Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

On the way back from Jiujiang, Jiang Bo remained silent.

He sat in the back seat, clutching the box containing the letters as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The letters were light, but held in his arms, they felt incredibly heavy. They were his father's last words, letters his father had written to his comrades thirty-three years ago, clues his father had obtained with his life.

Outside the car window, the night was as dark as ink. Occasionally, a truck would approach from the opposite direction, its blinding headlights flashing briefly, illuminating the interior for a few seconds before plunging back into darkness. Jiang Bo watched the alternation of light and darkness, his mind filled with the words from those letters.

"That limping man is probably a policeman. I saw him wearing a police uniform."

"When I got home today, I saw a person 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."

His father saw the man. The man was wearing a police uniform and had a limp.

Who is that?

Xiuying sat beside him, remaining silent. She gazed out the window at the fleeting fields, villages, and rivers, her eyes vacant. Her hand clutched the letter—Jiang Yizhou's last letter—so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The edges of the letter were crumpled from her grip, yet she refused to let go.

Tangyuan lay quietly at her feet, keeping her company. It seemed to know this moment was important, remaining motionless, just lying there, occasionally raising its head to look at her, then lying down again. Its eyes reflected a faint light in the darkness, like two tiny stars.

Zhang Yuhang drove, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror without saying a word. The car was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the soft screech of the tires on the pavement. The silence was oppressive, almost suffocating.

As darkness fell, the car entered Jiangcheng.

The city lights shimmered in the night, neon lights, streetlights, and car headlights converging into a flowing river of light. Those lights fell on Xiuying's face, flickering and revealing the wrinkles on her face and the tear tracks at the corners of her eyes.

Jiang Bo first took Xiuying back to her residence. When Xiuying got out of the car, her legs were a little weak, and Jiang Bo helped her upstairs. She walked very slowly, one step at a time, each step difficult. Her hands were very cold, he could feel it even through her sleeve, but she held his hand tightly.

After entering the room, Xiuying sat down on the sofa. She looked at Jiang Bo, her eyes holding an indescribable expression—a mixture of weariness, sadness, and comfort.

"Go ahead and do your work," she said. "I'm fine."

Jiang Bo sat down next to her.

"Mom, I'll stay with you for a while."

Xiuying shook her head. The movement was light, but firm.

"No need. Go investigate the case. Yizhou's case can't be delayed."

Jiang Bo looked at her. Her eyes were resolute, just like the woman who jumped into the river twenty-two years ago. That kind of resoluteness is something only someone who has experienced life and death can possess.

"Okay. I'll come see you tomorrow."

Xiuying nodded.

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the door, and looked back one last time.

Xiuying sat on the sofa, head down, staring at the letter in her hand. The light shone on her graying hair, casting a silvery glow. Her shoulders trembled slightly, but silently. She was crying, but without a sound.

That kind of silent weeping is more heartbreaking than loud wailing.

Jiang Bo closed the door, stood in the hallway, and lit a cigarette.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company.

The smoke drifted in the darkness, like some unseen sorrow.

Inside the municipal bureau, Liu Tong was still waiting. He sat in front of his computer, the screen light illuminating his face and making the dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night even more pronounced. His eyes were bloodshot, and his lips were chapped; it was clear he hadn't slept all night. On the table were several empty coffee cups and a half-eaten instant noodle.

Upon seeing Jiang Bo enter, he stood up, his expression grave.

"Officer Bo, we found it. A list of all the lame police officers in Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau from December 1992."

Jiang Bo walked over and looked at the computer screen.

There are only three people on the list.

The first one is named Wang Zhiqiang. Born in 1950, he was injured in the line of duty in 1988, leaving him with a disability in his right foot. He retired early in 1990. Note: Deceased, passed away in 1995. A black and white photo is attached, showing a thin, middle-aged man in a police uniform with a serious expression.

The second one is named Li Jianguo. Born in 1955, he was disabled in a car accident in 1989, losing his right leg. He was transferred out of the public security system in 1991. Note: Currently residing elsewhere, no abnormalities reported. The photo shows a man wearing sunglasses, using crutches, standing in front of a building.

