Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Three days after Dong Zhiqiang's death, Jiang Bo received a package.

The package arrived by courier, without a sender's name; the address was simply "Jiangcheng Public Security Bureau Criminal Investigation Detachment," the handwriting crooked and illegible, as if written with a left hand. The receptionist didn't pay much attention when signing for it, and it sat piled up in the mailroom all morning. Liu Tong saw it when he went to get the newspaper, felt something was wrong, and scanned it three times to make sure it was safe before opening it. His hands trembled slightly as he opened it, whether from nervousness or from the many sleepless nights he'd stayed up late.

Inside was a notebook. The cover was black, the corners worn, revealing the gray cardboard underneath. It was very similar to the one the gentleman had, but thinner. Opening to the first page, there was a line written: "To Jiang Bo." The handwriting was very messy, exactly the same as the letter Dong Zhiqiang had left in the car. The strokes were crooked and illegible in places, as if the writer's hand was trembling, or as if it had been written under very dim light.

Jiang Bo sat at his desk, flipping through the pages one by one. The first page contained records of the night running group's activities: dates, locations, number of participants—like a running log. The first activity was in August 2010 with only five people. In 2011, the number increased to twelve. In 2012, there were twenty. As the number of participants grew, his records became increasingly detailed. Everyone's name, phone number, and running habits. Who ran fast, who ran slow, who liked to run in front, and who liked to run behind—he remembered it all.

Turning to 2015, the content changed. The handwriting became messy, and the paper was wrinkled, as if it had been soaked in water or sweat.

"In March 2015, Fang Min joined the night running group. Her smile was just like everyone else's. Her eyes were crescent-shaped, and the corners of her mouth were upturned, very sweet. She said she didn't used to run, but she gained weight after having a child and wanted to lose weight. She ran very slowly, always at the back. I ran with her. She thanked me, Brother Dong. I said it was nothing. I would protect her."

Jiang Bo paused for a moment. Fang Min. He had seen Fang Min's husband, Chen Zhiming, Fang Min's corpse, and Fang Min's mother. But he had never seen Fang Min alive. He didn't know what she looked like when she smiled. Dong Zhiqiang remembered, saying that when she smiled, her eyes curved and the corners of her mouth turned up, and it was very sweet.

He continued flipping through the pages.

"In 2016, Fang Min was running better and better. She participated in a marathon and finished the whole course. She was very happy. I was very happy too. She posted on her WeChat Moments, thanking Brother Dong, thanking the night running group, and thanking everyone. I liked it. I didn't leave a comment. I didn't know what to say."

"In 2017, Fang Min got pregnant. She stopped running. She said she would come back after giving birth. I said okay. She never came back. After giving birth, she gained weight, got tired, and didn't have time. She would occasionally post on WeChat Moments, sharing photos of her child. The child was very cute, just like her. When I saw them, I felt very sad."

"In 2018, Fang Min's child was born. It was a girl. She posted on her WeChat Moments, thanking everyone for their blessings. She didn't tag me, but I saw it. I didn't like it. I didn't dare. I was afraid she would ask me, 'Brother Dong, are you okay?' I wouldn't know how to answer."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. He thought of Fang Min's daughter, Niannian. The little girl who slept with her doll. She didn't know her mother was dead, didn't know her father was in jail, didn't know someone remembered her mother, didn't know someone was saying sorry.

"In 2020, Fang Min started running again. She said she wanted to lose weight and wear pretty dresses. She smiled happily. Watching her smile, I felt very sad. I knew she would die, just like those other people. I couldn't protect her. There was nothing I could do."

"2023. Li Hongmei died. I couldn't protect her. Fang Min came to comfort me, saying, 'Brother Dong, it's not your fault.' I said, 'Yes.' She didn't know that there was nothing I could do. She didn't know that she might be next."

"In 2024, Fang Min died too. I couldn't protect her. I stood at the door watching. Just like her. Just like those people. I couldn't do anything. I could only remember. I could only write. I could only apologize."

Tucked into the last few pages of the notebook was a photograph. It showed a little girl, three or four years old, with two braids, wearing a pink dress, standing by the river, smiling happily. The Zhongjiang Pagoda was in the background, and the river water shimmered in the sunlight. On the back was written: Fang Min's daughter, nicknamed Niannian. The date of the photograph was 2020.

