Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo woke up before dawn.

He opened his eyes and saw a hazy gray sky outside the window, with a few remaining stars still faintly visible behind the clouds. The sofa was a bit narrow, and his back ached slightly after sleeping all night. But he couldn't care less about that; his mind was filled with those photos, those faces, and He Wu'an's words: "All the answers are in Jiujiang."

That sentence seemed etched in his mind, appearing over and over again. He could see He Wu'an's handwriting when he closed his eyes, each stroke written with great force, as if he wanted to carve those words into the paper.

Xiuying was already in the kitchen. The clinking of pots and pans was soft, just like yesterday. Jiang Bo sat up, put on his coat, and went over.

A dim, yellow light shone in the kitchen. Xiuying stood in front of the stove, cooking noodles. She was wearing her old cotton-padded jacket, her hair loosely tied back with a rubber band, revealing her graying roots. The sun hadn't risen yet, and the lamplight shone on her hunched back, casting a long, thin shadow on the ground.

Jiang Bo stood at the door, watching her retreating figure.

Thin. Too thin. The cotton-padded jacket hung loosely on her, like it was just hanging on a hanger. Her shoulder blades protruded beneath the jacket like two small hills. Her vertebrae were clearly visible through her clothes. Her movements were slow but steady, stirring the noodles in the pot with each stroke. Her hands were so thin they were skin and bones, with bulging veins, but her grip on the spatula was firm.

Jiang Bo recalled Lao He's words: "She walked for twenty-two years. From thirty to fifty-two. A thousand miles? Two thousand miles? Three thousand miles? How many roads did she travel, how much hardship did she endure, how much suffering did she suffer?"

All that suffering and sin was etched onto her.

"mom."

Xiuying turned around. Seeing him, she smiled.

The smile was light and faint, just a slight upturn of the corners of her mouth, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart. He remembered that photograph, taken in 1985, of her washing clothes by the river, her profile beautiful. Thirty-nine years had passed; wrinkles had appeared on her face, and gray hairs on her head, but that smile remained. It was hidden in the fine lines at the corners of her eyes, in the slight upturn of her lips, in the gentleness that time could not erase.

"You're awake? The noodles will be ready soon."

Jiang Bo walked over and stood beside her.

The pot contained clear broth noodles, with a few scallions floating on top, steaming hot. Xiuying picked some up with her chopsticks, looked at it, and nodded.

"alright."

She ladled out two bowls and placed them on the table. It was a very simple bowl of noodles, just clear broth, but Jiang Bo knew it was the best she could make. In those years, she was lucky to have anything to eat, let alone know how to cook anything complicated.

Jiang Bo sat down and picked up his chopsticks.

Xiuying sat opposite him, watching him eat.

"Mom, you eat too."

Xiuying nodded and picked up her chopsticks as well. She ate slowly, chewing each bite carefully. Jiang Bo watched her and noticed that she ate very politely; even after so many years of hunger, she didn't wolf down her food. It was a refined upbringing ingrained in her.

After finishing their noodles, it was just dawn. Zhang Yuhang's car was already waiting downstairs. Liu Tong was also there, sitting in the back seat with his laptop, his eyes still bloodshot, clearly having not slept all night.

Xiuying changed her clothes. Jiang Bo had bought them for her yesterday: a dark gray cotton-padded jacket and black trousers. Wearing the new clothes, she looked a little more energetic. But she was still thin, heartbreakingly thin. The cotton-padded jacket looked loose and baggy on her, as if it had been borrowed.

Jiang Bo helped her downstairs. She walked slowly, one step at a time, each step steady. Her hands were cold; he could feel it even through her sleeves. But she held his hand tightly.

Tangyuan ran ahead, glancing back at her every now and then, as if waiting for her. It seemed to know that this old woman was important and couldn't be lost.

As she boarded the bus, Xiuying glanced back at the old building. The fifth floor, that window—the place where she had stayed for three days. Her gaze lingered on that window for a few seconds before she turned and got on the bus.

The car started moving.

Jiujiang is in Jiangxi Province, more than 300 kilometers from Jiangcheng. After a four-hour drive on the highway, the scenery outside the window changed from city to farmland, and then to hills. The fields in November were bare, with the harvested rice stubble still lying in the ground, a withered yellow. Occasionally, a few egrets would take flight from the field ridges, fluttering their wings and skimming over the car roof.

Xiuying kept looking out the window. Her gaze was somewhat unfocused, as if she were looking at the fleeting scenery, or perhaps at something else—something farther away, something from the past.

