked over, nudged him with her nose, and then looked up at him, as if asking what was wrong.

Jiang Bo bent down to pick up the photos and continued flipping through the pages.

The fourth picture shows a little boy, about three or four years old, standing by the river, holding a windmill in his hand. He's smiling, showing a few small teeth. The background is the Zhongjiang Pagoda, and the river water sparkles in the sunlight.

The back reads: "1996, by the river."

The fifth picture shows a little boy standing at the school gate with his schoolbag on his back. The school gate is an old-fashioned iron gate with "Jiangcheng Normal School Affiliated Primary School" written on it. He is wearing a school uniform that is a bit too big, and the sleeves are rolled up several times.

The back reads: "Started elementary school in 1998."

The sixth, the seventh, the eighth… every single one is of him. One photo a year from childhood to adulthood. Some are of him playing in the yard, some are of him doing his homework, some are of him with his adoptive parents, and some are of him playing around with his classmates. It’s as if someone has been quietly taking pictures of him from the shadows, recording his growth.

The last picture is of him in his police uniform, fresh out of police academy. Standing at the academy gate, the sunlight on his face is a little dazzling; he squints, but smiles brightly.

The back reads: "Joined the police force in 2015."

Jiang Bo held the photos, his hands trembling.

Dong Zhenhua has been photographing him. One photo a year from birth to the present. A total of twenty-two photos, recording his twenty-two years of life.

Why did he film him? What is their relationship?

There was also a letter in the box. The envelope was addressed to "Xiao Jiang".

The handwriting is just like the writing on the back of the photo, neat and tidy, stroke by stroke.

Jiang Bo opened the letter.

The letter paper was yellowed, and there was some wear along the creases, as if it had been read repeatedly. The handwriting was clear, but the pressure was heavy, and in some places the paper was even torn.

"Xiao Jiang, if you see this letter, it means you've found your way here. There are some things I must tell you before I die."

You are a child of Organization J. But you were not raised by them; you were abandoned by them.

On March 9, 1993, the night Ah Zhen died, she gave birth to not one child, but two—a boy and a girl. The boy was taken away by Guo Jianshe and named Guo Jianjun. The girl was adopted by Ma Xiuying and named Xiaoying, later sent to an orphanage and renamed Zhang Xiaoyu. You know all of this.

But what you don't know is that a third child was born that night.

It's you.

Your biological mother is Xiuying.

Sooyoung didn't die. She lived until you were born. She gave birth to you, and then she was taken away. I don't know where she was taken, but I know you are the child the J organization wanted. They chose you because you have special abilities.

You can see things that others cannot.

That's not innate; it's trained. They started training you from a very young age, using drugs, hypnosis, and various other methods. You yourself don't know it, but your abilities are given to you by them. They began influencing you even when you were still a fetus.

Your adoptive parents were arranged by me. They are good people and will treat you well. I rescued you from the J organization and entrusted you to their care. I thought that would make you safe.

But I was wrong.

They've been looking for you.

That red mark on your chest is their mark, J. You're one of them, whether you like it or not. That mark will become more visible when you're emotionally agitated or using your abilities, like a birthmark.

Now, they've reappeared. Ah Zhen's case, Ding Laosan's case, Zheng Jianguo's death, Dong Jianguo's death—they're all connected to them. They're purging those from back then, and they're looking for you too.

Xiao Jiang, be careful.

They are bigger, deeper, and more terrifying than you can imagine. They have connections in every system—the police, the government, and even higher levels. I don't know what their ultimate goal is, but I know they won't let you go.

If one day you find out about them, don't rush to act. Come find me first. But I might be gone by then. If I'm not there, go find Zhou Guoping. He's the only person you can trust. He'll tell you more.

Take care of yourself."

Signed by: Dong Zhenhua. Date: December 20, 1998.

At the end of the letter, there was a line of smaller print, which seemed to have been added later:

"Your mother, Xiuying, might still be alive. Someone said they saw her in Hunan. If you can find her, please apologize to her for me. I failed to protect her."

After reading the letter, Jiang Bo stood there, motionless.

Xiuying is his biological mother.

Ah Zhen is his aunt.

Xiaomei is also his relative.

Those who died were all his relatives.

He was a member of Organization J. His abilities were given to him by them.

He looked down at his hands. These hands had touched countless pieces of evidence and witnessed countless scenes. He had always thought it was a talent, a gift from God. Now he knew it was something that had been manufactured.

It was created by a group of demons.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's eyes reflected the light in the darkness, like two tiny stars.

"Tangyuan, do you know what? I've been searching for the answer for thirty years, and today I've finally found it."

Tangyuan, of course, didn't answer. It simply licked his hand and then meowed.

The cry echoed through the dilapidated old house, startling a few bats on the roof.

Jiang Bo stood up, put away the photos and letters, and walked out of the room.

Outside, the moon rose. It shone on the wild grass, on the half-collapsed courtyard wall, and on the dilapidated wooden door. Insects chirped in the grass, their calls seeming to ask: Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?

He got into the car and started the engine.

The car drove out of the village and onto the road back to the city.

In the rearview mirror, the village receded further and further away, finally disappearing into the night.

But those words, those photos, that letter, are etched into his mind like a brand.

He is Xiuying's son.

He is a member of Organization J.

They've been looking for him.

And now, he finally knows.

He remembered his master's words: "The river can take away evidence, but it cannot take away sins."

Now, sin has found him.

Outside the car window, the river water shimmered silver in the moonlight, flowing silently.