Jiang Bo stared at the photograph, his hands trembling. It was of Fang Min's daughter, Niannian. Did she know her mother was dead? Did she know someone remembered her mother? Did she know someone was saying sorry? Did she know that the man called Uncle Dong was gone too? Her mother was gone, her father was in jail, and Uncle Dong, who remembered her, was gone too. She only had her grandmother left.

Liu Tong stood beside him, looking at the photo in his hand. "Officer Bo, Fang Min's daughter, should we go see her? Her grandmother is raising her alone; it's not easy for her. That old lady is getting on in years and her health isn't good. Let's go see if there's anything we can do to help."

Jiang Bo carefully put the photos away. "Go. Go tomorrow."

Fang Min's home was in an old neighborhood in Jinghu District. Jiang Bo had been there once, right after Fang Min's death, to notify her family. Fang Min's husband, Chen Zhiming, had already been arrested. Fang Min's mother had rushed from her hometown, crying, "How did my daughter die? How did she die?" Jiang Bo said, "She was murdered. The killer has been caught." The old woman cried even harder, saying, "What's the use of catching him? My daughter is never coming back."

He knocked on the door, and an old woman stood there, her hair completely white, her eyes red and swollen, with heavy bags under her eyes. She wore an old cotton-padded jacket, the cuffs worn and the cotton inside showing. Her hand rested on the doorframe, her fingers slightly curled, her knuckles large. When she saw Jiang Bo, she paused, her eyes shifting from confusion to recognition, and from recognition to sorrow.

"Who are you?"

Jiang Bo showed his identification. "Fang Min's mother?"

The old woman nodded. The nod was slow and soft. "Yes. You're the policeman. You handled Zhiming's case. You came here. I remember you. You said my daughter was dead, murdered. You said the killer was caught. I asked you who the killer was, but you didn't say. Now I know. It was her husband. Her husband killed her."

Jiang Bo nodded. "Yes. I've come to see Niannian, Fang Min's daughter."

Tears streamed down the old woman's face. She didn't wipe them away, letting them flow down her cheeks, dripping onto her collar and her hands. "Come in. She's sleeping. She just fell asleep. Last night she asked her mother again. She asked, 'Grandma, when is Mom coming back?' I said soon. She said, 'Does Mom not want me anymore?' I said no, Mom is on a business trip, she'll be back when she's done. She asked so many times, and I said it so many times. I even started to believe it myself."

The house was small but very clean. A photograph hung on the living room wall; it was of Fang Min, smiling, very young. She was wearing a pink tracksuit, standing by the river, sunlight shining on her face, her smile radiant. It was taken when she was still in the night running group. Dong Zhiqiang took the photo. Next to her was a photo of a child, with two little braids, standing by the river, smiling happily. It was the same one in Dong Zhiqiang's notebook. Photos of the grandmother and grandchild were placed together; an adult and a child, both smiling.

The old lady led him into the bedroom. The bedroom wasn't large, containing a bed, a wardrobe, and a bedside table. The curtains were drawn, letting in very little light; the room was dark. A little girl, about three or four years old, lay on the bed, eyes closed, fast asleep. She clutched a rag doll in her arms; the doll wore a pink dress, had blonde hair, and big, smiling eyes. Her lips were slightly upturned, as if she were dreaming. What was she dreaming about? Was her mother coming back? Was her father coming back too? Was she dreaming that her grandmother said, "Niannian, Mommy's back from her business trip?"

"Her name is Niannian. Fang Min named her that, saying it's a lifelong memory. Her mother passed away, and her father went to jail. She didn't know. She thought her mother was away on a business trip, and her father was away on a business trip too. She asked me, 'Grandma, when are they coming back?' I said soon. She asked many times, and I said it many times. I even believed it myself." The old lady's voice was very soft, as if afraid of waking her.

Jiang Bo stood by the bed, looking at the little girl. She slept peacefully, a slight smile playing on her lips, as if dreaming. Her eyelashes were long, just like Fang Min's. Her nose was small, just like Fang Min's. Her chin was pointed, just like Fang Min's. She didn't know her mother was dead, didn't know her father was in prison, didn't know someone remembered her mother, didn't know someone was saying sorry. She only knew to wait. Waiting for her mother to return from her business trip, waiting for her father to return from his business trip. Waiting for her to grow up, waiting for her to learn the truth.

"She looks like her mother," Jiang Bo said.

The old woman nodded. The nod was slow and gentle. "So alike. The eyes are alike, the nose is alike, even the smile is alike. Her mother was like that when she was little, with two little braids, running around by the river. Then she grew up, got a job, got married, and had children. She thought it would always be like that. She didn't know she would die. Who would know? Who would know they would die?"

