Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Those names were displayed on the whiteboard for three days.

Every day, Jiang Bo stood before the whiteboard, looking at those names as if they were tombstones. A-Zhen, Xiao-Mei, Xiu-Ying, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Zhao Xiu-Ying, Liu Xiao-Qin, Sun Xiao-Mei, Zhang Jianguo, Li Mei, Gao De-Ming. More than thirty names, more than thirty lives, more than thirty apologies. The teacher had remembered them for over thirty years, written "I'm sorry" for over thirty years, but no one heard. Now Jiang Bo saw them; he couldn't let these people just disappear like that. He couldn't let those names be merely words on a whiteboard, couldn't let those lives be just a few lines in a notebook. They had lived, laughed, cried, loved, and then died. Some had waited for them, some had searched for them, some had remembered them.

Liu Tong checked those names one by one. He checked household registrations, archives, and family records. Some he found, some he couldn't. Of those he found, some were still alive, some were dead, some had moved away, and some were missing. Every day he made phone calls, from one number to another, from one city to another. His voice went from excited to calm, from calm to weary, from weary to heavy. After each call, he put a checkmark next to the name. The checkmarks piled up, and his voice grew softer and softer.

"Officer, we've found Chen Fang's family. Her mother is still alive in Wuhu, she's 86 years old." Liu Tong's voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Jiang Bo's hands clenched. "Did you make the call?"

Liu Tong nodded. He lowered his head, looking at the phone on the table as if it were something very heavy. "She called. Her hearing isn't good, she couldn't hear clearly. Her daughter answered. She said her mother has been waiting for over thirty years, always waiting. Every year on Chen Fang's birthday, she makes dumplings and sets an extra set of chopsticks and a bowl. She said her mother is getting senile, sometimes she doesn't recognize people, but she remembers Chen Fang. Every morning she wakes up and asks, 'Has Fangfang come back yet?'"

Jiang Bo remained silent for a long time. "Tell her Chen Fang is dead. She was murdered. The murderer is dead too."

Liu Tong looked at him, hesitation in her eyes. "She asked, 'How did she die?'"

Jiang Bo didn't speak. How did she die? Strangled, thrown into the river. She knew nothing, she was just passing by. She saw that person's face. Then he killed her. She sank to the bottom of the river, soaking in the cold water, drifting an unknown distance. For over thirty years, her mother waited, for over thirty years, waiting for someone who would never return. At eighty-six, she's still waiting. Every morning she wakes up and asks, "Has Fangfang come back yet?"

Tell her she's drowning.

Liu Tong nodded and started making a call. His voice was low, and in the quiet office, it was hard to hear what he was saying. Jiang Bo heard a few words: "I'm sorry... yes... drowning... the murderer is dead..." Then there was a long silence, as long as the river. Liu Tong hung up the phone and looked up. "She didn't cry. Her daughter said that after she heard it, she was stunned for a long time, and then said, 'I understand.' She went back to her room."

Jiang Bo walked to the window and looked at the sky outside. It was gloomy, threatening rain. The leaden clouds hung low, making it hard to breathe. The distant river was shrouded in a hazy gray, nothing visible. Chen Fang's mother knew; after waiting for over thirty years, she had received news of "drowning." She didn't cry. Was she unable to cry anymore, or had she run out of tears? She went back inside. What was she going to do? Put away the dumplings? Take away the bowl and chopsticks? Tell the person who wouldn't come back, "You don't need to come back, I understand?"

"Officer, we've also found out about Wang Li's family. Her father is dead, and her mother is dead too. She also has a younger brother in Shanghai." Liu Tong's voice was hesitant, as if he was considering how to say it.

Jiang Bo turned around. "Did you make a call?"

"He did call. He said he had waited for many years, thinking his sister had gone out to work and abandoned them. He had hated her for many years. Every year during the Spring Festival, while other families were reunited, his family was missing one person. His father would drink alone, and his mother would cry secretly. He hated her, hated that she wouldn't come back, hated that she didn't want this family. Now that he knows, he has cried for a long time. He said he wronged her."

