Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo sat in his office all night.

The box of files weighed on him like a mountain. Three hundred and forty-seven cases, eighteen years of time, one person's entire life. He flipped through them one by one, page by page, like an archaeologist excavating a buried city. Each file he opened was like opening a door, behind which lay another person's fate, another family's story, another life swallowed by the river.

Tangyuan lay asleep at his feet. Its breathing was even, occasionally twitching its legs as if chasing something in a dream. Its ears twitched from time to time, and its nose twitched slightly, inhaling the musty smell and the scent of time emanating from the old papers. Outside the window, it was already dark, the streetlights were on, and the dim yellow light shone through the gaps in the curtains, casting faint streaks of light on the wall, like fingerprints or tear stains. In the distance came the whistle of a night-ship, low and long, like a sigh, drifting from the river, passing through the tall buildings and streets, and landing in this office piled with old papers.

Liu Tong sat opposite him, also flipping through the files. He flipped through them quickly but carefully, setting each one aside after finishing it and jotting down notes in his notebook. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, his eyes were squinting, and his lips moved silently, as if he were reciting the yellowed words. Dozens of completed files were piled on the table, like a small mountain, their edges curled and pages brittle; each one held a person's secret.

At two o'clock in the morning, Liu Tong looked up.

"Polish Sir, I've found something."

Jiang Bo put down the file in his hand. His eyes were blurry, his neck was stiff, and his shoulders ached, but he didn't care about any of that. He flipped through dozens of files, the dense handwriting dancing before his eyes like a group of tadpoles.

Liu Tong pushed a case file over. The cover was yellowed and the corners were badly worn. It was written in pen: 1993, Missing Person Case, No. 93017. The words were written with great force, the strokes deeply embedded in the paper, as if trying to carve something into it.

"Take a look at this case."

Jiang Bo opened the book. The first page was a police report, written in neat handwriting, each stroke precise. The reporter was He Jianguo. The date was March 15, 1993. The report stated: "My colleague He Wu'an has been missing for several days. Please help me find him."

Jiang Bo paused for a moment. It was Lao He who reported the case. Lao He reported He Wu'an's disappearance. He was his younger brother, his own brother. He didn't know He Wu'an was still alive; he thought he was dead. He had waited thirty-one years for someone who would never return.

He continued flipping through the pages. The second page contained the interrogation record; the person being interrogated was Lao He. Dong Jianhua's handwriting was meticulous, each stroke carefully written.

Q: What is your relationship with He Wu'an?

A: Colleague. Also a friend. He's my brother, my biological brother.

Q: When was the last time you saw him?

A: December 18, 1992. At the bureau. He seemed to be in a hurry that day, and left in a rush. I chased after him to ask what was wrong, but he had already gotten into his car. He rolled down the window, glanced at me, and said, "Brother, don't look for me." That was the last time he spoke to me.

Q: Did he say where he was going?

A: No. He didn't say anything. After he left, I searched for him for months. I went to his home, to places he frequented, and to places he had been on investigations before. I asked everyone, and everyone said they hadn't seen him. Later I heard that something might have happened to him.

Jiang Bo looked at the words, a strange feeling welling up inside him. Old He was looking for his younger brother. He didn't know He Wu'an was still alive; he thought he was dead. He had searched for so many years, waited for so many years, burning paper money at his grave every year and speaking to the tombstone. He didn't know that the grave was empty.

Page three is the on-site investigation record. Location: Old pontoon bridge. He Wu'an's clothing and bloodstains were found. The clothing was civilian clothes, a dark blue jacket, with bloodstains. The bloodstains were on the stones by the river, already dried and dark brown. There were signs of struggle nearby, the soil had been turned upside down, and the grass had been trampled.

Page four is the case closing report. Conclusion: He Wu'an may have fallen into the water while on duty. After a search yielded no results, he was determined to have died in the line of duty.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 2, 1993.

Jiang Bo put down the file and looked out the window. The night was deep; no stars could be seen, only the streetlights on the distant Yangtze River Bridge, strings of them like luminous beads suspended in the darkness. He Wu'an's "death" was arranged by Dong Jianhua. A file, a few pages, a signature—and he vanished from the world. From that day on, he became Jiang Wu'an, a non-existent person. No ID card, no household registration, no home, no name. He lived like a shadow for thirty-one years.

"And this too." Liu Tong pushed another file over.

The cover reads: 1993, Missing Person Case, Case No. 93019. Reporter: Ma Xiuying. Date: April 10, 1993. Report Content: My niece, Azhen, has been missing for several days; please help me find her.

