Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

When I got back to Jiangcheng, it was already 3 a.m.

Jiang Bo didn't go home; he went straight to his office. He sat down and read the letter again. The harsh light made the words look like tiny knives, stabbing at his heart. The edges of the letter were frayed from repeated readings, and the creases were worn, but he still couldn't bear to put it down.

Dong Zhenhua said, "Go find Zhou Guoping. Zhou Guoping is the only person I can trust."

But my master is already dead.

Did Master leave anything behind before he died?

He remembered his master's notebook, and the torn-out page. What had his master written on the last page? Why did he tear it up?

He opened the notebook, held it up to the lamplight, and carefully examined the mark left after the page was torn out. The marks were faint, as if they had been written on forcefully and transferred to the next page. He squinted, trying to decipher each word:

"Dong Zhenhua came to see me and said the child is still alive. In Jiangcheng. He said he left a letter in his old house. He said I could go there if needed. I don't know who he's talking about, but I have a bad feeling. Xiao Jiang, if you find out anything someday, don't rush to do anything, come find me first. Some things are more complicated than you think. I've never told you about your background. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't dare. I was afraid that if you knew, you would go to them. They wouldn't let you go. Promise me, no matter what you find out, come find me first. If I'm gone, go find Lao He. He's in the suburbs of Jiangcheng, his address is..."

That's all.

Old He?

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat. His master had left behind someone. He had never heard of this name before, nor had his master ever mentioned it during his lifetime. But for someone to be specifically written down on the last page, this person must be very important.

He picked up the phone and called Liu Tong. It was 3:30 a.m., Liu Tong should have been asleep, but he couldn't care less.

The phone rang five times before being answered. Liu Tong's voice was heavy with sleepiness: "Boss?"

"Check if Zhou Guoping had a friend named 'Old He' who lived in the suburbs of Jiangcheng. Urgent."

Liu Tong paused for two seconds, then seemed to regain some composure: "Okay, I'll check right away."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Bo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His mind was filled with those images—Xiuying's face, the baby's photo, the words on the letter, and his master's voice.

He was so tired. So tired that he couldn't even dream anymore.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company. Occasionally, it would lift its head and lick his hand with its warm tongue before lying down again. The dog seemed to sense its owner's exhaustion and pain, and in this way, it told him: I'm here.

I don't know how much time passed before the phone rang.

Liu Tong's voice came through: "Officer Bo, I found it. He Jianguo, born in 1938, is a retired police officer. He and Zhou Guoping were colleagues for many years and had a very good relationship. They worked on many cases together. He Jianguo retired early in 1988 due to injury and has lived in Qingshan Town, on the eastern outskirts of Jiangcheng ever since. I've sent the address to your phone."

Jiang Bo glanced at the time. 4:20 AM. It would be three hours before dawn.

"You've worked hard, go to sleep."

He hung up the phone and looked out at the dark night sky. In the distance, sparse car lights moved across the Yangtze River Bridge, like a flowing ribbon of light.

Three hours left.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Tangyuan moved closer to him and rested her head on his feet.

Jiang Bo woke up at daybreak. Sunlight streamed in through the window, stinging his eyes. He sat up and realized he didn't know when he had fallen asleep. His neck was stiff and his back ached, but he didn't care.

Zhang Yuhang pushed open the door and came in, carrying soy milk and steamed buns.

"Polish Sir, have something to eat. It's nine o'clock."

Jiang Bo took the soy milk and took a sip. He looked out the window; the sky was blue, the sun was shining brightly, a stark contrast to the gloom in his heart.

"Let's go to Qingshan Town."

Qingshan Town is located in the eastern suburbs of Jiangcheng, a forty-minute drive away. Once outside the city, the roadside gradually transforms into farmland and villages. In November, the fields are bare, with harvested rice stubble still lying on the ground, a withered yellow expanse. Occasionally, a few sparrows fly up from the roadside bushes, fluttering their wings and skimming over the car roof.

Zhang Yuhang was driving, and Jiang Bo was sitting in the passenger seat, remaining silent the entire time. He was clutching the letter tightly in his hand, the paper crumpled.

Tangyuan lay on the back seat, looking out the window.

The car stopped at the entrance of a town. Qingshan Town was small, with a main street running north to south, lined with shops and houses on both sides. There were vegetable vendors, breakfast vendors, and bicycle repair shops. There weren't many people on the street; a few elderly people sat by the roadside basking in the sun.

According to the address, Lao He lived in a small courtyard at the east end of the town. The car stopped at the gate, and Jiang Bo got out.

The courtyard wasn't large, with red brick walls and an iron gate. The gate was ajar, and through the crack, you could see several persimmon trees growing inside, their leaves all gone, leaving only bare branches. Under the trees was a wicker chair, where an old man sat, basking in the sun with his eyes closed. He wore an old cotton-padded coat and reading glasses; his face was wrinkled like tree bark, and his hair was completely white. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns on him.

Jiang Bo knocked on the door.

The old man opened his eyes and looked at him.

"Who should I look for?"

Jiang Bo showed his identification. The old man glanced at it and nodded.