The third one is named Tung Chee-hwa. Born in 1956, there is no record of him being lame in his file. However, Liu Tong added a sentence in the remarks: According to Tung Chien-ping's confession, Tung Chee-hwa suffered a minor injury in 1992, spraining his right ankle and recuperating for a month.

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Tung Chee-hwa. It's Tung Chee-hwa again.

He sprained his right ankle in 1992 and rested for a month.

That month happened to be the time when Jiang Yizhou was being followed.

Where was Tung Chee-hwa in December 1992?

Liu Tong checked. The clattering of the keyboard was particularly clear in the quiet office.

"In December 1992, Tung Chee-hwa took a month's leave. The reason given was sick leave. The sick leave certificate stated: right ankle sprain, requires rest. Attached was a hospital diagnosis, confirming it was indeed a sprain, and the doctor recommended four weeks of rest."

Jiang Bo's heart started racing.

The timing is right.

江一舟12月10日写信说被人跟蹤。12月15日写信说看见那个跛脚的人。12月20日失蹤。

Tung Chee-hwa took a month's leave in December.

Is that lame man Tung Chee-hwa?

He remembered Tung Chee-hwa's photo. The man standing by the river, his back to him forlorn. The man who left evidence and wrote a letter of repentance. His eyes held guilt, self-reproach, and fear.

If it was him, why did he follow Jiang Yizhou? Why did he kill his own comrade?

They joined the police force at the same time; they were comrades-in-arms and friends. Why did he do that?

Jiang Bo couldn't understand it.

"There's one more thing." Liu Tong pulled up another file. "There's a record of Tung Chee-hwa's whereabouts on the evening of December 20, 1992."

Jiang Bo stared at the screen.

The record states: On December 20, 1992, from 7 PM to 10 PM, Tung Chee-hwa was resting at home. His wife and son testified to this.

Jiang Bo loosened his grip.

Alibi.

He was at home that night.

Is his wife still alive?

Liu Tong checked it out.

"Alive. I'm seventy-eight this year and live in a nursing home in Jiangcheng. My son lives in another city and rarely comes back."

Jiang Bo stood up.

"I'll go see her tomorrow."

The next morning, Jiang Bo went to the nursing home.

The nursing home was in the suburbs, a white five-story building. Several ginkgo trees stood in the courtyard, their leaves all fallen, leaving only bare branches. Several elderly people sat in wheelchairs, basking in the sun in the courtyard. When they saw Jiang Bo enter, they all looked up at him, then looked down again.

Tung Chee-hwa's wife, surnamed Chan, named Chan So-fan, was seventy-eight years old, with completely white hair, and sat in a wheelchair. Her eyes were somewhat cloudy, but she was in good spirits. When she saw Jiang Bo enter, she looked up.

"Who are you?"

Jiang Bo presented his identification.

Chen Sufen glanced at it and nodded.

"Please sit down."

Jiang Bo sat down opposite her. Next to her wheelchair was a thermos with a faded peony printed on it.

"Aunt Chen, I'd like to ask you something. It's about your husband, Tung Chee-hwa."

Chen Sufeng remained silent for a while. Her gaze drifted into the distance, as if recalling something from a long time ago.

He's been dead for over twenty years.

"I know. What I want to ask about is what happened in December 1992."

Chen Sufen's eyes changed. A glimmer of light suddenly flashed in her cloudy eyes.

"1992?"

"Yes. Was he home on the night of December 20th?"

Chen Sufeng thought for a moment. Her brows furrowed slightly, and her lips were pursed.

"Yes. He twisted his ankle around that time and was resting at home. He stayed home every day."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

Are you sure?

Chen Su-fen nodded. The nod was slow, but very firm.

"I'm sure. That night, our family ate dinner, then watched TV until around 10 p.m., and then went to bed. My son remembers it too. He was only ten years old then, and he still remembers what TV we watched that night."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

"Has he gone out?"

