Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo returned from the detention center and went straight to Xiuying's place. It was already dark; two of the hallway lights were broken, casting a dim, yellowish glow that shone from afar, illuminating the staircase in a 50/50 split, like a river divided by light and shadow. He groped his way up to the fifth floor, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway, each beat like a heartbeat. He stood at the door and heard the faint sound of a television playing inside, like an old movie, intermittent and the dialogue indistinct. He knocked on the door, his voice unusually loud in the silent hallway.

When Xiuying opened the door and saw him, she paused for a moment. Her eyes shifted from confusion to worry, and from worry to heartache. She was wearing an old cotton-padded jacket, her hair loosely tied back with a rubber band, revealing her graying roots. Her hand rested on the doorframe, her fingers slightly curled.

"What's wrong? You look terrible."

Jiang Bo shook his head and went inside. The room was warm; soup was simmering on the stove, bubbling and steaming, white vapor rising from the lid and drifting in the lamplight. The air was filled with the aroma of pork ribs and lotus root, mingled with the scent of scallions and ginger. This was Xiuying's rule; no matter how hard life was, soup had to be made. She said, "As long as there's soup, life can go on."

Xiuying turned off the TV and sat down opposite him. The moment the TV screen went black, the room fell silent, save for the sound of soup bubbling on the stove. She looked at him, waiting for him to speak. Her hands rested on her knees, her fingers slightly curled, as if bracing herself for bad news. Her eyes appeared particularly cloudy in the lamplight, but her gaze was still bright—a brightness that only someone who had waited thirty-three years would possess.

"Mom, there's a result in Dad's case." Jiang Bo's voice was very soft, as if he was afraid of disturbing something. He looked down at his hands. There was still mud on his hands from the old pontoon bridge, embedded in his fingernails, which he couldn't wash off no matter how hard he tried.

Xiuying clenched her fists. Her lips moved, but she didn't speak; she just looked at him. Her eyes didn't blink; she just stared at him, as if trying to etch every word he said into her mind.

"The person who followed him was Zheng Jianguo. He's dead. The one who killed him was Ding Laosan. He's already been sentenced." Jiang Bo paused, his Adam's apple bobbing. "But there's another person, someone who's always been behind the scenes, someone who's standing at the door watching. That person is the real ghost. He's dead too."

Xiuying's tears flowed down her cheeks. The tears welled up from her deep-set eyes, trickling down the dry, riverbed-like wrinkles, drop by drop, like rainwater dripping from the eaves. She didn't wipe them away, just letting the tears flow, dripping onto her knees, onto the back of her hands, and leaving a small, dark stain on her cotton trousers.

"Yizhou, Yizhou, he..." She couldn't continue. Her voice seemed to be stuck in her throat, swirling around, unable to come out.

Jiang Bo took her hand. Her hand was cold, thin, skin and bones, with bulging veins, but she held his hand tightly, like a drowning person grabbing the last piece of driftwood.

"Mom, he didn't have time to say anything when he left. But he left clues. He found that person, he learned the truth. He didn't die in vain."

Xiuying cried for a long time. She cried silently, tears streaming down her face, her shoulders trembling, her whole being like a leaf in the wind. Jiang Bo sat beside her, holding her hand, saying nothing. Tangyuan lay beside them, watching quietly, occasionally twitching its ears and resting its head on its front paws.

After crying her fill, Xiuying raised her head and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Her eyes were red and swollen, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were deeper, but her gaze was brighter than before, as if something that had been suppressed for thirty-three years had finally been cleared out.

"Who is that person?"

Jiang Bo shook his head. "I don't know. I only know that his surname is Dong, and he looks exactly like Dong Jianhua. When he was seven years old, he fell into the river and drowned. The one who survived was not him. It was someone else who took his place."

Sooyoung froze for a moment. Her hand hovered in mid-air, forgetting to lower it. "A replacement?"

"That person might be the real ghost. He lived for many years and did many things. He stood at the door watching Ah Zhen get killed, stood by the river watching my dad's clothes being pulled out of the water, and stood outside Lao Guan's clinic listening to those secrets. He saw everything, but said nothing."