"Come in."

Jiang Bo pushed open the iron gate and stepped into the courtyard. A small path paved with blue bricks stretched out beneath his feet, lined with withered flowers and grasses. Tangyuan followed behind, walking quietly without making a sound.

Old He pointed to the stool next to him.

"sit."

Jiang Bo sat down. Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company.

Old He stared at him for a long time. Although his eyes were cloudy, there was a scrutinizing quality to them when he looked at someone, as if he wanted to see right through them. Jiang Bo had only ever seen that kind of look in the eyes of veteran detectives—it was a habit formed over many years of solving cases, a suspicion that came with looking at everyone with suspicion.

"Are you Zhou Guoping's apprentice?"

Jiang Bo nodded.

Old He remained silent for a while.

"Zhou Guoping was a good man," he said, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against stone. "It's a pity he died so young. I went to see him off when he passed away. He was so thin he was just skin and bones, but he still held my hand and said, 'Old He, keep an eye on things for me.' I asked what he meant, and he said, 'My apprentice.' I asked him who his apprentice was, and he said, 'You'll find out later.'"

Jiang Bo's eyes stung a little.

What did he say when he left?

Old He thought about it.

"He said that the child will come looking for you. When that happens, tell him everything you know."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

"You knew I would come?"

Old He looked at him with a strange light in his eyes.

"I know. I've been waiting since the day your master died. I've waited for three years, and you've finally come."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a few seconds.

"What are you waiting for?"

Old He didn't answer, but instead asked him, "What are you asking me?"

"In 1998, the special task force of the provincial department."

Old He's eyes flickered. A flicker of something flashed in those cloudy pupils—was it alertness, fear, or a memory? Jiang Bo couldn't tell. But that fleeting glint told him that this man knew a great deal.

"That case cannot be asked."

Why?

Old He shook his head.

"I can't say. I'll die if I do.

Jiang Bo remained silent for a few seconds.

"I've found out a lot. Dong Zhenhua, Dong Jianguo, Dong Jianping, Zheng Jianguo. They're all dead. Only you are left."

Old He's hand trembled. The hand that had been resting quietly on his knee suddenly jerked as if he had been electrocuted.

"What else do you know?"

"Organization J".

Old He's hands trembled even more violently. He looked at Jiang Bo, his eyes filled with shock.

How do you know that name?

Jiang Bo took the letter out of his pocket and placed it in front of him.

Old He put on his reading glasses, picked up the letter, and read it word by word. He read slowly and carefully, sometimes pausing, closing his eyes, as if recalling something. Sunlight shone on the letter, making the words appear white.

After reading it, he looked up at Jiang Bo. There were tears in his eyes.

"Are you that child?"

Jiang Bo nodded.

Lao He remained silent for a long time.

The courtyard was quiet, save for the sound of the wind rustling through the persimmon trees. A few withered leaves fell from the branches, fluttering and landing beside Tangyuan. Tangyuan looked up at them briefly, then lay back down.

Then Lao He spoke. His voice was very soft, as if it were drifting from a great distance.

"I know your mother."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

"Sooyoung?"

Lao He nodded.

"Xiuying is a good girl. I saw her a few times when I was working at the riverside restaurant. At that time, I had just retired from the criminal investigation team and had nothing to do, so I liked to go fishing by the river. She was always washing clothes there, and when she saw me, she would smile and say that Uncle He was here again. Her eyes were crescent-shaped when she smiled, and it was very sweet. Sometimes she would bring me water to drink and say that Uncle He had worked hard."

He paused, as if recalling those distant scenes. Sunlight shone on his face, making the wrinkles seem etched in, each one telling a story.

"Later she got pregnant, and it was you she was carrying. I noticed something was wrong with her then; she was always avoiding people, and there was always a fear in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn't say. Then one day, she came to me and said someone wanted to take her away. I asked who it was, and she said she didn't know, but those people were scary, wearing police uniforms and hats, so I couldn't see their faces. I said I would call the police for her. She shook her head and said calling the police was useless; those people were the police."

Jiang Bo's heart started racing.

"And then?"

Old He sighed.

"Then she disappeared. I looked for her, but couldn't find her. I asked everyone, but no one had seen her. I went to her place, but the house was empty. Her clothes were still there, but she was gone. It was like she vanished into thin air. Later, Zhou Guoping came to me and said that I had been rescued and given to a couple to raise. He told me not to tell anyone. I agreed."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

Is my mother still alive?

Old He looked at him with a strange light in his eyes.

"possible."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

"possible?"

Lao He nodded.

"I've checked. After she was taken away, some people saw her. In Anhui, in Jiangxi, in Hunan. Some said she went crazy, wandering the streets and muttering something. Some said she remarried and had a child. But no one can be sure. Over the years, I've been asking around and writing down any news I get."

He took a cloth bag out of his pocket and handed it to Jiang Bo.

"This is what I've collected over the years. Information about your mother. Not much, but it might be useful."

Jiang Bo took the cloth bag, his hands trembling slightly. The bag was made of blue cloth, faded from washing, and the edges were worn. He opened it; inside were several yellowed slips of paper and a folded piece of paper.