Jiang Bo opened the book. The first page was the police report. Ma Xiuying, thirty-six years old, a housewife. When she came to report the case, she was wearing a floral blouse and had her hair in a braid. She stood in front of the counter, her hands pressed against the surface, her knuckles white. She said her niece was missing and begged them to help her find her.

"Ma Xiuying, female, 36 years old, reported to the police that her niece, Azhen, went out on the evening of March 9, 1993, and has not returned home. Azhen, female, 21 years old, is a waitress at a riverside restaurant."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched. Ma Xiuying had reported the case. She had gone to see A-Zhen, she had reported it to the police. But the case was never resolved. Later, she protected Ding Laosan for over twenty years, sending him money and covering for him. It wasn't because she wasn't afraid, it was because she was terrified. She was afraid of that man.

The second page is the interrogation record.

Q: When was the last time you saw Ah Zhen?

A: March 9th, afternoon. She said she was going out for a walk and would be back in the evening. She didn't come back. I waited until midnight, until dawn, and until the next evening. She still didn't come back.

Q: Did she say where she was going?

A: She didn't say. But she often goes to the riverbank. She likes the riverbank and watching the river. She says that looking at the river calms her down. She also says that the river can wash away all her troubles.

Q: Has she been acting strangely lately?

A: No. But she's pregnant and about to give birth. Her husband ran away, and she's all alone. I told her not to go out, but she wouldn't listen. She said she was going to the riverbank to wait for him to come back.

Page three is the case closure report. Conclusion: Ah Zhen may have fallen into the water accidentally. The search was unsuccessful; continued monitoring is recommended.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 15, 1993.

Jiang Bo put down the case file and closed his eyes. Ah Zhen's case was closed. She died, in that room by the old pontoon bridge, at the hands of Ding Laosan. As she died, that man stood at the door watching, watching a twenty-one-year-old pregnant woman be strangled, watching her child be born in a pool of blood, watching her be tied to stones and thrown into the river. Then he turned and left.

He opened his eyes and continued flipping through the pages. He found another book. The cover read: 1993, Missing Person Case, No. 93021. Reporter: Ding Laosan. Date: May 2, 1993. Report: My neighbor, Xiaomei, has been missing for several days; please help me find her.

Jiang Bo opened the book. The first page was the police report. Ding Laosan had come to report another crime. Last time he reported finding bloodstains; this time he reported his neighbor was missing. What was he doing? He was acting. He was playing the role of a good person who knew nothing.

The second page is the interrogation record.

Q: What is your relationship with Xiaomei?

A: Neighbor. We live not far apart and know each other. She sometimes comes to my boat to buy fish, and we chat for a bit.

Q: When was the last time you saw her?

A: It happened several months ago. She suddenly disappeared. I thought she had gone out to work, so I didn't pay much attention. Later, I heard that she hadn't gone, so I came to report it.

Q: Has she offended anyone?

A: No. She's a good girl and won't offend anyone.

Q: Do you have any people you suspect?

A: No. I don't know.

Page three is the case closure report. Conclusion: Xiaomei may have gone out to work; continued monitoring is recommended.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 10, 1993.

Jiang Bo looked at the case file, and the outline in his mind became clearer and clearer. Ding Laosan was acting. He killed Xiaomei, then came to report it. He killed Azhen, then came to report it. What was he trying to do? Clear himself of suspicion? Or did he want people to discover the bodies? He killed people, then pretended to know nothing and even came to report it. He was playing with fire. Someone was teaching him. That person stood at the door watching, telling him what to say and what to do.

He remembered what Ding Laosan had said in the interrogation room: "I didn't do it on purpose. She forced me to." He was lying. He did it on purpose. He killed someone and then pretended he knew nothing. The person stood at the door watching, saying nothing, doing nothing. Why didn't he stop it? What was his relationship with Ding Laosan? Were they accomplices? Or was that person just using him?

Jiang Bo put down the case file and continued flipping through it. He found another one. The cover read: 1993, Missing Person Case, No. 93025. The complainant was Gao Deming's neighbor. The date was May 20, 1993. The report stated: Gao Deming has been missing for several days; please help find him.

Jiang Bo opened the book. Gao Deming, that hoodlum, the one who claimed to know a secret that would make him rich. His neighbor had reported him missing. Gao Deming lived in a rented room, several months behind on rent. After he disappeared, the landlord went to collect the rent and found unwashed dishes and half-smoked cigarettes. He seemed to have vanished suddenly, taking nothing with him.

The second page is the interrogation record.

Q: When was the last time you saw Gao Deming?

A: Early March. I don't remember the exact date. He was very happy that day, saying he was going to make a fortune.