Xiuying remained silent for a long time. Her gaze turned to the window, to the dark night sky. There were no stars outside, only a few streetlights in the distance, their dim yellow light resembling a few eyes about to go out.

"Yizhou, is this what Yizhou found out?"

Jiang Bo nodded. "He found out. So he died. That person didn't want anyone to know the truth."

Xiuying lowered her head. Her shoulders began to tremble again, but this time she didn't cry. She just looked down at her hands. Her hands were rough, covered in calluses and cracks, her nails were cut short, and her knuckles were thick. They were the marks left by twenty-two years of wandering.

Where is that person now?

Jiang Bo remained silent for a while. He recalled the sentence in Tung Chee-hwa's letter, Tung Chee-ping's words, "He jumped down himself," and what Lao Guan had written in his notebook, "He came, and he silenced everyone." Those fragments swirled in his mind, unable to piece together a complete picture.

"He died. He jumped into the river in 1998. He did it himself."

Xiuying froze. Her eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape, as if she couldn't believe it. "You jumped by yourself?"

"He left a letter. He apologized to many people. He said he had done wrong. He said he should repay his debt."

Xiuying's tears flowed again. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out. She just held Jiang Bo's hand tightly, very tightly. Her lips moved, as if she were saying something, but no sound came out. Jiang Bo leaned closer to hear her clearly say, "It's back, it's good that it's back."

Jiang Bo stayed with her until she fell asleep. Xiuying slept peacefully, her brows relaxed, and the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, as if she were having a sweet dream. Her hand was still holding Jiang Bo's hand, not letting go. He covered her with the blanket, gently placed her hand under the covers, turned off the light, and stood in the doorway watching her for a long time. Moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating her gray hair, making it look like it was plated with silver.

Tangyuan lay at his feet, watching for a long time. Its eyes reflected the light in the darkness, like two tiny stars.

Back at the municipal bureau, Liu Tong was still there. He sat in front of his computer, the screen light illuminating his face and making his weariness even more pronounced. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, his eyes were squinting, and his lips were chapped. On the table were three empty coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich; the bread was dry, and the edges were curled up. Seeing Jiang Bo enter, he looked up, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

"Officer Bo, we've found Guan Dahai's whereabouts."

Jiang Bo walked over. His legs were a little weak. He had been running around all day, from the detention center to Xiuying's house, and from Xiuying's house to the municipal bureau, without eating anything. But he couldn't care less about that.

"Where?"

Liu Tong pulled up a map. On the screen was a small county town in northern Hunan, near Dongting Lake.

"In 2010, after leaving Huanggang, he went to Yueyang, Hunan. He lived there for a few years, renting a small house on Junshan Island. Then he left again."

"Where did you go?"

Liu Tong shook his head. He tapped a few times on the keyboard, and a few lines of text appeared on the screen. "Unable to find anything. There are no records after 2015. No death records, no relocation records, no bank statements, no phone numbers, nothing. Just like before, vanished."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a moment. Yueyang. Old Guan went to Yueyang. That was a place Xiuying had been, and also a place that person had been. Was he hiding, or searching? Was he hiding from that person, or searching for that person? He had been hiding for over twenty years, from Jiangcheng to Huanggang, from Huanggang to Yueyang, from one riverbank to another. He couldn't leave the river. He couldn't leave the water, the boats, and the secrets sunk to the bottom of the river.

"There's one more thing." Liu Tong's voice was hesitant, as if he wasn't sure whether he should say it. "Someone has come to inquire about Tung Chee-hwa's case."

Jiang Bo's heart skipped a beat. He turned around and looked at Liu Tong. "Who?"

"It's someone from the provincial department. They said the leadership is inquiring and wants to access Tung Chee-hwa's case file. The call was made by Xiao Wang from the office, who said it was an order from above to send the file up as soon as possible."

