Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo woke up before dawn. He opened his eyes and saw a gray sky outside the window, with a few remaining stars still faintly visible behind the clouds, like lights about to go out. The sofa was a bit narrow, and after sleeping all night, his back ached and his arms were numb. He sat up, rubbed his shoulders, and stretched his neck, his bones cracking with a soft sound. He didn't need to pick up his husband today. He had met all the family members, apologized to everyone, and met Dong Jian'an. He had said everything he needed to say, and paid all the debts he needed to pay. His husband said he would stay in that little house and not go anywhere else. Jiang Bo said, "I'll come to see you every day." His husband smiled and said, "Okay."

Tangyuan lay at his feet, already awake, looking up at him with bright, sparkling eyes and a wagging tail. It had slept soundly last night and was full of energy now. He stroked its head, and it licked his hand; it was warm and wet, and the barbs on its tongue tickled his palm.

There was already movement in the kitchen. Xiuying was cooking; the clinking of pots and pans was soft, as if afraid of waking him. She was always like this, doing everything softly—walking softly, closing doors softly, even breathing softly. Jiang Bo walked over and stood in the doorway. She stood in front of the stove, her back hunched, cooking dumplings. The water in the pot was boiling, bubbling and steaming, white steam rising from the gaps in the lid, drifting away like mist or clouds under the light. Her hair was casually tied back with a rubber band, revealing her graying roots, the new hair growing at the roots even whiter, like frost. She was wearing that old cotton-padded jacket, the cuffs worn, revealing the cotton inside, the cotton already yellowed and stiff. Her movements were slow but steady, stirring the dumplings in the pot one by one with chopsticks, afraid they would stick together.

"Mom, we're not going to Mr.'s today. We've met all the family members and apologized to them all. Mr. said he needs to rest for a few days. He's tired; he's walked so much and talked so much. He deserves a break."

Xiuying paused for a moment. She turned the heat down a bit, letting the water simmer, and turned to look at him. "Then you eat at home. Mom will cook dumplings for you. Don't go to your husband's today, just rest at home. You're tired too, you've been running around for so many days. Look at you, your eyes are dark, and you've lost weight."

Jiang Bo walked over and stood beside her. She was a head shorter than him, with narrow shoulders and a slightly hunched back. He saw the gray hairs at her temples, the wrinkles on her forehead, and the cracks on her fingers. "Mom, my husband says he loves your dumplings. He said Dad used to bring them to him too. He said Dad always smiled so happily. Every time he talks about Dad, his eyes light up, like moonlight on the river."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. She didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely, dripping onto the stove and her hands. "Your dad, as long as he's happy. As long as he's happy. He's never really smiled in his life. He only smiled when he was with me. He smiled when he was with my husband too. When he smiled, his eyes curved like crescent moons. You don't know, when he first met me, he was so serious. He only started smiling slowly after we got to know each other. The first time he smiled, I was stunned. He said, 'What are you looking at?' I said, 'I'm looking at you smiling.' And then he blushed."

After finishing the dumplings, it was already broad daylight. Sunlight streamed in through the window, warming the table. Jiang Bo stood by the window, looking at the street outside. People came and went; some were going to work, some were buying groceries, and some were taking their children to school. Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful. Those names, those notebooks, those apologies—it was as if they had never existed. But Jiang Bo knew they had. They were in his heart, in his husband's little house, in the tears of those families, and at the bottom of that river. Tangyuan lay at his feet, its head resting on its front paws, squinting in the sun.

The phone rang. It was Liu Tong calling. His voice was tense, as if he was suppressing something, or perhaps he was nervous about something. "Officer, there's a new case. A woman who was jogging at night has gone missing. It happened last night. Near Mirror Lake Park."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched. "When?"

"Around 8 PM last night, she went out for a run and didn't come back. Her husband reported her missing this morning. The surveillance cameras showed her entering Jinghu Park, but not leaving. We checked the park's cameras at the east, west, and north gates, but none of them captured her coming out. It's like she vanished into thin air. The park is so big, we're still searching, and we haven't found her yet."

Jiang Bo was silent for a moment. "I'll be there right away."

Jinghu Park is located in the city center, with a walking path surrounding the lake, attracting many people for evening runs. Jiang Bo parked his car at the park entrance and strode inside. Police tape was already in place, yellow ribbons fluttering in the morning breeze. Several police officers stood outside, their expressions serious, none speaking. Liu Tong was inside; seeing him, she waved. His eyes were red, his lips chapped—he hadn't slept all night—and his face bore red marks from typing on the keyboard.

