Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo didn't sleep all night.

The stack of letters lay spread out on the table, twenty-one in total, spanning from 1993 to 2018. He read them over and over, word by word. Dong Zhenhua's handwriting was neat and precise, each stroke deliberate, as if he were carving those words into the paper. The harsh light made the words appear like tiny knives, piercing his heart.

Tangyuan lay at his feet, occasionally raising her head to look at him before lying down again. Outside the window, dawn had broken, and the greyish-white light filtered in, illuminating the yellowed letters. The morning fog was heavy, the river a vast expanse of white, obscuring everything.

He picked up the last letter and read it again.

"Xiuying, Xiao Jiang solved a big case today and it's in the newspaper. I looked at his picture, and he looks exactly like you when you were young. He's grown up and become a good policeman. I wish you could see him. I don't know if you're still here, or if you'll receive these letters. But I still want to write. Writing them makes me feel like you're here with me."

Twenty-one years, twenty-one letters. Every single one was written to Xiuying, but not a single one was ever sent. Dong Zhenhua didn't know where Xiuying was; he could only write, he could only save, he could only hide these letters in that dilapidated house, waiting for someone to find them one day.

Jiang Bo put the letter away, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the river flowed slowly. He thought of many things: the kindness of his adoptive parents, the care of his master, those strange dreams, the recurring red mark, and those images that seemed to come from nowhere.

So, there's an answer to all of this.

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

"Polish Sir, have something to eat."

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.

"Any news from Liu Tong?"

Zhang Yuhang nodded: "We found it. There's another detail in the welfare home's records from March 10, 1993. Besides leaving 3 yuan and your name, that anonymous donor also left something else."

"What is it?"

Zhang Yuhang took out an evidence bag from his bag, inside which was a small silver lock.

Jiang Bo took it and examined it closely. The silver lock was small, about the size of his palm, and finely crafted. The front was engraved with the character "Jiang," and the back was engraved with the date: March 9, 1993.

The day he was born.

His hands were trembling. The silver lock was ice-cold, but when he held it in his hand, it felt like a piece of red-hot iron, burning his heart with pain.

"Where did this silver lock come from?"

Zhang Yuhang said, "The elderly people at the welfare home said that the donor left this silver lock with him, saying it was for the child to wear. After you were adopted, the silver lock was kept in the welfare home's storeroom and no one touched it. If Liu Tong hadn't gone through all the records, this thing might never have been discovered."

Jiang Bo held the silver lock to the window, looking at it in the sunlight. The light pierced through the thin silver sheet, casting a blurry shadow on the wall. The character "Jiang" was deeply engraved, as if it had been carved with all his strength.

The donor, a man named Jiang Wu'an, gave him 100,000 yuan, a silver lock, and a name on the day after he was born.

Who is he?

Why did he do that?

He recalled Dong Zhenhua's words in his letter: "I rescued you from the J organization and handed you over to them to raise."

Could that donor be the one who saved him?

Was it Dong Zhenhua? Impossible. Dong Zhenhua was still at the Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau at that time, and he never mentioned this matter in his diary.

Who is that?

He stood up and walked to the window.

The sunlight shone on his face, somewhat dazzling.

Tangyuan followed over and rubbed against his leg.

He squatted down and stroked its head.

"Tangyuan, tell me, who exactly is Jiang Wu'an?"

Tangyuan, of course, wouldn't answer.

But it cried out.

That shout echoed in the quiet office.

Jiang Bo stood up and turned around.

"Let's go to the orphanage."

Jiangcheng Welfare Home is located in the suburbs, an old three-story building. Several children are playing in the courtyard. Sunlight shines on the slide, and the children's laughter is crisp and clear. Those laughter sounds incongruous with this case, like the sounds of another world.

Jiang Bo stood at the doorway, looking at the children. He had once been one of them, staying for less than three months before being taken away by his adoptive parents. He had no memory of this place, but standing here now, he had a strange feeling—as if something was waiting for him in the dark.

They found the former director of the hospital. She was over eighty years old, with completely white hair and a slightly hunched back, sitting in a wheelchair, but she was in good spirits and her eyes were still bright. She thought for a long time when she heard that they were there to check the donation records from 1993.

