Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

When Jiang Bo returned to Jiangcheng, it was already afternoon. Sunlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the river and scattering it into dazzling, shimmering pieces of gold. He didn't go back to the Municipal Bureau; he went straight to the old pontoon bridge. He parked the car in front of the ruins, leaving the engine running, and sat there for a long time. Tangyuan lay quietly in the passenger seat, its head resting on its paws, keeping him company. Its eyes were half-open, occasionally twitching its ears, as if it were dozing off, or perhaps waiting for something.

He looked at the small house. The door was open, and the man sat in the doorway, a notebook on his lap. He didn't stand up, nor did he wave. He just sat there, watching Jiang Bo's car, like a withered old tree. The wind blew, making his hair flutter—white and gray—like reeds in the sunlight. His hand rested on the notebook, his fingers slightly curled, as if tracing the names. He didn't move, and neither did Jiang Bo. They just looked at each other across the ruins.

After a long while, Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked over. Tangyuan followed behind, running ahead, stopping every few steps to look back at him. The broken bricks on the ruins creaked and crunched, and the weeds scratched against his trouser legs. The man watched him approach, his eyes bright.

"You're back?"

"I'm back."

"You saw him?"

"I saw him. Sun Jianguo. He's hiding in Yueyang, in Lujiao Town, by Dongting Lake. He changed his name to Sun Jianping. He lives alone and runs a small supermarket. He doesn't know anyone, and nobody knows him. He's hidden himself away."

The man nodded. He tapped his hand lightly on his notebook. "What did he say? Is he willing to come back?"

"He said he had mistaken the person for someone else. He thought Dong Zhenhua was that person. He had been afraid for many years and had been on the run for many years. Now he knows, he has made a mistake. He squatted on the ground and cried, cried for a long time. He said he would come back. He said he wanted to see you. He said he wanted to see that little house, see those names, see those apologies."

The man was silent for a moment. He looked at the ruins, at the river. "He wasn't the first to admit his mistake, nor will he be the last. That face harmed many people. Dong Jian'an killed with that face, Dong Zhenhua paid his debts with that face. One face, two people, one committed sins, the other atones. Those who saw that face couldn't tell who was who. They hated the wrong person, feared the wrong person, and went down the wrong path. They thought they saw a ghost, but they actually saw a person. They thought they saw a person, but they actually saw a ghost."

Jiang Bo sat down beside him. It was the same chair, still a little wobbly, one leg slightly crooked. The sunlight shone on them, warm and comforting. Under the sunlight, the ruins didn't seem so desolate anymore. The yellowish, soft grass looked like a carpet. On the roof of the small house, several sparrows hopped around, chirping away.

"Sir, is Dong Jian'an still inside?"

The man nodded. It was a slow, gentle nod. "He's here. He's always been here. He's not going anywhere. He said he's waited for you all these years, and now you're here. He's said everything he needed to say, and he's paid his debts. He won't leave again. His legs can't move, and his heart can't move either."

Jiang Bo stood up and went into the small room. It was dark inside, lit only by a kerosene lamp, its shade gleaming, the flame flickering and casting swaying shadows on the wall. Dong Zhenhua sat on the edge of the bed, Dong Jian'an at the table. Two people, two identical faces, identical white hair, identical wrinkles, identical dark coats. One sat on the bed, head bowed, looking at his hands. The other sat at the table, gazing out the window at the river. Hearing footsteps, they turned at the same time. Two faces, exactly alike. Jiang Bo stood in the doorway, watching them, a strange feeling welling up inside him. Two faces, two people, one committing sins, the other atoning. One killed so many people, the other held a grudge for so many years. One spoke of hatred, the other of apology. They sat in this small room, facing each other, a few steps apart, like looking in a mirror, or like being separated by a river.

Dong Zhenhua stood up slowly, his knees cracking. "Xiao Jiang, you're back. Sun Jianguo... has he finally agreed to come back?"

Dong Jian'an also stood up, gripping the edge of the table. "You saw him? What did he say? Does he hate me? Is I the one he hates?"

Jiang Bo walked over and stood before them. The light from the kerosene lamp illuminated his face, half bright and half dim. "He saw you. He mistook you for Dong Zhenhua. He was afraid for many years, he ran away for many years. He said he would come back. He said he wanted to see you. He said he wanted to see that little house, see those names, see those apologies."

Dong Jian'an lowered his head. Tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the table and onto the open notebook. "The person he should hate is me. Not Zhenhua. He hated the wrong person. He feared the wrong person. He went down the wrong path. I was the one who killed those people. I was the one who stood at the door watching. Zhenhua did nothing; he just watched me. He was just like me, unable to do anything. He was just like me, standing at the door watching. He was just like me, saying sorry for many years."