"Mom, how did you get to Jiujiang back then?" Jiang Bo asked.

Xiuying remained silent for a while.

"walk."

Jiang Bo's heart tightened.

"Walking from Yueyang to Jiujiang?"

Xiuying nodded.

"How long have you been walking?"

Xiuying thought for a moment.

"I forgot. I walked for a long time, asking questions as I went."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

She walked hundreds of miles alone.

Have you ever encountered bad people on the street?

Xiuying smiled. The smile was tinged with bitterness.

"I've encountered them. People who steal things, people who bully others. Later I learned to be smarter, I would walk during the day and hide at night. I would hide when I saw people and run when I heard noises."

Jiang Bo's eyes welled up with tears.

"mom……"

Xiuying shook her head.

"It's all in the past. Finding you means it's all in the past."

Around noon, the car entered JJ City. Jiang Bo asked Zhang Yuhang to drive the car to the riverbank.

The Gan River is very wide, almost as wide as the Yangtze River. Several cargo ships are sailing on the river, leaving long trails in their wake. There is a walkway along the riverbank, planted with willow trees. The leaves have all fallen, leaving only bare branches swaying in the wind, like rows of thin, bony arms.

Xiuying looked out the window, her eyes somewhat dazed.

"Things have changed," she said. "So much has changed."

Jiang Bo asked, "Mom, where did you live back then?"

Xiuying thought for a moment. Her brows furrowed slightly, as if she was trying hard to recall.

"By the river. An old woman took me in. Her house was in an alley by the river, not far from the shipyard. There was a big locust tree at the entrance of the alley, and in the summer, many people would sit under it to cool off."

Zhang Yuhang slowed down and drove slowly along the riverbank. Xiuying looked out the window, recognizing each building one by one.

"This place used to be a dock." She pointed out the window, where a modern cargo terminal now stands, with cranes dotting the landscape and containers piled high. "That place used to be a warehouse." Now it's filled with high-rise buildings, their glass curtain walls gleaming in the sunlight.

As the car drove up to a pile of ruins, Xiuying suddenly said, "Stop."

The car stopped. Xiuying got out and stood by the roadside, looking at the ruins.

It used to be an alley. Now there's nothing left but rubble and a few partially demolished walls. The weeds are waist-high, swaying in the wind. Scattered among the rubble are some broken household items—half a bowl, a broken shoe, a rusty pot.

Xiuying walked over slowly. She walked very slowly, each step very carefully, as if she were walking a road that was both familiar and unfamiliar. Jiang Bo followed behind, and Tangyuan followed behind as well.

Xiuying stopped in front of a crumbling wall.

That wall was the only one still standing in the alley. Half a window remained, its frame rusted and glass shattered. Withered grass grew on the windowsill, swaying in the wind.

Xiuying reached out and touched the wall. Her hand moved slowly across the wall, as if she were stroking the face of an old friend.

"This is it," she said, her voice soft, as if drifting from afar. "That old lady lives here. Her surname is Zhou, and I call her Aunt Zhou. She took me in and I stayed here for six months."

Jiang Bo looked at the wall.

"What does she look like?"

Xiuying thought for a moment.

"She was plump, always smiling, and had completely white hair. She lived alone; none of her children lived with her. She took pity on me and let me stay. She gave me food and clothes, and never asked who I was or where I came from."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

Where is she?

Xiuying shook her head.

"I don't know. She was still alive when I left. She said, 'Girl, come back to see me when you find your son.' I said okay. And then she never came back."

Her voice was choked with emotion.

Jiang Bo walked over and put his arm around her shoulder.

"Mom, she'll understand."

Xiuying nodded and wiped her eyes.

"Let's go. To the shipyard."

They got on the bus and continued south.

The shipyard is just two miles away.

The shipyard has been abandoned for over twenty years. From a distance, it looks like a ruin. The factory area is vast, covering dozens of acres, surrounded by rusty iron fences, some collapsed, some still standing. Where the fences have collapsed, weeds grow out of the gaps, completely obscuring them.

The main gate consisted of two iron doors, rusted beyond recognition, hanging crookedly. A sign hung on the door, the words blurred, only the words "Jiujiang Shipyard" vaguely discernible. The sign was covered in rust, its edges curled, creaking in the wind.

Jiang Bo got out of the car and stood at the door.

The wind blew by, carrying the fishy smell of the river and the rusty scent of metal. It was cold, bone-chillingly cold.

He pushed open the iron gate. The gate creaked loudly, its harshness echoing in the silent factory area. The sound was like the mournful cry of some animal, or the groan of a dying man.