"That's right," she said, her voice hoarse but her words clear. "That day, a man in his thirties came, dressed plainly, and didn't say much. He left an envelope containing 100,000 yuan, a silver lock, and a note. The note said: 'This child's name is Jiang Bo, let him take the surname Jiang.'"

Jiang Bo asked, "What did that person look like?"

The old dean thought for a moment, squinting his eyes as if recalling something from a long time ago.

"He wasn't tall, he was thin, and he was wearing a hat with the brim pulled down low. I couldn't see his face clearly. But he walked with a slight limp."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Limping.

He's limping again.

Why does he walk with a limp?

The old dean imitated him, dragging his right foot on the ground.

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

That movement was the same as Dong Jianping's. The same as the figure standing at the door that night.

Was that person Dong Jianping?

No. Dong Jianping was still employed at that time and was not injured. His limp started after 1998.

Who is that?

He remembered what Dong Zhenhua had said about "the person who protected him." That person didn't actually walk with a limp, but he pretended to.

Is this person also faking it?

"Did he say anything else?" Jiang Bo asked.

The old dean thought for a moment, then frowned.

He said something that I've remembered for so many years, but I still don't understand what it meant.

"What did you say?"

The old dean looked at him with a strange light in his eyes. Suddenly, a glint appeared in his cloudy eyes, as if he had remembered something important.

He said, "Tell that child he's not alone. Someone is watching him."

Jiang Bo stood there, his mind blank.

Someone is watching him.

who is it?

Dong Zhenhua? Jiang Wu'an? Or someone else?

He recalled those years, always feeling that someone was watching him in the shadows. Sometimes it was while walking down the street, and he would suddenly turn around and feel someone was looking at him. Sometimes it was while investigating a case, at the crime scene, where he would feel a gaze. Sometimes it was at home, waking up in the middle of the night and feeling that someone was outside his window.

But every time I looked back, there was nothing there.

He thought it was his imagination. He thought it was just too much work pressure or too much tension.

Now I realize that it wasn't an illusion.

Someone is really watching him.

It's Dong Zhenhua. It's Jiang Wu'an. Maybe there are others.

Who are they? Why are they looking at him?

The old dean looked at him and said softly, "Child, have you found the answer?"

Jiang Bo shook his head.

Not yet. But soon.

The old dean nodded and said nothing more.

Jiang Bo remained silent after leaving the welfare home.

He sat in the car, watching the scenery rushing past the window, his mind filled with that sentence.

"He's not alone. Someone is watching him."

The car drove back to the Municipal Bureau. Jiang Bo got out of the car and quickly walked into the building.

He needs to find someone.

Lao He.

The courtyard in Qingshan Town was still the same; the persimmon tree was bare, and the wicker chair was empty. Old He wasn't in the yard.

Jiang Bo knocked on the door.

No one answered.

Knock again.

Still no one.

He pushed the door, and it opened.

The courtyard was eerily quiet. Unnaturally quiet. Not even the sound of the wind rustling through the persimmon trees could be heard.

Jiang Bo went inside, with Tangyuan following behind. Tangyuan's ears were perked up, and a low whimper escaped her throat.

The room was empty. The bed was neatly made, the blankets folded squarely. On the table was a half-full glass of water, still warm, with water droplets clinging to the glass.

The person just left. Less than ten minutes ago.

Jiang Bo turned and ran outside. Just as he reached the door, he bumped into someone.

It's Lao He.

He was carrying a plastic bag containing several kinds of vegetables. He paused for a moment when he saw Jiang Bo.

"Xiao Jiang? What brings you here?"

Jiang Bo breathed a sigh of relief.

"Uncle He, I need to talk to you."

Old He nodded and walked into the courtyard.

They sat down under the persimmon tree. Sunlight filtered through the bare branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Tangyuan lay quietly at Jiang Bo's feet, keeping him company.

Jiang Bo took out the silver lock and placed it in front of Lao He.

Old He glanced at it, and his expression changed.