"Polish Sir, over here."

The body was found near the pavilion in the middle of the lake, a secluded spot hidden by trees, rarely visited even during the day. The pavilion sits in the center of Mirror Lake, connected to the shore by a winding bridge. The pavilion is small, with six red-lacquered pillars; the painted decorations on the roof have faded, revealing the wood beneath. The woman, in her thirties, lay on a stone bench inside the pavilion, wearing a pink tracksuit and white running shoes. Her hands were folded over her chest, her legs neatly together. Her eyes were closed, her hair loose and draped over her shoulders, as if she were asleep. But there were two deep, purplish-black marks on her neck, like a twisted snake.

Jiang Bo crouched down, looking at the face. Round face, short hair, gentle eyes and brows. He didn't recognize her. Her expression was calm, without fear or pain, as if she were having a sweet dream. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she were saying something, or perhaps smiling. Was the killer arranging her like this to let her rest in peace, or to show off? Was it guilt, or mockery?

"Have you found out their identity?"

Liu Tong handed over an evidence bag containing an ID card. "This ID card was found in her pocket. Xu Yanran, 35 years old, a company employee. Her husband said she goes for a run every night, rain or shine. She left at 8 pm last night, saying she'd be back in an hour. When she didn't return by 10 pm, he called her, but her phone was off. By 11 pm, it was still off. He assumed she'd gone to a friend's house and didn't think much of it. This morning, when he found she hadn't returned all night, he called the police. When he arrived, she was still trembling and couldn't speak clearly."

Jiang Bo stood up and looked at the lake. Mirror Lake wasn't large, nor was the water deep, but at night it looked like a bottomless well. The water shimmered in the morning light, a deep green, like a piece of jade, like an eye. He thought of those names, those notebooks, those apologies. Those cases were closed, those murderers were dead. But this case was new. The murderer was still there, still killing. Just like the Fang Min case, just like those other cases. Was he imitating, or was he continuing? Did Chen Zhiming tell him from inside, or did he know all along?

"Just like the Fang Min case." Liu Tong's voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Jiang Bo nodded. "Same. Same method, same posture. The killer is imitating. But this isn't imitation. This is the same person. The killer in the Fang Min case was Chen Zhiming, and he has already confessed. But this case wasn't committed by Chen Zhiming. He's in detention and can't get out. This is someone else. Someone who knows all the details of the Fang Min case. Someone who knows how to kill, how to arrange the body, how to avoid surveillance. Where did he find out? Did he see the case files, or did he hear something?"

Zhang Yuhang walked over and stood beside him. He was wearing an old jacket, his hair was a little messy, and his eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept all night. There was a red mark on his face, from sleeping on the table, running from his forehead to his cheek. His voice was a little hoarse, like he had a sore throat. "Bo Sir, the night running group. Xu Yanran is a member of the night running group. She often posts photos of night runs on her WeChat Moments. Jinghu Park, Binjiang Park, the old floating bridge area. She runs three or four times a week, very regularly. She's been a member of the night running group for two years, a veteran member. The last time she posted on WeChat Moments was yesterday afternoon, saying she was going to run in Jinghu Park tonight, and she even included a selfie, smiling quite happily."

Jiang Bo turned around. "A night running club? Fang Min is in a night running club too."

Zhang Yuhang nodded. He took out his phone and pulled up a photo—a group picture of the night running group. A dozen or so people were standing by the river, wearing sportswear and smiling happily. "Yes. Fang Min is too. Li Hongmei is too. They're all in the same night running group. The group leader's online name is 'Jiang Shui' (River Water). His real name is Dong Zhiqiang, 45 years old, a senior executive at a company. He founded this night running group five years ago, and at its peak, it had more than 50 members. Fang Min, Li Hongmei, and Xu Yanran are all members he recruited. He organizes two night running events every week, Tuesday and Thursday, without fail. After the run, they have a dinner party, and he treats everyone."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched. Jiang Shui. He heard that name again. The first time he heard it was right after Fang Min died. He had checked that account; the IP address was in an internet cafe, and the person was wearing a mask, so he couldn't see their face. Later, the case was closed, and that account was never logged in again. Now, it had reappeared. Was it a provocation, or a declaration of something? The person wearing the ring, the person standing at the door, the person called the Fool, had already said sorry. So who was this person?