It was a desolate place inside.

The factory buildings, warehouses, and office buildings are still there, but they are dilapidated. Half of the roofs have collapsed, exposing the steel beams inside, like skeletons. The walls are mottled and covered with vines, the dead vines like countless snakes coiled on the walls. All the windows are shattered, dark and empty, like the eye sockets of a skull.

The ground was overgrown with weeds, some taller than a person. When the wind blew, the grass rippled and rustled. The sound was like countless hands whispering, or countless mouths sighing.

Tangyuan ran ahead, sniffing here and there. It was very excited, wagging its tail rapidly, as if it had discovered something.

Xiuying followed Jiang Bo, walking slowly. She looked at the factory buildings, a strange, unreadable expression in her eyes. Was it fear? Anticipation? Or memories?

"I've been here before," she said.

Jiang Bo turned around.

"You've been here before?"

Xiuying nodded. Her eyes were fixed on the largest factory building in the distance.

"Once, I was washing clothes by the river when I saw a few people walking this way. I thought it was strange, so I followed them to see what was going on. I saw them go into that factory building."

She pointed to a factory building not far away.

That factory building was the largest in the factory area, two stories high, with an arched roof like an overturned boat. The walls were covered with vines, the dead vines resembling countless snakes coiled around them. A corner of the roof had collapsed, revealing the steel beams inside, the rusty beams arranged like ribs.

Jiang Bo walked over.

The factory doors were two large, rusted iron gates that opened with a push. The gates creaked and groaned as they turned, the sound echoing through the empty factory.

It was dark and empty inside.

Sunlight streamed in through the dilapidated roof, casting beams of light onto the ground. Dust motes danced within these beams, like countless tiny stars. The dust swirled and drifted within the light, as if controlled by some unseen force.

The ground was littered with debris: rusty machines, rotten wood, and moldy cardboard boxes. Some of the machines resembled lathes, others cranes, all so rusted they were unrecognizable. The wood was so rotten it was just its shape, crumbling at the slightest touch. The cardboard boxes had collapsed, spilling out piles of yellowed paper.

The air was thick with a musty and rusty smell, so strong it made you want to cough. There was another smell, like rotting wood, or something that had been dead for a long time.

Tangyuan sniffed around in the pile of clutter, then suddenly stopped and barked at a corner.

The cry was urgent and shrill, echoing through the empty factory.

In that corner were several large wooden crates, already rotten, some collapsed, revealing their contents.

Jiang Bo walked over and pried open the wooden box.

There were several machines inside. They were heavily rusted, making it impossible to tell what they were originally used for. They looked like some kind of processing equipment, with gears, pulleys, and an operating table.

But Tangyuan wasn't calling that. It was calling to the wall behind the wooden box.

Jiang Bo walked over and pushed open the wooden crate. There was a small door in the wall, about waist-high, which seemed to lead to the basement. The door was made of wood and was rotten, with an iron handle on the door panel that was rusted and almost broken.

He squatted down and grabbed the iron handle.

The door opened.

Behind the door was a staircase that descended into darkness, its bottom invisible. A cold, damp atmosphere rose from below, carrying the smells of mildew and the stench of earth.

He turned on his flashlight and went downstairs.

The stairs were steep and narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time. On either side were cement walls covered in dark blue-green mold, damp to the touch. Each step was high, requiring great care to avoid slipping. The beam of a flashlight flickered in the darkness, illuminating the steps, one after another, seemingly endless.

After climbing more than ten steps, we reached the bottom.

Below was a basement. It wasn't large, only about ten square meters, with cement walls and a cement floor. In the corner were several metal cabinets, some overturned, some still standing. The cabinets were badly rusted, but their original color was still visible—military green, like military supplies.

Several photos hung on the wall. They were black and white, yellowed, but still legible.

Jiang Bo shone his flashlight over.

The first picture is of Ah Zhen. She's heavily pregnant, standing in the doorway of the house by the old pontoon bridge, her hand on the doorframe, a smile on her face. It's the picture he saw in the tin box.

The second picture is of Xiaomei. She is smiling, holding a flower in her hand, standing by the river, the wind blowing through her hair.

The third picture is of Xiuying. When she was young, she had two braids and was squatting by the river washing clothes. Her profile was very beautiful.

The fourth picture is of Tung Chee-hwa. He is wearing a police uniform, standing by the river, looking at the water, his back to the camera looking forlorn.

The fifth picture is of Dong Zhenhua. He is wearing a hat and looking down, so his face is not visible.

