Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo didn't return to the Municipal Public Security Bureau. He sat by the river, gazing at the water for a long time. He clutched the photograph in his hand, its edges soaked with sweat, blurring the two figures in the picture as if through a layer of mist. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the river's surface like shimmering gold, dazzlingly bright. In the photograph, Dong Jianhua smiled, standing at the entrance of the Public Security Bureau, the sunlight on his face bright and warm, like the summer river. The person next to him had his head bowed, his face obscured, his hat pulled low, revealing only half his chin and one ear. But the silver ring on his right ring finger reflected the sunlight, glaringly bright, like an eye.

Tung Chien-min. Tung Chien-hwa's twin brother. He fell into the river at the age of seven and drowned. The one who survived was Tung Chien-hwa. But they switched identities. The one who survived took the place of the one who died. Tung Chien-hwa became Tung Chien-min, and Tung Chien-min became Tung Chien-hwa. Who was who, no one could tell. One became a policeman, the other a ghost. One stood in the sunlight, the other in the shadows. One saved someone, the other watched someone die. One jumped into the river, the other drowned at seven. They were two people, and also one person. One face, two names. One lived, one died. The one who lived lived in place of the one who died. The one who died died in place of the one who lived.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company. The wind subsided, and the river calmed, like a mirror reflecting the hazy sky. The clouds were thick, and the sun hid behind them, only half its face showing. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the clouds, shining on the river like a golden knife. In the distance, a fishing boat slowly approached, an old man casting his net. The net unfurled in the air, resembling a flower or a face. The old man was calling out something, but it was indistinct; his voice was carried away by the wind.

Jiang Bo stood up; his legs were a little numb from squatting for too long. His knee cracked, and he bent over to rub it. He could feel the bone moving as he pressed his palm against his knee.

"Let's go back."

Inside 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, his lips were chapped, and there were red marks from the keyboard on his face. On the table were three empty coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich; the bread was dry, the edges curled up, and the sausage inside was blackened. When he saw Jiang Bo enter, he looked up, his eyes bloodshot like spiderwebs.

"Officer Bo, I've found something. Dong Jianmin's file was in the provincial archives, under the management of Zhou Zheng. But after 1998, that file disappeared."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched tightly. "Gone?"

Liu Tong nodded and turned the screen around. It showed the borrowing records from the provincial archives, from 1990 to 2000. "The records say that in December 1998, Dong Zhenhua took Dong Jianmin's file. It was never returned. Old Sun from the archives said that Dong Zhenhua signed for it, saying it was for work purposes, but later he disappeared, and no one knows where the file went."

Jiang Bo stood there, his mind blank. Dong Zhenhua had reappeared. He had protected Ding Laosan, suppressed He Wu'an's report, and transferred Dong Jianmin's file. He knew everything, he did everything. Then he disappeared. Where did he go? Where did he take those files? Was he dead or alive?

Where is Dong Zhenhua now?

Liu Tong shook his head. His fingers tapped a few times on the keyboard, and several lines of text appeared on the screen, all indicating "no records found." "Can't find anything. There are no records after 1998. No death records, no relocation records, no bank statements, no phone numbers, nothing. Like Guan Hai, vanished."

Jiang Bo walked to the window and looked at the night outside. It was already dark; the streetlights were on, their dim yellow light reflecting a cold glow onto the wet streets. In the distance, the headlights of cars on the Yangtze River Bridge stretched out in a line, like a luminous river flowing from one side of the river to the other. Several boats, their lights on, moved slowly on the river, their long shadows trailing long reflections on the water like wandering souls.

Dong Zhenhua, the man who said "I know I was wrong" in the letter, the man who saved him, arranged for adoptive parents, and protected Xiuying. Who exactly was he? Was he a member of Organization J, or an enemy of Organization J? Was he a ghost, or a human? He did so many things, good and bad. He protected Ding Laosan, and he also saved He Wu'an. He suppressed the report, and he also preserved the evidence. He moved the files, and he also wrote that letter. He lived like he was dead. He died like he was alive.

"Liu Tong, investigate Dong Zhenhua's background. His family, his experiences, the people he knows. The more detailed the better."

Liu Tong nodded.

Jiang Bo walked to the table and picked up the photograph. Dong Jianmin's head was down, so his face wasn't clearly visible. But Jiang Bo knew that the face was exactly the same as Dong Jianhua's, as if they were carved from the same mold, even the arch of their eyebrows were identical. He looked at it for a long time, then flipped it over. The words on the back read: 1992, Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau. That person was the real ghost. The handwriting was faint, as if afraid of being seen, or perhaps afraid of being unseen.