Where is Dong Zhiqiang?

Zhang Yuhang shook his head. He opened his notebook, where a few lines of writing were scribbled. "I don't know. He took leave three days ago, saying there was something wrong at home. I can't get through to him on the phone, and no one's home. The company said he took annual leave and was going out of town. When asked where he was going, he didn't say. His wife said he left alone and didn't tell her where he was going. She can't contact him either. When she came, she cried and said he'd never done anything like this before."

Jiang Bo stood by the lake, gazing at the water. Sunlight shone on the surface, shattering it into dazzling glittering pieces of gold. Those names, those apologies, remained in his heart. But those were things of the past. This case was the present. The killer was still there, still murdering. He had to find him. He couldn't let him continue killing.

"Investigate Dong Zhiqiang. All his social connections, all his activity patterns, all his communication records. Keep investigating until you find him. Find out everything: what kind of car he drives, where he lives, where he's been, who he's met."

Liu Tong nodded and started making a phone call.

Jiang Bo turned and walked back. Tangyuan followed behind, stopping every few steps to look back at him, as if afraid he would get lost. He walked to the car and glanced back. The lake shimmered in the sunlight, like a mirror, reflecting the sky and clouds, and also revealing the secrets buried at the bottom. He remembered his husband's words: "They deserve it." Those people, those names, those apologies—they deserved it. Now, this woman named Xu Yanran also deserved it. She shouldn't have died; she was just going for a night run, just passing by, just unlucky. When she left, she even posted a selfie, smiling happily. She didn't know that would be the last time she smiled.

The car started and drove out of Jinghu Park. He drove onto the Yangtze River Bridge and looked at the river. The water shimmered in the sunlight, flowing slowly. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Now there was another name. Xu Yanran. Thirty-five years old, an office worker, who liked to run at night. She had a husband who waited for her to come home. When she left, she said she would be back after an hour's run. She didn't come back. Her husband waited until ten o'clock, until eleven o'clock, until dawn, until he could no longer wait.

The phone rang. It was Lao He calling. His voice was a little hoarse, like he had just woken up, or like he hadn't slept at all. It was quiet on the other end of the line; you could hear his breathing.

"Xiao Jiang, heard about the new case?"

"Yes. The woman jogging at night, just like the Fang Min case. The method is exactly the same, even the way the body was placed is the same. The murderer is imitating, or rather, he is continuing. He chose Jinghu Park, where there are many people and many surveillance cameras, but he still did it. He is not afraid of being seen, not afraid of being photographed. He is confident that he will not be caught."

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. "Be careful. This killer is different from before. He's smarter, calmer. He knows we're investigating, but he's not afraid. He's provoking us. The place he chose, the time he chose, the people he killed—it's all deliberate. He's telling us he's here."

Jiang Bo gripped the steering wheel. "I know."

"There's one more thing," Old He said in a low voice, as if he were talking about a secret. "I know Dong Zhiqiang. He used to work in the public security system. Later, he went into business. When he was a policeman, he was very good. He solved a lot of cases. Later, I don't know why, he quit. Some people say he made a mistake, some say he was ostracized, some say he wanted to leave on his own. Nobody knows for sure."

Jiang Bo's hands clenched. "He was a policeman?"

"Yes. He was in the Criminal Investigation Division of the Municipal Public Security Bureau. He was in the same class as your mentor. He also knew your father. Later, he resigned, saying he went to do business. When he was a policeman, he handled many cases involving night runners. He was familiar with the details of those cases, knew how to imitate them, and knew how to avoid surveillance. He knew better than anyone else."

Jiang Bo stood on the bridge, gazing at the river. He thought of his father, of the cases, of the names, of the apologies. He thought of Dong Jian'an, the one who had waited so long, the one who had said sorry. He thought of his teacher, the one who had remembered for over thirty years, the one who had written apologies for over thirty years. Now, there was another person. A former policeman, a man who knew every detail, a man imitating a murder. Whom was he imitating? Whom was he continuing?

He hung up the phone and stepped on the gas. The car drove off the bridge and onto the road back to the city. Those names were still in his heart, those apologies were still in his notebook. Now there was another name. He had to find the killer. No matter who he was, no matter where he was hiding, no matter how many people he had killed. He had to find him. Tangyuan lay on the back seat, its head resting on its front paws, quietly keeping him company. It knew its owner was going to be busy again. Another all-nighter, another skipped meal. But it would stay with him, always.