Jiang Bo didn't speak. He walked back to the whiteboard and wrote a word next to Wang Li's name: "Investigated." He checked each name, one by one, telling the families, letting them know that the person they were waiting for would not return. The murderer was dead, but those people wouldn't come back. Those who had waited their whole lives received a phone call, a few lines of text, and the words "drowning."

"Officer Bo, we can't find Zhao Xiuying's family. Her household registration has been cancelled, and there are no records of her. No one has reported her missing, and no one has looked for her. It's as if she never existed." Liu Tong's voice grew softer and softer, until it was almost inaudible.

Jiang Bo clenched his fist. "Continue the investigation."

Liu Tong nodded. His fingers tapped rapidly on the keyboard, like knocking on a door that had been closed for a long time. Page after page on the screen jumped between them, all showing no records. He searched for a long time, then looked up and shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all. She might not be from Jiangcheng, she might be from out of town, she might not have any family, or she might have family but they haven't contacted her. She's like a drop of water, falling into the river, gone."

Jiang Bo walked to the whiteboard and circled Zhao Xiuying's name. Who was she? Where did she come from? Did she have family? She's dead; is anyone waiting for her? The teacher wrote down her name, but didn't know who she was. He simply wrote "I'm sorry" after it. What good is "I'm sorry"? She can't hear it anymore. Those waiting for her can't hear it either.

The phone rang. It was Lao He calling. His voice was a little hoarse, as if he was hesitating about something.

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

Jiang Bo waited.

"I investigated the case your father investigated later as well. I investigated for many years but couldn't find anything. But I discovered something. Those missing women had one thing in common."

Jiang Bo's heart raced. "What do we have in common?"

Old He was silent for a moment. 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. "They've all been near that house by the old pontoon bridge. All at night. All alone. All wearing floral clothes. They all seem to be the same person."

Jiang Bo clenched his fists. "Like whom?"

Old He's voice was soft, as if it drifted from a great distance. "Like your mother. Like Xiuying. Eyes, nose, mouth, or face shape. They're all somewhat similar. Not exactly similar, just somewhat similar. But that person, that ghost, he didn't care. As long as there was even a slight resemblance, he would kill them."

Jiang Bo stood there, his mind blank. Like his mother. Like Xiuying. Those people all looked like his mother. They appeared near the house by the old pontoon bridge, at night, alone, wearing floral clothes. They looked like his mother. That person, that ghost, who was he looking for? Was he looking for her? Was he looking for his mother? He killed those women who resembled her, because they weren't her. He stood at the door watching Ah Zhen being killed, because Ah Zhen wasn't like her. He stood by the river watching his father's police uniform being pulled from the water, because his father was looking for her. He had been searching for over thirty years, killing more than thirty people. He was looking for his mother.

"Uncle He, are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I've been investigating for years. I looked at those women's photos one by one, comparing them to your mother's photos when she was young. They all look somewhat alike. Some have similar eyes, some have similar noses, some have similar mouths, and some have similar face shapes. That ghost is looking for a substitute. He can't find your mother, so he kills those who look like her. He's gone mad."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and stood by the window. It was getting dark; the streetlights came on, their dim yellow light reflecting a cold, yellowish glow onto the wet street. That man, that ghost, he was looking for Xiuying. He had been searching for over thirty years, killing more than thirty people. He stood at the door watching Ah Zhen being murdered, stood by the river watching his father's police uniform being pulled from the water. He knew everything, yet did nothing. He simply searched, simply killed. He was searching for his mother; he killed people who resembled her. He was insane. He had been insane for a long time. He had been insane since the day he fell into the river at the age of seven.

He picked up his coat. "Liu Tong, I'm going out for a bit."

Liu Tong looked up, her eyes red. "Where to?"

"At my mom's place."

Xiuying was at home, making dumplings. She stood in front of the stove, her back hunched, kneading the dough on the cutting board. Flour clung to her hands, sleeves, and apron. Her movements were slow but steady, kneading gently, as if doing something very familiar. Seeing Jiang Bo enter, she looked up and smiled.

"Perfect timing, the dumplings are almost ready. They're pork and cabbage filling, your favorite when you were little. I added some dried shrimp to enhance the flavor."