The sixth picture is of He Wu'an. He's thin, with gentle features, standing by the river, his arm around Jiang Yizhou's shoulder. It's that group photo from 1991.

The seventh picture is of a baby. Wrapped in a red bib, the baby is sleeping peacefully with its eyes closed.

It was him.

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

He walked over and looked at the photo.

That's a photo of him when he was little. He was seven or eight years old, standing by the river, holding a windmill, smiling brightly in the sunshine. The sunlight shone on his face, and he squinted, revealing a few small teeth.

He didn't know who took the picture. But he knew someone had been watching him.

Below the photo is a line of small text: 1998, Jiangcheng. Photographed by Wu'an.

It was taken by He Wuan.

1998. He was eight years old. He Wu'an was watching him from the shadows.

Tangyuan sniffed around in the basement, then suddenly barked at a metal cabinet.

Jiang Bo walked over and opened the cabinet.

The cabinet was heavy, making a screeching sound when pulled. Inside was a stack of letters. There were many letters, bundled together and tied with a yellowed rope.

He untied the rope.

The envelope was yellowed, and the writing on it was somewhat blurred. Recipient: He Wu'an. Sender: Jiang Yizhou.

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Jiang Yizhou. His father.

He took out the top letter and pulled out the letter paper.

The letter paper was brittle, with some curled edges. The handwriting was neat, each stroke deliberate and forceful.

"Wu'an, by the time you read this letter, I should already be gone."

We are investigating the same thing.

If anything happens to me, keep investigating. Don't give up.

Also, Sooyoung is pregnant. It's my child. If I don't come back, please take good care of them for me.

Tell the child that his father is a policeman. Tell him that his father loves him.

Below is Jiang Yizhou's signature. Date: December 10, 1992.

Ten days later, he disappeared.

Jiang Bo held the letter, his hands trembling.

He put the letter away and continued flipping through the pages.

The following letters were all written by Jiang Yizhou to He Wu'an. There were twelve letters in total, spanning from 1990 to 1992. Every single one was about the J organization, and every single one was about his discoveries.

Some wrote about the clues he found, some about his suspicions, and some about his fears.

March 1990: "Today we spotted a suspicious person who frequently hangs around the old pontoon bridge area. He walks with a slight limp."

July 1991: "We found Ding Laosan. He has connections with that lame man."

January 1992: "That limping man was probably a policeman. I saw him wearing a police uniform."

August 1992: "I'm being watched. Someone is following me."

The last letter was sent on December 15, 1992.

"Wu'an, I'm being watched. Someone is following me. When I got home today, I saw someone standing downstairs, wearing a hat, so I couldn't see his face. He saw me, turned around, and walked away. He was limping a little on his right leg when he walked."

If you see this letter, it means something has happened to me.

Keep investigating. Don't give up.

Limping.

He's limping again.

Jiang Bo put the letter away and stood up.

The basement was dark and cold. But his heart was even colder.

The lame man had been active since 1990. His father found him, and then he disappeared.

Who is he?

He walked out of the basement and back upstairs.

Xiuying stood in the doorway, looking at him. Her eyes held worry, expectation, and fear. Her hands gripped the hem of her clothes tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"What did you find?"

Jiang Bo walked over and handed her the letter.

Xiuying took the letter and read it once.

Tears streamed down her face.

Tears welled up from her sunken eyes, streaming down the wrinkles that resembled dried-up riverbeds. She raised her hand to wipe them away, but the tears wouldn't stop; the more she wiped, the more they flowed.

"A boat..."

Jiang Bo helped her up.

"Mom, I will keep investigating. I will find out the truth."

Xiuying nodded. She couldn't speak, she just nodded, kept nodding.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against her leg.

She squatted down and stroked its head.

"Good dog."

It was almost dark when we left the shipyard. The setting sun had dyed the river surface a golden-red, a color like blood or fire.

Jiang Bo stood by the river, looking at the water.

The river, shimmering red in the setting sun, flowed gently. Boats sailed by, their whistles carrying a distant, deep, and lingering sound. Several water birds rose from the reeds, flapping their wings as they skimmed across the surface, their calls clear and melodious.

His father came here. He Wu'an came here. Xiuying came here. All the dead people came here.

Now, he's here too.

He took out his phone and called Liu Tong.

"Check the list of all disabled police officers in Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau in December 1992. This includes those who were on duty, retired, transferred, and missing."

Liu Tong responded.

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and looked at the river.

The river is still flowing, just as it was a hundred years ago, just as it was a thousand years ago.

It has witnessed countless people, events, and secrets.

Now, those secrets are about to surface.