Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

By the time Jiang Bo returned to the Municipal Public Security Bureau, it was already dark.

He carried the metal box into his office. The box was light, but it felt incredibly heavy in his arms. Inside weren't just photographs; it contained thirty years of history, over a dozen lives, and countless secrets.

Tangyuan followed behind, its steps heavy, as if it too was tired. It had run and sniffed around on the old pontoon bridge for a long time today, and now its tongue was out, and it was panting heavily. But it still insisted on following, without lying down to rest.

The office lights were still on, and Liu Tong and Zhang Yuhang were both there. Liu Tong sat in front of the computer, the screen light illuminating his face and making the dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night even more pronounced. Zhang Yuhang stood in front of the whiteboard, pen in hand, organizing clues. They both looked up when Jiang Bo entered.

"Polish Sir, any findings?" Zhang Yuhang asked.

Jiang Bo placed the tin box on the table and opened it.

"Found in the house near the old pontoon bridge. (Photo)"

The moment the tin box was opened, a musty smell wafted out—a musty smell, a rusty smell, and the scent of time. Liu Tong leaned closer, picked up the photos, and examined them one by one. His brows furrowed deeper and deeper, and a flicker of shock flashed in his eyes behind his glasses.

"These photos span a wide period, from 1991 to 1998, a total of seven years. They all depict people in the old pontoon bridge area."

Jiang Bo nodded. He walked to the whiteboard, looking at the densely packed clues, wondering how many new details these photos would add to it.

"The most crucial one is the last one."

He handed the photo of "Mr." to Liu Tong.

Liu Tong glanced at it, and his expression changed. His hand trembled, and he almost dropped the photo.

"This is--"

"The leader of Organization J. Mr. Photographed in 1998."

Zhang Yuhang also came over to look. The three of them stared at the photo for a long time.

The elderly man in the photo, over seventy years old, with completely white hair, wearing a dark overcoat, stands by the river, gazing at the water. His face is obscured by shadows, making his features indistinct. But his silhouette exudes an indescribable dignity and an unspoken loneliness. He stands there like a statue, or perhaps a ghost. The river flows at his feet, yet he remains motionless.

"Can you recreate the face?" Jiang Bo asked.

Liu Tong shook his head. He held the photo up to the light, squinted at it for a long time, and finally put it down.

"The shadows are too heavy, it can't be reproduced properly. And the photo is too blurry, the resolution is insufficient. For a film camera of that era, this level of clarity is already quite good."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

"Where's the ring?"

Liu Tong zoomed in on the photo. He picked up a magnifying glass and examined it closely. The old man's right hand hung at his side, and on his ring finger was a ring. The pattern on the ring was blurry, but it was vaguely discernible as a letter.

J.

"It's a J," Liu Tong said, her voice a little strained. "Just like Dong Jianhua described. A silver ring, engraved with J, worn on the ring finger of my right hand."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Mr. K. J.

These people finally matched up.

"Brother Bo, and these photos too." Zhang Yuhang pointed to the photos, "Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Xiu Ying, Ding Lao San, Dong Jianguo, Dong Jianping, Dong Jianhua, Dong Zhenhua. These people all appeared in the same place."

Jiang Bo looked at the photos. He picked them up one by one and examined them one by one.

Ah Zhen, heavily pregnant, stood at the doorway, her hand on the doorframe, a smile on her face. It was 1993, when she was pregnant. Her smile was so gentle, so full of anticipation. A few months later, she died. She didn't know the child in her womb would survive, didn't know that child would become Xiao Ying, didn't know Xiao Ying would be adopted by Ma Xiuying, didn't know Xiao Ying would be killed.

Xiao Mei smiled, holding a flower in her hand, standing by the river, the wind blowing through her hair. It was 1992; she was still alive, unaware that she would die. Her smile was so radiant, so carefree. She didn't know that the man who called her "Xiao Mei" would kill her, didn't know that her child would survive, didn't know that child would become Liu Tong.

When Xiuying was young, she wore two braids and squatted by the river washing clothes; her profile was beautiful. That was in 1985. She hadn't met Jiang Yizhou yet, and she didn't know her fate. She was so focused on washing clothes, unaware that decades later, she would be waiting for someone by the river, waiting for twenty-two years.

When Ding Laosan was young, he stood by his boat with several fishermen, holding fishing nets. That was in 1988; he hadn't committed murder yet, and was still an ordinary fisherman. His smile was so honest and simple. No one knew that a few years later, he would become a murderer.

Dong Jianguo, dressed in his police uniform, stood before the wall, his expression serious, his eyes holding an indescribable quality. It was 1995; he hadn't yet investigated the case, and he didn't know he was going to die. He stood there, as if pondering something, or perhaps waiting for something.

Dong Jianping, also in police uniform, stood in the same spot, his expression gloomy, the corners of his mouth downturned. That was in 1996; he hadn't been injured, hadn't retired, and hadn't become that limping old man. His eyes held weariness, helplessness, and a hint of fear.

Tung Chee-hwa stood by the river, gazing at the water, his back to the world with a forlorn air and his shoulders slightly slumped. It was 1997; he hadn't written that letter yet, and he wasn't dead. What was he thinking as he looked at the river? Was he thinking about the things he had seen but couldn't speak of, or about his son?

