Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo stood on the riverbank by the old pontoon bridge for a long time. Moonlight shone on the river, shattering into countless silver fragments, dazzlingly bright, like countless blinking eyes. The light in the small house was still on, dim and warm, shining through the window like a star that refused to go out. The gentleman was inside, unaware of what was happening outside. He was probably still writing those names, writing those apologies. Each stroke was slow and deliberate. He didn't know that another person had left. Another person who had stood at the door watching had left. Another person who couldn't answer had left.

He remembered a line from Dong Zhiqiang's letter: "The old man in that little house, please look after him for me. He's a good man too. There's nothing he can do. He's been saying sorry for many years." He folded the letter and put it in his inner pocket, next to the letter his husband had written to him. He could feel their warmth through his clothes.

Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company. A breeze carried the fishy smell of the river, along with the scent of grass and earth. The November wind was already quite chilly, making his clothes flutter. He crouched down and stroked Tangyuan's head. Its fur shimmered silver in the moonlight, and its bright eyes looked at him as if asking: How much longer are we going to stand here?

"Let's go back." Tangyuan stood up, shook its fur, and followed behind him.

The car drove off the old pontoon bridge. In the rearview mirror, the light in that small house was still on, growing farther and smaller, but still shining. Like a star, like an eye, like someone who had waited a long time. He drove onto the Yangtze River Bridge. The river shimmered silver in the moonlight, flowing slowly, just as it had a hundred years ago, just as it had a thousand years ago. He remembered those names, those notebooks, those apologies. He remembered the words in Dong Zhiqiang's notebook: "I can't answer." He remembered the words in Mr. Dong's notebook: "I'm sorry." He remembered Dong Jian'an's words: "I hate." They couldn't answer, they all said sorry, they all hated. But they didn't kill anyone. The killers were others. They were the ones standing at the door watching. They were the ones who could do nothing. They remembered for many years, wrote for many years, spoke for many years. They couldn't answer, they were gone.

He's not one of them. He won't stand at the door and watch. He'll go inside.

The lights in the municipal bureau were still on. The lights in the technical department were also on, and the fluorescent lights in the corridor hummed. Liu Tong was still there, and so was Zhang Yuhang. They both looked up when Jiang Bo entered. Liu Tong's eyes were red, his lips were chapped, and there were red marks on his face from the keyboard. Several empty coffee cups were on the table, coffee stains forming brown rings on the sides. Zhang Yuhang was sitting on the sofa, holding a document. Seeing Jiang Bo, he stood up and placed the document on the table.

"Brother Bo, I've looked at Dong Zhiqiang's USB drive." Zhang Yuhang's voice was a little hoarse, like he had a sore throat or hadn't drunk water in a long time. "There are a few videos in there. They're records of the night running group's activities. He filmed every activity, from 2010 until now, fourteen years, and filmed hundreds of videos. Fang Min, Li Hongmei, and Xu Yanran are all in them. They were laughing happily. They didn't know what would happen later. They didn't know someone was watching them. They didn't know someone was remembering them."

Jiang Bo walked over and sat down in front of the computer. "Put it down."

The first video is from spring 2015. Fang Min had just joined the night running group. She was wearing a pink tracksuit, her hair tied in a ponytail, standing by the river. Sunlight shone on her face, and she smiled happily, her eyes curving like crescent moons. Dong Zhiqiang was filming, the camera shaky. He asked her her name, and she said Fang Min. He asked her why she came to run at night, and she said she wanted to lose weight. Everyone laughed, their laughter clear and crisp, floating on the river. She ran slowly, lagging behind, panting. Dong Zhiqiang stayed with her, saying it was okay, take it slow, everyone's like this the first time. She said thank you, Brother Dong. He smiled slightly but didn't say anything. The camera followed her, from the river to the park, from the park to the alley, from the alley to her apartment building. She stopped, looked back, and waved. The camera shaky again, as if she were waving.

Jiang Bo stared at the screen, his hands trembling. He looked at the woman, the woman who later died. When she was alive, she smiled happily. She didn't know someone was watching her, didn't know someone was remembering her, didn't know what would happen later. She was just going for a night run, just passing by, just unlucky.

The second video is from the summer of 2023. Li Hongmei is running, leading the pack. She runs very fast, her posture is beautiful, her ponytail swinging behind her head. The setting sun shines on her, bathing her in a golden-red hue. Dong Zhiqiang is filming, the camera following her closely. He calls her name, she turns around, smiles, revealing a few teeth. That was the last time she appeared in a video. A few days later, she died. In the video, she is still smiling, still running, still alive. She doesn't know that she will die in a few days, doesn't know that someone will be waiting for her by the river, doesn't know that she will lie on a cold stone bench, her hands folded over her chest.

The third video is from this autumn. Xu Yanran is running, running in the middle. She's wearing headphones, unable to hear anyone calling her, just running on her own. Dong Zhiqiang catches up, taps her on the shoulder, and she jumps, taking off her headphones and turning around. Dong Zhiqiang says, "Don't wear headphones, it's dangerous. You can't hear car horns, you can't hear people calling you." She smiles, puts the headphones away, and says thank you. That was her last night run. The next day, she died. In the video, she's still smiling, still running, still alive. She doesn't know she'll die the next day, doesn't know someone will be waiting for her at the lakeside pavilion, doesn't know she'll be lying on a cold stone bench, her hands folded over her chest.