The note stated the time and place:

"In 1995, in Jiujiang, Jiangxi, someone saw a crazy woman who called herself Xiuying walking back and forth along the riverbank, staring at the river."

"In 1998, in Yueyang, Hunan, a woman named Xiuying was taken in by locals and stayed for six months before leaving. Before leaving, she said she was going to Jiangcheng to find her son."

"In 2003, in Wuhu, Anhui, someone saw a middle-aged woman by the river, gazing at the water and muttering 'Little River, Little River.' She disappeared afterward."

"In 2008, in Huanggang, Hubei, a homeless woman was taken in by a rescue station. She called herself Xiuying, but she had mental problems and couldn't say where she lived. Later, she ran away."

"In 2015, in Nanchang, Jiangxi Province, someone saw an old woman sitting by the river, gazing at the water. When asked her name, she said Xiuying. When asked where she lived, she said Jiangcheng."

Jiang Bo stared at the notes, her hands trembling. For over twenty years, she had been searching for him. From Anhui to Jiangxi, from Hunan to Hubei, she had traveled and searched relentlessly.

His mother is still alive. She's looking for him.

Why doesn't she come to Jiangcheng?

Old He shook his head.

"I don't know. Maybe she was being watched and couldn't leave. Maybe she was afraid of implicating you. Maybe she didn't even know where you were. You were well protected all those years, and nobody knew where you were."

Jiang Bo carefully put the cloth bag away.

"What does she look like? Do you have a photo?"

Old He thought about it.

"No. But someone drew a portrait. It was drawn by that person from Yueyang, who said she remembered what Xiuying looked like." He took a piece of paper from the drawer and handed it to Jiang Bo.

It was a pencil sketch of a middle-aged woman with a thin face, deep-set eyes, pursed lips, and an indescribable sadness in her eyes. Her hair was somewhat disheveled, and her clothes were worn, but there was a stubbornness in her brows and eyes.

Jiang Bo looked at the portrait, and felt as if something had struck his heart hard.

That woman looked so much like him. The same eyebrows, the same features. Especially her eyes, with the corners slightly upturned, exactly like his.

It's his mother.

"Thank you." His voice was a little hoarse.

Lao He waved his hand.

"Don't thank me. I haven't done anything. I've only kept these few notes over the years; they haven't been of much help."

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to Lao He, and bowed deeply.

Lao He helped him up.

"Don't do this. Your master's disciple is my junior. Go, find her. She's still alive."

Jiang Bo nodded.

He turned and walked out. But when he reached the door, he suddenly remembered something and turned back.

"Uncle He, there's one more thing. Do you know who the leader of Organization J is?"

Old He's expression changed.

"have no idea."

Does anyone know?

Lao He remained silent for a long time.

Then he spoke, in a very low voice.

"Some people say his surname is Jiang."

Jiang Bo was stunned.

Surname Jiang?

They share the same surname?

"Jiang what?"

Old He shook his head.

"I don't know. Some say his name is Jiang Wu'an. Others say it's just a code name. No one has ever seen his real face. Your master has been investigating for so many years, but he still hasn't found out."

Jiang Bo stood there, his mind blank.

The river has no banks.

They share the same surname.

He remembered the red mark on his chest. J.

Is that J the Jiang from Jiang Wu'an, the J from Joker, or the J from Judgement?

he does not know.

Old He looked at him with a worried expression in his eyes.

"Xiao Jiang, stop investigating. You can't afford to mess with those people."

Jiang Bo shook his head.

"My mom is still looking for them."

Old He fell silent.

Jiang Bo turned and walked out. As he reached the door, Lao He suddenly called out to him.

"Xiao Jiang".

Jiang Bo turned around.

Old He looked at him, his eyes holding something indescribable.

"If you find your mother, please give her my regards. Tell her that Lao He still remembers her, remembers her washing clothes by the river."

Jiang Bo nodded.

He walked out of the courtyard and stood at the door.

The sunlight shone on his face, somewhat dazzling. The eleven o'clock sun was intense, making one feel dizzy.

Tangyuan followed him out and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, shimmering golden in the sunlight.

"Tangyuan, I need to find her."

Tangyuan called out.

That shout echoed through the quiet alley.

Jiang Bo stood up and got into the car.

The car started and drove out of the town.

In the rearview mirror, the small courtyard receded into the distance. Old He was still sitting under the persimmon tree, motionless, like a statue.

But his heart was beating faster and faster.

My birth mother is still alive.

She wants to find him.

He also contacted her.

No matter where you are in the world.

The car started its journey back to the city. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, warm and pleasant. But Jiang Bo felt icy cold inside.

He recalled Dong Zhenhua's words in his letter: "They are bigger, deeper, and more terrifying than you can imagine."

Jiang Wu'an. Surname Jiang.

They share the same surname.

Is that J his surname?

Or is it just a coincidence?

he does not know.

But he knew he had to find the answer.

Tangyuan lay on the back seat, quietly keeping him company.

Outside the window, the river water sparkled in the sunlight.