Dong Zhenhua was wearing a hat and had his head down, so his face was obscured. It was 1998; he hadn't disappeared yet, hadn't vanished into the crowd. Why was he looking down? Was he avoiding someone's gaze?

These people all lived on this land, laughed, cried, loved, hated, and then died or disappeared.

Looking at the photos, Jiang Bo felt as if a heavy stone was pressing on his heart. The stone was so heavy that it made it hard for him to breathe.

"Who took these photos?" Zhang Yuhang asked.

Jiang Bo thought for a moment. He picked up the photos and looked at them one by one, examining the shooting angles, the lighting, and the composition.

"It should be Tung Chee-hwa. Or Tung Chun-hua. Only they had the opportunity and the motive."

Liu Tong picked up the photo of Ah Zhen and examined it closely. He held the photo up to the light, squinted, and looked at it for a long time.

"This photo was taken from inside the house, looking outwards. The person who took the photo must have been inside the house."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

Inside the house?

He remembered that room. The room where Ah Zhen had lived, the room where Ding Laosan had committed murder, the room where the lame man had stood. The room was small, only a dozen square meters, with a bed, a table, and a chair. If someone was taking pictures inside, they were only a few steps away from Ah Zhen.

If the person taking the photo was inside the house, that means—

"Someone is watching them," he said.

Liu Tong nodded.

"Yes. Someone is secretly monitoring these people and recording their movements. This person may not be Tung Chee-hwa or Tung Chun-wah. It's someone else."

Jiang Bo picked up the photo of Ding Laosan.

Ding Laosan stood by the boat, holding a fishing net, smiling. It was 1988; he was still young and had no idea he would become a murderer. The photo was taken from the shore looking towards the river. The person taking the photo stood on the shore, about ten meters away from Ding Laosan.

"This person had already been watching Ding Laosan before he committed the murder," Jiang Bo said.

Zhang Yuhang was stunned for a moment.

"Did this person know that Ding Laosan was the murderer?"

Jiang Bo nodded.

"Maybe. Or maybe he's gathering evidence."

Liu Tong opened Tung Chee-hwa's notebook and found a record. The notebook was yellowed, and the handwriting was somewhat blurred, but still legible.

"It says here: 'In 1988, we began tracking Ding Laosan. We discovered his connections with the J organization.'"

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

1988. Tung Chee-hwa began his investigation around that time.

He investigated for five years and discovered Ding Laosan's connection to the J organization. Then in 1993, Xiaomei died, and Azhen died. He said nothing and did nothing.

Why?

He continued flipping through the notebook. The pages at the back were a little damp, and the handwriting was even more blurred, but Jiang Bo still tried to decipher each word.

"March 9, 1993. Ah Zhen died. Ding Laosan killed her. I saw it."

Jiang Bo paused for a moment. He saw it. He saw it with his own eyes.

"On March 10, 1993, someone came to me and told me to leave the case alone. It was Dong Zhenhua."

Dong Zhenhua. It's Dong Zhenhua again.

"In April 1993, I was transferred. It was said to be for work purposes, but actually, someone didn't want me to investigate."

"In May 1993, I secretly went back to check the scene. The room had been sealed off. There were still bloodstains on the walls."

Jiang Bo's hands trembled as he looked at the records.

Tung Chee-hwa saw it. He saw Ding Laosan kill Ah Zhen. But he said nothing.

Because Dong Zhenhua told him not to say it.

Is Dong Zhenhua the man who "protected Ding Laosan"?

He recalled what Dong Jianping had said: "The person who protected me was Dong Zhenhua."

Dong Zhenhua protected Ding Laosan, and also Dong Jianping.

He is a member of Organization J.

Why did he leave those letters later? Why did he arrange for He Wu'an to rescue him? Why did he secretly protect Xiuying?

Jiang Bo couldn't understand it.

Liu Tong suddenly spoke.

"Polish Sir, here's a photo that's quite strange."

Jiang Bo walked over.

Liu Tong held a photograph in her hand, showing two people: a young woman and a middle-aged man, standing by the river. The young woman's head was down, so her face was obscured. The middle-aged man's face was turned to the side, so he was also obscured.

"Who is this?"

Liu Tong shook his head.

"I don't know. It's not marked."

Jiang Bo took the photo and examined it carefully.

The middle-aged man was tall, wearing a dark overcoat and a hat. His face was turned to the side, revealing only half of his profile. The young woman wore a floral blouse, her hair in a braid, and her head was bowed, as if she were looking at the river.

He suddenly felt that the woman's figure was very familiar.

Thin shoulders, a slightly hunched back, and the way he braided his hair.

This is--

He turned the photo over. On the back was written a line of small print: 1995, Jiujiang.

Jiujiang.

Xiuying visited Jiujiang in 1995.

That woman, is it Sooyoung?

Who is that man?

He picked up a magnifying glass and examined the man's profile closely.

Blurred, but the outline is still there. A high, straight nose, a slightly upturned chin, and that posture—legs slightly apart, shoulders relaxed, left hand in pocket.