Jiang Bo watched the videos and remained silent for a long time. Tangyuan, lying at his feet, looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. Those women, when they were alive, laughed happily. They didn't know someone was watching them, didn't know someone was remembering them, didn't know what would happen next. They were just going for a night run, just passing by, just unlucky. They died by the river, died in the lakeside pavilion, died in those quiet places. They died, and some people remembered them, some people watched them, some people said sorry to them. But they couldn't hear them anymore.

"Brother Bo, there's another video." Liu Tong's voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something. "It was recorded by Dong Zhiqiang himself. The date is today. He left it for us. He recorded it in his study, the same study we went to. He was sitting at the table, with the bookshelf behind him. He recorded for a long time, pausing several times in the middle."

Jiang Bo clicked on the video. Dong Zhiqiang sat in the study, wearing that old jacket, his hair a little messy and unkempt. His eyes were red, as if he had been crying, and he had heavy bags under his eyes and deep dark circles. He looked at the camera and remained silent for a long time. His lips moved, but no sound came out, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down several times. Then he spoke, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a stone.

"Jiang Bo, if you see this, it means I'm gone. I'm leaving to go find them. To tell them I can't answer. I've waited for them for so many years, remembered them for so many years. I can't answer their questions. I can only say sorry. I've said it for so many years, tens of thousands of times, did they hear me? Will they forgive me?"

He lowered his head, tears streaming down his face. He wiped them with the back of his hand, but the tears wouldn't stop; the more he wiped, the more they flowed. He looked up at the camera. His eyes were red, and the tip of his nose was red too.

"Your master, Zhou Guoping, was a good man. He couldn't do anything. He just stood at the door and watched. Your father, Jiang Yizhou, was also a good man. He couldn't do anything either. He just stood at the door and watched. They were both good people. But they couldn't do anything. I'm a good person too. I can't do anything either. You're not. You did what none of us could do. You found out the truth. You found those people. You apologized for us. Thank you."

He stood up and walked to the window. Outside were the ruins and the river. He stood there for a long time, motionless, like a withered old tree. Moonlight shone on him, casting his long, thin shadow on the ground. The wind blew his hair, making it flutter.

"The old man in that little house, please look after him for me. He was a good man too. There's nothing he can do. He's been saying sorry for many years. Tell him I'm leaving. I'm going to find them. Go tell them I can't answer. Tell him I've waited for him for many years, remembered him for many years. He's the only one like me. He's also the one standing at the door watching. There's nothing he can do. He can't answer either. He's been saying sorry for many years."

The video ended. The screen went black.

Jiang Bo sat there, motionless. Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company. Liu Tong and Zhang Yuhang also sat, saying nothing. The room was quiet, save for the buzzing of the computer fan, like flies. Dawn was approaching outside; greyish-white light pierced through the clouds, illuminating the distant river, making everything hazy and indistinct.

After a long silence, Jiang Bo stood up. "Those notebooks, those USB drives, are all evidence. Keep them safe. Dong Zhiqiang's case is closed. Suicide. No suspicion of homicide. Notify his wife to come and collect his belongings."

Liu Tong nodded.

Jiang Bo walked to the window, gazing at the night outside. The streetlights were still on, illuminating the empty streets. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. They were gone, but he remained. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.

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.

"Xiao Jiang, I heard Dong Zhiqiang left?"

"He's gone. He committed suicide. He left a letter, he left a video. He said he couldn't answer. He said he couldn't protect them. He said he stood at the door watching. He said he couldn't do anything. He said he left, went to find them. To tell them he couldn't answer."

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. "He was a good person too. There was nothing he could do. He was just someone standing at the door watching. Just like us. We all are. Your master was, your father was, I was, Dong Zhiqiang was. We are all. Only you weren't. You did something none of us could do."

Jiang Bo gripped his phone. "Uncle He, you're not. You investigated for so many years, waited for so many years. You weren't the one standing at the door watching. You went in. You found the truth, you got the result. You're not."

Old He laughed. The laughter was soft, bitter. "I am. Me too. I stood at the door watching, watching those people die, watching those people leave. I could do nothing. I couldn't answer. I could only remember, only wait, only apologize. I'm just like them."

Jiang Bo didn't speak. He stood by the window, looking at the sky outside. Dawn broke, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the river like shattered pieces of gold, dazzlingly bright.

"Xiao Jiang, go see Mr. Dong tomorrow. Tell him that Dong Zhiqiang is gone. He was a good man. There was nothing he could do. He also apologized for many years. Tell him that Dong Zhiqiang said he waited for him for many years and remembered him for many years. He said he was the only person like him. He said he also stood at the door watching, unable to do anything, unable to answer, and apologized for many years."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Bo stood by the window. Dawn had broken, and the sunlight warmed his face. A new day had begun. Those names, those apologies, remained in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching also remained in his heart. They were gone, but he was still there. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go inside.