Jiang Bo took the photo out of his bag and placed it on the table. It was the one tucked in Dong Zhiqiang's notebook. "This was taken by Dong Zhiqiang. He kept track of your daughter for many years. He said he couldn't protect her. He said he was sorry. He recorded everything about her, from joining the night running group to her death. He wrote more than ten pages."

The old woman picked up the photo and looked at it for a long time. Her fingers slowly traced across the photo, from Niannian's face to Fang Min's face, and then back to Niannian's face. "Dong Zhiqiang? The leader of that night running group? He came to see us. When Niannian turned one month old, he came and gave us a red envelope. It said on the envelope, 'Wishing Niannian health and happiness.' He said he was Fang Min's friend. He said he wished Niannian a healthy growth. He cried. I didn't know why he cried. Now I know. He was saying sorry. He couldn't say it, so he could only cry."

Jiang Bo was silent for a moment. "Aunt Wang, what will happen to Niannian in the future?"

The old woman looked at him. Her eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "I'll raise her. I'll raise her. She's my granddaughter, I'll raise her. Her mother is gone, her father isn't around, I'll raise her. I'll raise her until she grows up, until she goes to college, until she gets married. I'll raise her until she doesn't need me anymore. As long as I'm alive, I'll raise her. If I die, no one will raise her. But I will live. I will live a little longer. For Niannian."

Jiang Bo walked to the door and glanced back. Niannian was still asleep, clutching her rag doll, a slight smile playing on her lips. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, warming her face. She didn't know someone was watching her, didn't know someone was remembering her, didn't know someone was apologizing. All she knew was to wait.

After leaving Fang Min's house, Jiang Bo stood downstairs and lit a cigarette. The sky was overcast, threatening rain. Lead-gray clouds hung low, making it hard to breathe. The river in the distance was shrouded in a hazy gray, obscuring everything. The alley was quiet, save for a few sparrows chirping noisily on the telephone poles. Tangyuan lay quietly at his feet, keeping him company.

My phone rang. It was Liu Tong calling.

"Officer Bo, I found something. There's a video on Dong Zhiqiang's USB drive. It was filmed recently. He hasn't released it publicly. It's for Fang Min's daughter. The file name is 'For Niannian.' I watched it; it's only three minutes long. He's sitting in the study, with that bookshelf in the background. He's wearing that old jacket, his hair is unkempt, and his eyes are red."

Jiang Bo clenched his fists. "Send it to me."

The video was short, only three minutes long. Dong Zhiqiang sat in his study, wearing his old jacket, his hair a little messy, unkempt, with a few strands sticking out. 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, silent for a long time. His lips moved, but no sound came out, and his Adam's apple bobbed several times. His hands rested on the table, his fingers slightly curled, as if he were holding something unseen.

Then he spoke, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a stone.

"Niannian, I'm Uncle Dong. Your mother's friend. I visited you when you were a month old. You were so tiny and light, like a ball of cotton in my arms. Your mother was so happy. She said, 'Brother Dong, look, she looks like me.' I said yes. She said, 'Her name is Niannian. A lifetime of longing.' She said Niannian will definitely be very beautiful when she grows up, just like her. She said Niannian should be healthy and happy, and grow up safely. She said Niannian should marry a good man and live a good life. She asked if Niannian would remember her. I said yes. She smiled."

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.

"Niannian, your mother is gone. She went to a very far place. She won't come back. But you must remember that she loved you. She named you Niannian, meaning to remember you for a lifetime. You must grow up well, study hard, and live a good life. Your mother is watching over you from heaven. She hopes you are happy. Uncle Dong is gone too. Uncle Dong has also gone to a very far place. Uncle Dong is sorry for your mother. Uncle Dong couldn't protect her. Uncle Dong can only say sorry."

The video ended. The screen went black.

Jiang Bo stood there, phone in hand, motionless. Tangyuan looked up at him, her eyes sparkling, as if asking, "What's wrong?" He thought of those names, those apologies, those people standing at the door watching. They were gone, but he was still here. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.

It was getting dark. He got into his car and started the engine. The car drove out of the residential area and onto Changjiang Road. He was going to the old pontoon bridge. To see his husband. To tell him that Dong Zhiqiang had left a video. It was for Fang Min's daughter. To tell him that someone was listening to the things he hadn't finished saying. To tell him that the little girl named Niannian would grow up well. To tell him that Fang Min's daughter would remember her mother. And she would remember the man called Uncle Dong.