He suddenly remembered someone.

He Wu'an.

That back view was exactly the same as the back view in He Wu'an's photo. In that 1991 photo with Jiang Yizhou, He Wu'an was standing like this, with his left hand in his pocket.

It is He Wu'an.

In 1995, He Wuan met Xiuying in Jiujiang.

But he didn't tell her who he was.

He simply watched her from afar and took this photo.

Jiang Bo felt as if something had struck his heart hard. The impact was so painful that he could barely stand.

He Wu'an had been searching for Xiuying. From 1993 to 1995, over two years, he finally found her. But he didn't appear. He simply watched from afar, took a picture, and then left.

Why?

Because he was afraid of implicating her.

Because he knew that the J organization was still looking for her.

Because he knew that she would be in danger whenever he appeared.

So he chose to remain silent.

I chose to watch from afar.

I chose to keep this longing hidden in my heart.

Jiang Bo held the photo, his eyes stinging with tears.

This man, whom he had never met, lived in anonymity for thirty-one years to save him. To fulfill his father's wish, he gave up his police officer status, abandoned his normal life, and became a non-existent person. He couldn't go home, couldn't see his family, and couldn't appear in anyone's sight.

He could only watch from afar, take pictures, and then leave.

He owes him far too much.

"Brother Bo, here's another one." Zhang Yuhang handed over another photo.

The photo shows two people: an elderly man and a middle-aged man, standing by the river. The elderly man is wearing a dark coat and has his back to the camera. The middle-aged man has his head down, so his face is not visible.

The back reads: 1998, Old Floating Bridge. Mr. and Wu'an.

Jiang Bo was stunned.

Mr. and Wu'an.

He Wu'an, greetings, sir?

He examined the photograph closely. He Wu'an had his head down, as if listening to his teacher speak. The teacher's back was to the camera, only his silhouette visible. That silhouette was exactly the same as the previous photograph of "him".

What did they say?

Why did He Wu'an go to see the teacher?

Was he going to negotiate? Or was he going undercover?

Jiang Bo didn't know.

But he knew He Wu'an must have his reasons. He wasn't the kind of person who would give in. He was Jiang Yizhou's comrade-in-arms, the one who saved him, and the one who had secretly protected Xiuying for twenty-two years.

He will not betray.

"Brother Bo, there's also this." Liu Tong took out a slip of paper from the bottom of the tin box.

The note was small and neatly folded. Jiang Bo opened it.

The only text on it read: "All the answers are in Jiujiang."

It is He Wu'an's handwriting.

Jiang Bo stared at the line of text and remained silent for a long time.

Jiujiang. Shipyard. 1995.

He Wu'an saw Xiuying there. Mr. [Name] also appeared there. The shipyard was photographed many times in Tung Chee-hwa's photos.

There must be something there.

He carefully put away the photos and the note.

"Liu Tong, scan and archive all these photos. Keep the originals safe."

Liu Tong nodded.

Jiang Bo walked to the window and looked at the night outside.

The Yangtze River Bridge was brightly lit, with a constant flow of traffic. The headlights formed a flowing ribbon of light, like a luminous river. Several boats, their lights on, moved slowly across the river. Their lights cast long shadows on the water, swaying gently with the waves.

He thought of He Wu'an. He thought of Jiang Yizhou. He thought of Xiuying.

These people are all working towards the same goal.

Find the truth.

He turned around.

"Tomorrow, we're going to Jiujiang."

Zhang Yuhang was stunned for a moment.

"Jiujiang?"

Jiang Bo nodded. His voice was calm, but it carried an undeniable firmness.

"In 1995, He Wu'an met Xiuying there. That shipyard was a stronghold of the J organization. Perhaps there are still clues there."

Liu Tong retrieved the data from Jiujiang Shipyard.

"That shipyard was abandoned in 1996. It's just a wasteland now. I've checked satellite maps, but I can't see anything there."

Jiang Bo shook his head.

"Not necessarily. Tung Chee-hwa's photos show a very detailed shipyard. The structure of the factory buildings, the location of the warehouses, the layout of the docks. Maybe he left something behind."

Zhang Yuhang stood up.

"I'll go prepare the car."

Jiang Bo walked to the door and glanced back.

The photos on the table lay quietly under the lamplight. Those people, those events, those secrets, were all waiting for him to uncover them. Ah Zhen was smiling, Xiao Mei was smiling, Xiu Ying was washing clothes, Ding Lao San was fishing, the Dong brothers stood in a row, the teacher had his back to the camera, and He Wu'an had his head down.

They were all watching him.

Tangyuan followed behind him and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, shimmering gently in the lamplight. Its eyes sparkled as it looked at him, as if asking: Are we setting off again?

"Tangyuan, let's go to Jiujiang."

Tangyuan called out.

That shout echoed in the quiet office.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out the door.

The corridor was dimly lit. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, one after another, like the heavy beat of a drum. The motion-activated lights turned on one by one, and then turned off one by one.

Outside the window, the Yangtze River flows slowly in the night.

Those secrets, like the river, wait quietly.

Waiting for him to find out.