Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo stayed on the old pontoon bridge until dark. The gentleman spoke very little today; he ate dumplings, drank half a bowl of noodle soup, and then kept staring at the ruins. His eyes shone brightly in the twilight, like two lamps about to go out, or like the last fishing lights on the river. Jiang Bo sat beside him, also silent, just keeping him company. He knew what the gentleman was thinking. The gentleman was in those names, in those apologies, in that river. He didn't need to speak; his silence was a very long book, every page filled with words.

Tangyuan lay at her husband's feet, her head resting on his lap, fast asleep. Her belly rose and fell gently, her breathing even, occasionally twitching her ears. A breeze blew, carrying the fishy smell of the river and the chill of early winter. The November wind was already biting, stinging one's face. In the twilight, the ruins resembled a forgotten graveyard. The wild grass swayed in the wind, rustling softly, like countless hands whispering secrets, or countless mouths sighing. The light in the small house came on, dim and warm, shining through the window like an eye that refused to close.

"Sir, it's getting dark, I'm leaving." Jiang Bo stood up, his legs were a little numb from squatting for too long.

The man nodded. The nod was slow and gentle. "Okay. Will you come again tomorrow? Will you still come to see this old man? I can't do anything else except write those names."

"Come on. Come every day. My mom told you not to sit all the time, to get up and walk around. She said your knees need to move around, otherwise they'll get stiff. She also said she made dumplings for you and froze them in the freezer; enough for you to eat for a week."

The man smiled. It was a faint, gentle smile, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart. "Okay. I'll wait for you. I'll cook you noodles. I'll write those names for you to see. I'll say those 'I'm sorry's for you. Those debts haven't been repaid. Those 'I'm sorry's for you haven't been said yet. Those names haven't been written yet."

Jiang Bo turned and walked back. Tangyuan followed behind, running a few steps and then stopping to look back at him, as if waiting for him, or as if checking to make sure he had caught up. It was always like this, running a few steps and then turning back, afraid he would get lost. He walked to the car and glanced back. The door to the small house was open, and the man stood in the doorway, his back hunched, leaning against the doorframe, waving. His hand was thin, like a withered twig, but it was still waving. The lamp was still on; in the twilight, its light was faint, but it still shone. Like a star, like an eye, like someone who had waited a long time.

The car started and drove off the old pontoon bridge. In the rearview mirror, the light grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, but it was still shining. The ruins grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, but they were still there. The river was still there, flowing, just as it was a hundred years ago, just as it was a thousand years ago.

Back at the municipal bureau, Liu Tong was still there. Dong Zhiqiang's notebooks and the USB drive were spread out on his desk. Several more coffee cups had appeared; some were empty, others half-full, coffee stains forming brown rings on the sides. He saw Jiang Bo enter, looked up, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. His eyes were red, with heavy bags under them, deep dark circles, and chapped lips.

"Bro, besides those videos, there were some files on Dong Zhiqiang's USB drive. I sorted through them and found something. He hid it very well, creating several subfolders with filenames that were all gibberish. It took me an entire afternoon to find it."

Jiang Bo walked over. "What?"

Liu Tong pulled up a folder containing dozens of photos. They were all group photos of the night running group, taken every year from 2010 to 2024; some by the river, some in parks, some at the entrance of scenic spots. Jiang Bo looked at each one, those people, those faces, those smiles. They were laughing happily when they were alive. They didn't know what would happen later, didn't know someone was watching them, didn't know someone was remembering them. They just went for night runs, just went to exercise, just went to make friends. They knew nothing.

"Mr. Bo, look at this one." Liu Tong pointed to a group photo from 2022. "This is Li Hongmei. She's standing in the middle, and the person next to her, do you recognize him?"