Q: Did he say where he was going?

A: No. He said he knew a big secret and was going to get rich. I asked him what the secret was, but he wouldn't tell me, saying he couldn't tell anyone or he'd be killed. I thought he was joking and didn't take it seriously.

Q: Did he say who he was meeting?

A: No. He only said he was going to see someone, a very important person. He said that once he saw that person, he would have money.

Jiang Bo's hand paused. He couldn't tell anyone, or he'd be dead. What did he know? What did he see? The lame man? The man standing at the door? Or something else entirely? Then he vanished. He disappeared into the ruins, like a drop of water falling into the Yangtze River.

Page three is the case closure report. Conclusion: Gao Deming may be out of town; continued monitoring is recommended.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 1, 1993.

Jiang Bo put down the case files and looked at the row of them. Eight people, eight case files, eight unsolved disappearances. Dong Jianhua handled them all by himself. He alone suppressed all these cases. Was he doing it on purpose, or was he incompetent? He remembered Dong Jianhua's words in his letter: "I know I was wrong, but it's too late." He knew he was wrong. He knew what he had done. He helped that man, helped that lame man. He suppressed those cases, letting those dead sink to the bottom of the river forever.

"Liu Tong, is there anything else?" Jiang Bo asked.

Liu Tong rummaged through the box and took out a case file. This file was thinner than the others, with only two pages. The cover read: 1993, Arson Case, Case No. 93031. Reporter: Guo Jianshe. Date: June 15, 1993. Report Content: A fire broke out at a riverside restaurant; request for investigation.

Jiang Bo opened the book. The first page was the police report. It was filed by Guo Jianshe. He owned his own restaurant, and he filed the report himself. He was the restaurant owner, Ah Zhen's man, Guo Jianjun's father, and Ma Xiulan's husband. He had run off with many women, accumulated a lot of debt, and whether he had killed anyone was unknown.

The second page is the on-site investigation record. The restaurant was completely burned down; nothing was left. The ruins were later leveled, new houses were built on top, and then demolished again; now it's just ruins. The fire started in the kitchen, likely due to a gas leak. There were no casualties.

Page three is the case closure report. Conclusion: Accidental fire; case closed.

Signature of the person in charge: Tung Chee-hwa. Date: June 20, 1993.

Jiang Bo looked at the case file, and the image in his mind became clearer and clearer. Guo Jianshe burned down his own restaurant and ran away. He ran away, went to another city, committed fraud, went to jail, and then died. He left behind a son, Guo Jianjun. He left a letter saying that he didn't kill A-Zhen. In the letter, he said that Ding Laosan killed her. He knew everything, but he said nothing. He ran away, like those who disappear, vanished. But he didn't die; he escaped.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Dawn was approaching. Grayish-white light pierced through the clouds, illuminating the distant river. Fog rose over the river, a vast expanse of white, obscuring everything. Those who had gone missing, those who had died, those names in the case files—all were within this fog. They stood in the fog, watching him.

Tangyuan woke up, came over, and rubbed against his leg.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, shimmering gently in the morning light. Its eyes sparkled as it looked at him, as if asking: "Did you find it?"

"Tangyuan, that person, he's always been in these files. He's hidden behind every page, behind every signature, in every corner of this city. He killed someone, then had someone else report it. He committed a crime, then had someone else take the blame. He stood at the door watching, then turned and left. He never did it himself, never left his name, never appeared in any file. But he's always been there. In the blank spaces of every page, in the shadow of every signature."

Tangyuan called out.

That shout echoed in the empty office.

Jiang Bo stood up, turned, and walked back to the table. He picked up the arson case file and turned to the last page. Tung Chee-hwa's signature, dated June 20, 1993. That was the last time he appeared in that room. After that, he disappeared. That person disappeared too. Perhaps they disappeared together. Perhaps one disappeared, and the other continued to live.

Liu Tong looked at him and asked softly, "Officer Bo, do you think that person is Tung Chee-hwa?"

Jiang Bo shook his head.

"No. Tung Chee-hwa isn't that person. He's just someone who works for that person. That person is the person behind Tung Chee-hwa. The person who made Tung Chee-hwa suppress the case. The person who made Ding Laosan kill someone. The person who made Zheng Jianguo follow my father. The person who made those people disappear."

"Then who is he?"

Jiang Bo looked out the window. The fog had dissipated, and boats were sailing on the river, leaving long trails in their wake. Sunlight shone on the water, shattering into pieces of gold. A new day had begun—another day for those who had died, and another day for those who were alive.

"He's in these files. He's always been there. We just haven't found his name yet."