His expression was a mixture of shock, fear, and relief. He picked up the silver lock, examining it from all angles, his hands trembling. Sunlight shone on the lock, reflecting a blinding light.

"Where did you get this silver lock?"

"The welfare home. It was left behind in 1993 by a man named Jiang Wu'an."

Old He's hands trembled even more violently. He gripped the silver lock tightly, as if holding something precious.

"Jiang Wu'an..." he murmured, his voice hoarse and choked with sobs, "It's him."

Jiang Bo stared at him.

"Do you know him?"

Lao He remained silent for a long time.

The courtyard was quiet, so quiet that you could hear the wind rustling through the persimmon trees. A few withered leaves fell from the branches, fluttering and landing around them.

Then he looked up.

"I know him. He's my partner."

Jiang Bo was stunned.

Lao He's partner?

"who is he?"

Old He looked at the silver lock with a strange light in his eyes. It was a mixture of longing, guilt, and pride.

"His name is He Wu'an."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

He Wu'an. His surname is He.

He shares the same surname as Lao He.

"Who is he to you?"

Old He sighed. The sigh was soft, yet it seemed to carry a thousand pounds of weight.

"My younger brother."

Jiang Bo stood there, his mind blank.

Old He's younger brother. He Wu'an. Jiang Wu'an.

Why change the surname to Jiang?

Old He looked at him and gave a wry smile. In that smile, there was bitterness, relief, and also a sense of relief.

"I knew you would ask. I've been waiting for this day for over twenty years."

He stood up, walked to the persimmon tree, and turned his back to Jiang Bo. His back was slightly hunched, but in the sunlight, it appeared very firm.

"Wu'an is ten years younger than me. He was smart from a young age and learned everything quickly. Later, he became a policeman and was even more successful than me. But he had one flaw—he was too meticulous. When he encountered a case, he had to find out the truth. He couldn't sleep if he couldn't find out the truth. When his wife scolded him, he would just laugh and say, 'Human life is at stake, how can I sleep?'"

He paused.

"In 1992, he took on a case: the disappearance of female restaurant workers by the river. He investigated Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Xiu Ying, one by one. He traced them to Ding Laosan, Dong Jianping, and the J organization. The deeper he investigated, the more dangerous it became. I advised him to stop, but he wouldn't listen. He said, 'Brother, those girls are human lives too. They have families, and they are waiting to go home.'"

Jiang Bo listened quietly.

"On the night of March 9, 1993, he called me. His voice was urgent, as if he were being chased. He said, 'Brother, I saved a child. A child from the J organization. They wanted him, but I didn't give him to them.' I asked, 'Where are you?' He said, 'Don't ask. I sent the child to an orphanage, left him money, a silver lock, and a name.' I asked, 'What's his name?' He said, 'Jiang Bo. Let him have the surname Jiang. From now on, I am Jiang Wu'an.'"

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

"And then?"

Old He turned around and looked at him. His eyes were glistening with tears in the sunlight.

"Then he disappeared. He was nowhere to be found, neither alive nor dead. I searched for him for over twenty years, but I couldn't find him. I went to the places he had checked, asked people he knew, and searched through his belongings. There was nothing there. It was as if he had vanished into thin air."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a long time.

"How did he save me?"

Old He walked back to the rattan chair and sat down. He picked up the silver lock, looked at it again, and then carefully placed it back in Jiang Bo's hand.

"That night, the J organization took your mother away and left you there. Wu'an happened to be nearby; he had been following those people. When he saw them abandon you, he secretly took you away. He didn't dare send you back, nor did he dare raise you himself—he was already being watched and could be in danger at any moment. So he sent you to an orphanage and asked someone to take care of you. Then he called me and said he had to hide so the J organization couldn't find him. I've never seen him since."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

He Wu'an gave up his identity, his future, and everything else in order to save him.

He became Jiang Wu'an.

A person who does not exist.

Did he show up again?

Old He shook his head.

No. But I know he's still alive.

Why?

Old He took out a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Jiang Bo.

The note was yellowed, and the creases were worn, as if it had been read many times. It read: "Brother, I'm fine. Don't look for me."