He picked up a pen and wrote Dong Jianmin's name on the whiteboard, then circled it. Next, he wrote Dong Zhenhua's name and circled it as well. Between the two circles, he drew a line with the words: "Know each other?" They knew each other before 1998. Dong Zhenhua transferred Dong Jianmin's file; was he protecting him or destroying him? What was he hiding, or what was he searching for?

The phone rang. It was Lao He calling; his voice was a little hoarse, as if he'd been drinking.

"Xiao Jiang, there's something I've been keeping from you."

Jiang Bo waited.

"Dong Zhenhua was my former boss. He was very good to me, and to everyone. But there's one thing about him that I've never understood."

"What is it?"

Old He was silent for a while. There was the sound of a lighter on the other end of the phone. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and slowly exhaled. "He has a habit: every March, he goes to the old pontoon bridge. He goes alone and stays for a long time. I asked him what he was going to do. He said, 'To pay off debts.'"

Jiang Bo clenched his fist. Every March, he went to the old pontoon bridge to repay his debts. Like that man, like Zhou Zheng. They were all repaying debts—debts they owed to the city, debts they owed to the dead. But what debt did Dong Zhenhua owe? What had he done? Had he killed someone, or simply stood by and watched someone die? Had he helped the bad guys, or failed to help the good guys?

"Did he mention whose debt he was repaying?"

Old He thought for a moment. It was quiet on the other end of the phone, only the sound of him smoking and the distant sound of a television. "He mentioned it once. He said he owed a child."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and stood by the window. He owed a child. Was that child Dong Jianmin? Or Zhou Ping? Or someone else? Or himself? He stood by the window, looking at the night outside, at the lights, at the glow. The light shone on his face, flickering like those secrets, sometimes rising, sometimes sinking.

Tangyuan walked over and rubbed against his leg. Its eyes reflected the light in the darkness, like two tiny stars, looking at him as if asking: What's wrong?

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

"Tangyuan, Dong Zhenhua is also paying off debts. What exactly did he do?"

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

The next morning, Jiang Bo went to the provincial government office. He wanted to see Zhou Zheng and get to the bottom of things in person. He set off before dawn; the sky was overcast and there weren't many cars on the road. He rolled down the car window a crack, and a gust of cold wind blew in, making him a little more awake.

The provincial government building is in a city next to Jiangcheng, a two-hour drive away. Jiang Bo arrived at 10:00 AM. The building was impressive, with a tall, bright glass curtain wall; sunlight reflected off it, creating a blinding glare. The security guard at the entrance stopped him, checked his identification, made a phone call, and then let him through. The elevator was quick; the button for the third floor lit up, the doors opened, and the corridor was quiet, the fluorescent lights humming softly.

Zhou was in the archives department, on the third floor. When Jiang Bo knocked and entered, Zhou was sitting at his desk with a file open in front of him, wearing reading glasses, his hair thinning and gray. Seeing Jiang Bo, he looked up, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

"You've arrived."

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "Zhou Zheng, where is Dong Zhenhua's file?"

Zhou Zheng stared at him for a long time. His eyes were small but bright, like two nails. Then he stood up, walked to the cabinet, opened a drawer, took out a file, and placed it on the table. The file was thin, with only a few pages, the cover yellowed and the edges curled.

"This is Dong Zhenhua's file. Take a look."

Jiang Bo opened the book. The first page contained basic information: Dong Zhenhua, born in 1950, joined the police force in 1970, and went missing in 1998. It matched the information found earlier. He continued flipping through the pages, until he found a handwritten record. The handwriting was very neat, each stroke carefully engraved, as if carved into the paper with great force; in some places, the paper was even torn.

"On December 20, 1998, Dong Zhenhua came to see me and said he was going somewhere. He said he owed someone a debt and was going to repay it. He said that if he didn't come back, he should give this case file to the person investigating the case. When he left, he looked back at me. I still remember that look. He was very calm, like he was going to keep an appointment."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. December 20, 1998. The day his father disappeared. The day Dong Zhenhua disappeared. Who did he go to? What debt did he go to pay off? Where did he go? Did he come back? Was he dead?

Where did he go?

Zhou Zheng shook his head. He placed his reading glasses on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know. He never came back after he left. I've searched for him for many years, but I haven't found him. I've asked many people, and they all say they've never seen him. He just vanished like that."

Jiang Bo closed the file. "Did he leave anything behind?"