Jiang Bo clenched his fists. A leader? Which leader? Why are they inquiring now? That person has been dead for over twenty years; his case was closed long ago, his file should have been sealed long ago. Why is someone wanting to transfer him now? Is it someone from Organization J? Or that person's accomplice? Or someone else entirely?

"Has the file been transferred?"

Liu Tong shook his head. "No. I said we're still investigating, and it's not ready yet. Xiao Wang said you guys hurry up, the boss is waiting for it."

Jiang Bo looked at him. "You did the right thing. Don't let anyone touch those files."

Liu Tong nodded. A hint of determination appeared in his eyes. "I know. I've locked up those files. Only I have the key."

Jiang Bo walked to the window and looked at the night view outside. The Yangtze River Bridge was brightly lit, with cars flowing like a river. The headlights formed a flowing ribbon of light, like a luminous river flowing from one side of the river to the other. Several boats sailed on the river at night, their lights on, moving slowly, their lights casting long shadows on the water like wandering souls.

Although that person is dead, there are still people who don't want the truth to surface. Who are those people? Are they from the J organization? Or were they that person's accomplices? Or someone else entirely? They lurk in the shadows, just like that person, watching, waiting, preventing anyone from finding the answer.

He turned around. "Liu Tong, find out who wanted to access Tung Chee-hwa's case file. Which leader in the provincial department, which department, and who made the call? Find out."

Liu Tong nodded and started making a phone call. His voice was very low, and it was difficult to hear what he was saying in the quiet office.

Jiang Bo walked to the table and picked up the group photo. Dong Jianhua was smiling, but the other person wasn't. One was radiant, the other gloomy. One bright, one dark. One alive, one dead. The one who was alive jumped into the river. The one who died became a ghost. They were both paying their debts. Paying their debts to the world, their debts to the dead, and their debts to the city.

But who will repay the debts of those who died, those who disappeared, those who will never return? His father, A-Zhen, Xiao-Mei, Zhang Jianguo, Li-Mei, Chen-Fang, Wang-Li, Zhao-Xiu-Ying, Liu-Xiao-Qin, Gao-De-Ming. Their names are written on the whiteboard, in the case files, on yellowed pages. No one remembers them, no one mentions them, no one seeks justice for them. Only Lao Guan wrote a few pages, only Dong Jianhua left a letter, only Zheng Jianguo wrote a few lines. Then they died too.

Tangyuan came over and rubbed against his leg. Its eyes were bright as it looked at him, as if asking: Should we still look?

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm, gleaming gently under the lamplight.

"Tangyuan, we still haven't found him."

Tangyuan called out. That call echoed in the empty office.

Jiang Bo stood up, pasted the group photo on the whiteboard, and drew two circles around the faces of the two people. He wrote "Dong Jianhua" on one and a question mark on the other. He picked up a red pen and drew a line between them, writing the words "Twins" on it. Then, next to the question mark, he wrote a few more words: "The Real Ghost." He put down the pen and looked at the whiteboard. The names, the photos, the clues—like a net, they grew larger and larger. But he knew he was getting closer and closer to the truth. That person was dead, but his shadow lived on. Hidden in the files, in the photos, in the memories of those people, in every corner of this city.

He must find that shadow.

Liu Tong hung up the phone and walked over. "Officer Bo, I found it. In the provincial department, it's a former subordinate of Dong Zhenhua. His surname is Zhou, and he's currently in the archives."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched. Dong Zhenhua's subordinates. Dong Zhenhua, the one who protected Ding Laosan, the one who suppressed He Wu'an's report, the one who disappeared. His subordinates now wanted to access Dong Jianhua's files. Were they still investigating? Or were they trying to silence him?

"What was that person's name?"

"Zhou Zheng. He's in his fifties and nearing retirement."

Jiang Bo memorized the name. Dawn was approaching. Grayish-white light pierced through the clouds, illuminating the distant river. The river, shimmering silver in the morning light, flowed slowly, just as it had a thousand years ago, just as it had ten thousand years ago. Those secrets, like the river, waited quietly. Waiting to be discovered, waiting to be spoken, waiting to be given justice.