Jiang Bo looked closely. Standing next to Li Hongmei was a man in his forties, thin, wearing glasses and a grey tracksuit with a logo on the chest. His face was somewhat blurry, but Jiang Bo felt he looked familiar. It wasn't just familiarity, but a sense of having seen him before. Where had he seen him? In the case files? In the surveillance footage? In a photograph from some case? He couldn't say.

"Who is this?"

Liu Tong zoomed in on the photo. The man's face became clearer: a square face, thick eyebrows, a slightly downturned mouth, and black-rimmed glasses. He stood next to Li Hongmei, very close to her, closer than any ordinary tour member. His right hand rested on Li Hongmei's shoulder, his fingers slightly bent, as if he were holding something.

"Dong Zhiqiang mentioned this person in his notebook. His name was Sun Jianguo, and he was a member of the night running group. He joined the group around the same time as Li Hongmei, in the spring of 2021. After Li Hongmei died, he left the group and never appeared again. Dong Zhiqiang wrote several pages of notes about him, saying that he would follow behind Li Hongmei every time he ran at night and take her home afterward. Li Hongmei said she had a boyfriend and didn't need to be taken home. Sun Jianguo said it was on his way. But Dong Zhiqiang checked and found that Sun Jianguo's house and Li Hongmei's house were in opposite directions. One was in the east of the city, and the other was in the west of the city, separated by an entire city."

Jiang Bo clenched his fist. "Sun Jianguo? Check his information. The more detailed the better, the sooner the better."

Liu Tong tapped a few keys on the keyboard, his fingers flying across the keys. "Found it. Sun Jianguo, born in 1978, from Jiangcheng. Works at a foreign trade company, doing import and export business. Married, has a ten-year-old daughter. No criminal record, no criminal history, rarely even traffic violations. His file is spotless, like a blank sheet of paper."

Where is he now?

Liu Tong shook his head. He tapped the keyboard a few more times, the screen scrolling through pages one after another, but to no avail. "I don't know. After Li Hongmei died in 2023, he resigned. The whole family moved away. Where they went, we can't find out. There's no relocation record, no new address registration, no social security record, no bank statements. He just vanished into thin air. Like those people who disappeared."

Jiang Bo stood there, looking at the photograph. Sun Jianguo stood next to Li Hongmei, very close to her. His hand was on her shoulder, as if making a declaration. Li Hongmei was smiling, and he was smiling too. He didn't know Li Hongmei would die, didn't know someone would find him, didn't know he would move away. He thought he had covered his tracks perfectly, thought no one would remember him, thought time would heal all wounds. But Dong Zhiqiang remembered him, for two years. Now, Jiang Bo remembered him too.

"Boss, there's one more thing." Liu Tong lowered his voice, as if he were talking about a secret. "In Dong Zhiqiang's notebook, there's a record about Sun Jianguo, several pages long. He said that every time Sun Jianguo went for a night run, he would follow behind Li Hongmei, keeping a distance of no more than two meters. After the run, he would walk her home, to her building entrance, and watch her go upstairs. Li Hongmei said she had a boyfriend and didn't need him to walk her. Sun Jianguo said it was on his way, and he was free anyway. But Dong Zhiqiang checked, and Sun Jianguo's house and Li Hongmei's house are in opposite directions, one in the east of the city and the other in the west. He's lying when he says it's on his way."

Jiang Bo clenched his fists. "Dong Zhiqiang suspects him?"

Liu Tong nodded. His finger traced across the notebook, pointing to a page. "Yes. But he had no evidence. He could only record it. He recorded Sun Jianguo's license plate number, the date he took Li Hongmei home, and that Sun Jianguo didn't come to the night run the night Li Hongmei died. He signed up for the night run that night but didn't come. He asked for leave, saying there was something wrong at home. Dong Zhiqiang asked him what was wrong, and he said his child had a fever. But Dong Zhiqiang later met his wife, who said the child was fine that day and didn't have a fever."

Jiang Bo remained silent for a moment. "Where was Sun Jianguo the night Li Hongmei died?"