Zhou Zheng thought for a moment. His brows furrowed, and his lips pursed, as if recalling something from a long time ago. "There was a letter. It said that if anyone came to inquire, give them the letter."

He took an envelope from the drawer and handed it to Jiang Bo. The envelope was made of kraft paper, yellowed, and blank. Jiang Bo opened it; the letter was neatly folded, the edges worn, and the writing somewhat blurred, but still legible. He read it word by word, as if identifying something very important:

"Xiao Jiang, if you see this letter, it means you've found out a lot. There are some things I must tell you."

I'm a member of Organization J. But I'm not a bad person. I joined Organization J to find out the truth. They've done many bad things and killed many people. I needed evidence, I needed time. I waited many years, and finally, I got it.

Dong Jianmin was a member of the J organization. He was Dong Jianhua's twin brother. When he was seven years old, he fell into the river and was rescued by members of the J organization. They trained him to be an assassin. He killed many people; he killed all the missing women. He stood at the door watching, watching Ding Laosan kill. He knew everything, yet said nothing. He was their tool, and also their ghost.

I found him, and I also found the leader of Organization J. His name is "Sir." He's over seventy, speaks slowly, and has cold eyes. He never shows his face; no one has ever seen his true appearance. He is the god of Organization J, and also their ghost. He lives by the river, watching the water and the city. He knows everything, yet does nothing.

Xiao Jiang, be careful. The J organization is still around. They won't let you go. But you must keep investigating, for the sake of those who died. For your father, for Ah Zhen, for Xiao Mei, for all those nameless people.

Signed by: Dong Zhenhua. Date: December 20, 1998.

On the last page of the letter, there was a line of small print, seemingly added later. The handwriting was faint and light, as if the writer had run out of strength:

"The gentleman lives by the river. He's always been there."

Jiang Bo held the letter, his hands trembling. Dong Zhenhua was a member of the J organization, but he wasn't a bad person. He joined the J organization to uncover the truth. He waited so many years, finally obtaining the evidence. Then he disappeared, vanished like that man. Where did he go? Did he go to see the Master? Was he dead? The Master lived by the river. He was always there. Which river? The Yangtze? The Qingyi River? Or some other river?

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the sky was overcast, threatening rain. The leaden clouds hung low, blurring the distant buildings as if they were seen through frosted glass. Those secrets, like the clouds, weighed on his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

He recalled Dong Zhenhua's words in his letter: "The leader of Organization J is called 'Mr.'"

Sir. That old man standing by the river, that man wearing the J ring, that man who frightened everyone. Who is he? Where is he? Is he still alive? He lives by the river, which river? The Yangtze River flows through Jiangcheng, the Qingyi River flows past the old pontoon bridge, there's also the Zhang River, and the Shuiyang River. Which river is his?

Zhou Zheng looked at him. "Do you still want to investigate?"

Jiang Bo nodded. "Investigate."

Zhou Zheng was silent for a moment. He stood up, walked to the window, and stood next to Jiang Bo. "Be careful. They won't let you go. The master won't let you go."

Jiang Bo walked out of the provincial government building and stood at the entrance. The rain finally started, fine and dense, hitting his face, icy cold. Rainwater streamed down his hair, into his eyes, and down his neck. He didn't try to avoid it; he just stood there, letting the rain soak him through.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company. It didn't try to hide, just stood there in the rain, its fur plastered to its body, looking thinner, but it didn't bark, just looked at him, its eyes still so bright.

He crouched down and stroked its head. Tangyuan's fur was wet and clung to its head, revealing its pointed ears. Its eyes were still so bright in the rain, looking at him as if asking: Should we still look?

"Tangyuan, let's go find the teacher."

Tangyuan cried out. That cry was swallowed up by the sound of rain and disappeared into the gray sky.

Jiang Bo stood up and walked into the rain. The rain poured down harder, everything was a white blur, and he couldn't see anything. But he knew the way. He had always known. His master lived by the river. He had always been there. That river was the Yangtze. His father died there, Ah Zhen died there, Dong Jianmin died there, Zhou Ping died there too. His master was there too. He had been watching. Watching those people die, watching those people live, watching those people search for him for thirty-three years.

Jiang Bo got into the car and started the engine. The windshield wipers screeched against the windshield. He looked ahead at the curtain of rain.

"Go to the old pontoon bridge."

The car drove out of the provincial government building and onto the road back to Jiangcheng. The rain was pouring down harder and harder, turning the world into a white blur, obscuring everything. But Jiang Bo knew that he was getting closer and closer to his teacher.