There was no date, and no signature.

But Jiang Bo recognized the handwriting.

The handwriting is exactly the same as that in Dong Zhenhua's letter.

Is He Wu'an connected with Dong Zhenhua?

He looked up at Lao He.

"Does Dong Zhenhua know him?"

Lao He nodded.

"They were friends. When Dong Zhenhua was investigating the J organization, Wu'an helped him. They saved many people together. Dong Zhenhua was in the open, while Wu'an was in the shadows. Dong Zhenhua collected evidence, and Wu'an provided clues. They cooperated for many years."

Suddenly, the fragments in Jiang Bo's heart began to piece together.

He Wu'an saved Jiang Bo.

Dong Zhenhua arranged for adoptive parents.

He Wu'an secretly provided clues to help the police solve the case.

Dong Zhenhua secretly protects Jiang Bo and records his growth.

The two of them, one in the open and one in the shadows, protected him together.

Where is he now?

Old He shook his head.

"I don't know. He never lets me know. He's afraid of implicating me. He said, 'Brother, the less you know, the safer you are. You don't need to look for me, I'll come back to see you.'"

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

Why did he change his name to Jiang Wu'an?

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

"Because he has to live for someone."

"Who?"

Old He sighed.

"Your dad."

Jiang Bo was stunned.

"My dad?"

Lao He nodded.

"Your father's surname was Jiang. He was a policeman. In 1992, during an investigation of the J organization, he was killed by them. Your mother was pregnant with you at that time. Wu'an saved you partly to save an innocent child, and partly to leave a child for his comrade."

Jiang Bo stood there, his mind blank.

His father was a policeman. His surname was Jiang. He was killed by the J organization.

His name is Jiang Bo, in memory of his father.

Jiang Wu'an lives to live in place of his father.

"What's my dad's name?"

Old He looked at him. Sunlight shone on his face, making the wrinkles seem etched in, each one telling a story.

"Jiang Yizhou."

Jiang Yizhou.

Jiang Bo silently repeated the name in his heart several times. Once, twice, three times. As if he wanted to engrave the name into his bones.

His father. A complete stranger.

But he knew his father must be a good man. A man who would sacrifice himself for investigating cases, for justice, and for the innocent.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against his leg.

He squatted down and stroked its head.

"Tangyuan, I have a name now. My dad's name is Jiang Yizhou."

Tangyuan, of course, wouldn't understand. But it licked his hand, its warm tongue offering some kind of comfort.

Old He looked at him with a sense of satisfaction in his eyes.

"You've grown up. I wish your dad could see this. You were still in your mom's belly when he passed away. He didn't even know if you were a boy or a girl. He told me, 'Old He, no matter if it's a boy or a girl, your name is Jiang Bo. Tell him to remember that his dad was a policeman.'"

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

"Uncle He, thank you. Thank you for telling me all this."

Lao He helped him up.

"Don't say that. I didn't do anything. It was your father, Wu'an, and Dong Zhenhua who protected you. I was just a messenger."

Jiang Bo nodded.

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

"Uncle He, if Uncle He ever comes back, tell him I'm looking for him. Tell him to come find me."

Lao He nodded.

"I will. If he knew you already knew all this, he would definitely come looking for you."

Jiang Bo walked out of the courtyard and stood at the door.

The sunlight shone on his face, somewhat dazzling. The November sun was warm and comforting, but his heart was ice-cold.

Tangyuan followed him out and rubbed against his leg.

He squatted down and stroked its head.

"Tangyuan, I need to find him."

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 standing at the gate, motionless, like a statue.

But his heart was beating faster and faster.

He Wu'an is still alive.

His father is Jiang Yizhou.

Organization J killed him.

He needs to find He Wu'an.

He needs to find Organization J.

He wanted to avenge them.

The car started on its way back to the city. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, making it feel warm and cozy.

Jiang Bo gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He recalled a sentence from Dong Zhenhua's letter: "They are bigger, deeper, and more terrifying than you can imagine."

But he wasn't afraid.

He has a name now.

His name is Jiang Bo. His father is Jiang Yizhou.

He is the son of a policeman.