Liu Tong flipped through his notebook. "Dong Zhiqiang checked. Sun Jianguo said he was at home with his wife. His wife confirmed it. But Dong Zhiqiang said his wife's eyes looked off, like she was lying. His wife didn't dare look at him when she spoke, and her hands were shaking. He had no evidence, so he could only write it down."

Jiang Bo walked to the window, looking at the night outside. The streetlights were on, illuminating the empty streets. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Now there was another name. Sun Jianguo. He stood next to Li Hongmei, very close to her. He walked her home. He wasn't there. He moved away. He disappeared. Like all those who disappeared, like those who sank to the bottom of the river.

"Investigate Sun Jianguo. Keep investigating until you find him. Go to his former residence, ask around at his company, and inquire at his daughter's school. Ask everyone who knows him."

Liu Tong nodded and started making a phone call.

The next morning, Jiang Bo went to the old pontoon bridge again. It was just dawn, and the fog was thick; the small house looked like an isolated island shrouded in mist. The gentleman sat at the doorway, his notebook resting on his lap. Seeing Jiang Bo's car, he stood up, leaned against the doorframe, and made way for him. His movements were slower than the day before, his knees slapping more loudly, but his eyes remained bright.

"You're here?"

"They're here."

Jiang Bo sat down beside him. Tangyuan lay down at his feet, resting its head on them. He stroked its head, and it wagged its tail without opening its eyes. It knew he would stroke its head, every day. It was its expectation, its habit.

"Sir, Dong Zhiqiang's notebook mentions a person: Sun Jianguo. He might be the murderer of Li Hongmei. He might also be the murderer of those women. Dong Zhiqiang has suspected him for a long time, but he has no evidence. He can only record it."

The man paused. His hand hovered in the air, his fingers slightly curled. "Sun Jianguo? I've seen him. He came to the old pontoon bridge to see me. That was in 2023, not long after Li Hongmei died. He came alone, standing at the door of that house, looking inside. He looked for a long time, then came over to me. He said he knew Yizhou. He said he used to be a policeman. He said he and your father were in the same cohort, joining the police force in 1980. He said he had investigated those cases, just like your father. He said he knew everything."

Jiang Bo was stunned. "He was a policeman? He was in the same class as your father? What's his name? Sun Jianguo?"

The man nodded. His gaze fell on the fog, on the unseen river. "He asked me, 'Teacher Zhou, how long will you keep remembering?' I said, 'Until I die.' He said, 'If you die, who will remember?' I said, 'Someone will remember.' He laughed. He said, 'No one will remember. No one will remember. They will only forget.' He said those who have died are not worth remembering. They don't even remember themselves anymore. He said the living are the most important. He said he had to protect his family. He said he couldn't die. He said he couldn't be like Yizhou."

Jiang Bo's hands were trembling. "What else did he say?"

The man thought for a moment. His brow furrowed, and his lips pursed, as if he were trying hard to recall. "He said Yizhou was a good man, but he was foolish. He risked his life to investigate those cases. He didn't deserve it. He said those women didn't deserve his death. He said Yizhou should live, should get married, should have children, should live a good life. He shouldn't have died."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Sir, he's the murderer. He killed Li Hongmei. He might be the one who killed those women. He stood at the door watching, watching them die. He couldn't do anything. He didn't want to do anything. He only thought of himself, only of his family, only of living."

The man looked at him. "Xiao Jiang, be careful. He's not Dong Jian'an. He won't wait for you. He'll run. He'll hide. He'll kill you. Dong Jian'an waited all those years for you to say sorry. He won't wait, he'll only run. He's run all those years, from Jiangcheng to who knows where. He doesn't want to be found."

Jiang Bo nodded. "I know. I will find him. No matter where he runs, no matter where he hides, I will find him."

He stood up and walked into the fog. The fog was thick, and he couldn't see anything. But he knew the way. He had always known.