Chen Sufen shook her head.

"No. His feet hurt, and he had difficulty walking. How could he possibly go out? During that period, he even had to hold onto the wall to go to the toilet, and he would grimace as he took one step."

Jiang Bo's heart sank.

Tung Chee-hwa has an alibi. And it's irrefutable evidence—proof from his wife, proof from his son, and proof from his foot injury.

That lame man is not him.

Who is that?

He recalled the description in the letter: "When walking, his right leg is slightly lame."

Tung Chee-hwa sprained his right ankle and does walk with a limp. However, he is recuperating at home and has not gone out.

Who was that person who went out?

A person who is also lame.

A person with a problem in his right foot, just like Tung Chee-hwa.

Jiang Yizhou thought it was Tung Chee-hwa.

He recalled what Dong Jianping had said: "That man doesn't walk with a limp; he's faking it."

Installed.

That person deliberately pretended to be lame, so that people would think he was Tung Chee-hwa.

Why did he do that?

Was it to frame Tung Chee-hwa? Or to divert suspicion towards Tung Chee-hwa?

"Aunt Chen, during that period, did Tung Chee-hwa mention any particular person? Or did anything unusual happen?"

Chen Sufeng thought for a moment. Her gaze drifted into the distance again.

"He mentioned someone. He said it was an old friend who came to see him. They talked behind closed doors for a long time. I asked him who it was, but he wouldn't tell me."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

"What does that person look like?"

Chen Sufen shook her head.

"I didn't see him. I was in the kitchen when he left, and I only saw his back. He was thin, wearing dark clothes, and walking with a slight limp."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

He walks with a slight limp.

He's limping again.

"That person came to ask for his help?"

Chen Sufen nodded.

"It seems so. That night, Old Dong didn't sleep a wink, pacing back and forth in the room. I asked him what was wrong, and he said nothing. But I knew something was wrong."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while.

"And then?"

Chen Sufen sighed.

"Then he had an accident. In 1998, he fell into the river and died."

Her eyes reddened.

"He said he wanted to atone for his sins. I asked him what sins he wanted to atone for, but he wouldn't say. He said that some things are better left unknown."

Jiang Bo stood up.

"Thank you, Aunt Chen."

Chen Sufen looked at him.

"Are you investigating that case?"

Jiang Bo nodded.

I guess so.

Chen Sufen remained silent for a while.

"Old Dong wasn't a bad person. He did something wrong, but he regretted it. Before he died, he kept saying sorry. I don't know who he was sorry to, but I know he had a guilty conscience."

Jiang Bo looked at her, unsure of what to say.

As Jiang Bo left the nursing home, he stood at the entrance and lit a cigarette.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company.

The sky was overcast, threatening rain. The leaden clouds hung low, making it hard to breathe.

The fragments in his mind began to piece themselves back together.

In December 1992, someone was following Jiang Yizhou. The person walked with a limp, deliberately trying to be seen. Jiang Yizhou thought it was Tung Chee-hwa and wrote to He Wu'an to inform him.

Then Jiang Yizhou disappeared.

Tung Chee-hwa has an alibi. That person was not him.

Who is that person?

Why did he pretend to be lame?

Was it to commit murder and then frame Tung Chee-hwa?

Why did Tung Chee-hwa die later? Why did he say he wanted to atone for his sins?

Who did he help?

Was the person he helped the one who was faking his lameness?

Jiang Bo stubbed out his cigarette and threw it into the trash can.

"Let's go see Dong Jianping."

Inside the detention center, Dong Jianping sat in the interrogation room, looking even more haggard than before. He wore an orange detention center vest, his hair was even whiter and disheveled, his face was stubble-covered, his eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones were prominent. When he saw Jiang Bo enter, he looked up, a hint of fear in his eyes.

Jiang Bo had seen that kind of fear before. He had seen it in Ding Laosan's eyes, in Chen Zhiming's eyes, and in the eyes of everyone who knew they couldn't escape.