Jiang Bo looked at her. Her hair was gray, her face thin, and her skin deeply wrinkled. Her hands were rough, her knuckles large, her nails short, and the veins on the back of her hands bulging. She was bowing her head, carefully wrapping dumplings, one by one, arranging them neatly in rows, like soldiers. She wrapped them slowly, but each one was the same size, the same roundness, and the same beauty.

"Mom, do you know Tung Chien-min?"

Xiuying's hand paused. Her fingers hovered in mid-air, holding a dumpling, not putting it down. "Who?"

"Tung Chien-min. Tung Chien-hwa's twin brother. The man who fell into the river at the age of seven. The man who was rescued by the J organization. The man who killed many people."

Xiuying thought for a moment, then frowned, deepening the wrinkles on her forehead. She shook her head. "I don't know her. I've never heard of that name before."

Jiang Bo looked at her. "He knows you. He's been looking for you for many years."

Xiuying's hands began to wrap dumplings again, but her movements slowed, as if she were thinking about something, or perhaps recalling something. Her fingers pinched the dumpling wrappers, one pinch at a time, but without the rhythm she had before. "Looking for me? Why?"

Jiang Bo was silent for a moment. He looked into her eyes, those cloudy but still bright eyes. "He likes you."

Xiuying's hand stopped. She looked up at Jiang Bo. Her eyes widened, and her mouth gaped slightly, as if she couldn't believe it. "You like me?"

"Those missing women all looked like you. He killed them because they weren't her. He was looking for someone like you, a substitute. He searched for many years and killed many people."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. They welled in her deep-set eyes, flowing down the dry, riverbed-like wrinkles of her face, dripping onto the cutting board, dripping onto the dumplings. She lowered her head, looking at the dumplings. "I don't know. I don't know him. I've never seen him. I've never even heard his name."

Jiang Bo grasped her hand. It was cold, thin, skin and bones, with flour clinging to the fingers. "Mom, he's dead. He jumped into the river in 1998. He jumped himself."

Xiuying's tears flowed uncontrollably. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came out. Her shoulders and hands trembled. She lowered her head, staring at the dumplings for a long time.

"He doesn't know who I am. He doesn't know who your father is. He knows nothing. He just likes me, he just looks for people who are like me. He killed those people because they weren't me."

Jiang Bo held her hand without saying a word. It was dark outside, but the lights were on inside. The dim yellow light shone on her gray hair, making it look like it was plated with silver.

Xiuying cried for a long time. She cried silently, tears streaming down her face, her shoulders trembling. Jiang Bo sat beside her, holding her hand. Tangyuan lay nearby, watching quietly, occasionally twitching its ears.

After crying her fill, Xiuying looked up 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. "The dumplings are cold, I'll go reheat them."

Jiang Bo shook his head. "No need. It'll still taste good cold."

They sat facing each other, eating cold dumplings. The dumpling wrappers were a little hard, the filling a little cold, but Xiuying ate earnestly, chewing each bite carefully. Jiang Bo watched her, a mix of emotions churning within him. That person, that ghost, had been searching for her for over thirty years, killing more than thirty people. She didn't know, she knew nothing. She was just wandering, searching for him, searching for his father. She didn't know that someone was searching for her, that someone was killing people who looked like her, that someone had gone mad because of her.

After finishing the dumplings, Jiang Bo washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. Xiuying sat on the sofa watching TV, the volume very low and the picture flickering. Tangyuan lay quietly beside her feet, keeping her company.

Jiang Bo stood in the doorway, looking at her. "Mom, I'm leaving."

Sooyoung nodded. "Be careful."

Jiang Bo went outside, stood in the stairwell, and lit a cigarette. Two lights in the stairwell were out, casting a dim, yellowish glow from afar, illuminating half of the staircase. Tangyuan followed him out and knelt at his feet. The smoke drifted in the darkness, like those who had disappeared, like those who would never return.

He thought of those names, those apologies, those who had waited for so many years. He thought of his father, Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, and all those nameless people. He thought of his husband, the words he wrote, and the apologies he made. He thought of Xiuying, the dumplings she made, and the tears she shed.

He stubbed out his cigarette and threw it in the trash can. "Let's go back."

Tangyuan stood up and followed him downstairs. One by one, the motion-activated lights in the stairwell turned on and off.