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him.

"Dong Jianping, I have a question for you."

Dong Jianping nodded. The nod was very light, as if a thousand-pound weight was hanging around his neck.

"In December 1992, was there anything unusual about your brother, Tung Chee-hwa?"

Dong Jianping was taken aback. He frowned and thought for a long time.

"1992? That was so long ago, I can't remember."

"Think about it carefully. Did he mention anyone or anything?"

Dong Jianping remained silent for a while. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were half-closed, as if he was trying to recall those distant scenes.

Then he looked up.

He mentioned someone.

"Who?"

"A man surnamed Dong. He said that person asked him for help, asking him to do something. He didn't say what it was, but he said he had no choice but to help."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist.

"Your surname is Dong? What's your name?"

Dong Jianping shook his head.

"He didn't say. But he did mention one detail. That person walked with a slight limp."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat.

"Is he limping? Is he really limping or is he faking it?"

Dong Jianping thought for a moment. His brows furrowed even more.

"He said it was an act. That person deliberately pretended to be lame so that people wouldn't recognize him. He said that person could walk perfectly fine normally, but as soon as he was in front of people, he would pretend to be lame, and he did it for a long time, and it looked just like the real thing."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling.

The man who was faking a limp found Tung Chee-hwa and asked him for help.

What kind of help do you need?

Did he say anything else?

Dong Jianping shook his head.

"No. That's all. He said that person came to him, and he didn't want to help, but he couldn't. I asked him why he couldn't, but he wouldn't say. He just sighed."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window.

Outside the window, the sky was overcast, and it looked like it was going to rain. The leaden-gray clouds hung low, blurring the distant buildings.

The man who pretended to be lame found Tung Chee-hwa. Tung Chee-hwa did something for him. Then Tung Chee-hwa died.

Was it suicide out of guilt? Or was he silenced?

He recalled Tung Chee-hwa's words in his letter: "I know I was wrong, but it's too late."

That's too late.

What does that mean?

He turned around.

"Dong Jianping, when was the last time you saw your brother?"

Dong Jianping thought for a moment. His gaze became unfocused, as if he were looking into the distance.

"In May 1998, a few days before Zheng Jianguo died, he came to see me."

"What did you say?"

Dong Jianping's gaze became even more unfocused. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Then he closed his eyes, as if recalling something, or perhaps struggling with something.

"He said he was going to do something. Something he should have done a long time ago. He said if he succeeded, he could atone for his sins. If he failed, he could pay off his debts."

Jiang Bo's heart sank.

In May 1998, Tung Chee-hwa went to see Tung Chun-hua. Then he wrote that letter. Then he died.

What was he doing?

What sin did he atone for?

What kind of debt does he owe?

Did he say anything else?

Dong Jianping opened his eyes and looked at him. There was a strange light in those cloudy eyes.

"He said that person had been watching all along. Watching for many years. He said that person was the real ghost."

Jiang Bo was stunned.

That person, is he the real ghost?

Who?

He recalled He Wu'an's words in his letter: "All the answers lie in Jiujiang."

The answer is in Jiujiang.

But did that person who pretended to be lame also appear in Jiujiang?

He remembered that photograph. In 1995, He Wu'an had seen Xiuying in Jiujiang. Was the man who had pretended to be lame also in Jiujiang that same year?

he does not know.

But he knew he had to find that person.

No matter who he is.

He walked out of the interrogation room and stood in the corridor.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, gleaming gently in the dim light of the corridor.

"Tangyuan, who is that person pretending to be lame?"

Tangyuan, of course, wouldn't answer.

But it cried out.

That shout echoed through the empty corridor.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked out.

Outside, the rain finally started. Large raindrops pounded on the ground, splashing up in tiny sprays. Rainwater streamed down the eaves, forming curtains of water.

He stood at the doorway, looking at the curtain of rain.

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

Now, the evidence of his sins is in his hands.

The man who was pretending to be lame was also somewhere, watching him.

He needs to find him.