Dong Zhenhua looked at him. His eyes were bright, like the waters of a river in winter. "He doesn't hate you, he hates that face. That face ruined him. It ruined us too. When those people saw that face, they couldn't tell who was who. They hated the wrong person, feared the wrong person, and went down the wrong path. They thought they saw a ghost, but they actually saw a person. They thought they saw a person, but they actually saw a ghost."

Jiang Bo stood between them, looking at the two identical faces. He remembered those names, those apologies, those people standing at the door watching. He thought of his father, his husband, Dong Zhiqiang, and Sun Jianguo. They were all standing at the door watching. They could do nothing. They had all said sorry. But they didn't go in. They didn't dare go in.

"What do you plan to do? Stay here? Hide? Keep writing those names? Keep saying sorry? Wait until you die? The families will come. They will ask you why you killed their daughters. You have to answer. Even if you can't answer, you still have to answer."

Dong Zhenhua looked out the window. Outside were the ruins, the river, the city. The sun had already set, leaving only a dark red streak on the horizon, like a wound. "I don't know. I've been hiding for so many years, concealed myself for so many years. I don't know where else to go. If I leave here, I won't know where to go next."

Dong Jian'an stared at the table. The notebook lay open on it, the page flipped open, listing names: Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Zhao Xiuying, Liu Xiaoqin, Sun Xiaomei, Zhang Jianguo, Li Mei, Gao Deming. And many more—more than thirty names, more than thirty lives. "I don't know either. I've waited for you for so many years, and now I've finally found you. I don't know what to do next. I've killed so many people, hated for so many years. Now I don't hate anymore, I don't kill anymore. I don't know what to do anymore. I'll just sit here, watching the river, waiting for those names to be written down."

The man walked in through the door and stood beside Jiang Bo. His back was hunched, but his eyes were bright. "You're not going anywhere. You're staying here. By this river, in this little house. You're remembering those names, writing those 'I'm sorry.' You're paying your debts. Paying them off until you can't pay anymore. Those names haven't been written all the time, those 'I'm sorry' haven't been said all the time. Those debts haven't been paid off. You can't leave. If you leave, no one will remember those names, no one will say those 'I'm sorry.' Those debts will never be paid off."

Jiang Bo looked at them. "Sun Jianguo will come back. He will come here. He will come to see you. Those families will come too. They will come and ask you why you killed their daughters. They have waited so many years, a lifetime. They want an answer. You must answer. Even if you can't answer, you must answer."

Tears streamed down Dong Jian'an's face. He raised his hand to wipe them away, but the tears wouldn't stop; the more he wiped, the more they flowed. "I can't answer them. I can't answer them. I killed their daughter. I said I hated them, I said I was wrong, I said I'm sorry. Will they forgive me? They won't. They won't forgive me. I don't deserve to be forgiven."

Jiang Bo looked at him. "You have to answer, even if you can't. You killed them, you owe them an answer. Whether they forgive you or not, you have to answer. What you owe them can't be repaid by simply saying sorry. You have to stand there, look them in the eyes, and listen to their questions. Even if you can't answer, you have to answer."

Dong Zhenhua walked over and stood beside Dong Jian'an. He placed his hand on Dong Jian'an's shoulder, just like many years ago. "I'll answer for him. I can't answer for him. He didn't kill those people; he stood at the door watching. He has no right to apologize on his behalf. Neither do I. We are both people standing at the door watching. We can't do anything. We both owe those who died a life."

Jiang Bo shook his head. The shaking was slow and heavy. "You can't answer. You're not him. You didn't kill them. You have no right to apologize on his behalf. Those families don't want to hear your apology, they want to hear his. They waited so many years for him, not you. You can't speak for him. He has to say it himself."

The room fell silent. Only the sound of the river, rushing in from outside the window, could be heard. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered, then settled. The shadows on the wall swayed, then remained still. The four people stood in the small room, facing each other, and no one spoke. Tangyuan lay on the ground, raising its head to look at this one, then that one, then lowering its head and resting it on its paws.

After a long while, Dong Jian'an raised his head. His eyes were bright, like the waters of a river in winter. "I'll wait. I'll wait for them to come. I'll answer. Even if I can't answer, I'll answer. I'll stand before them, look into their eyes, and listen to their questions. If I can't answer, I'll say I can't answer. If I can't answer, I'll say I'm sorry. I can say it as many times as I want. I can say it for a lifetime."

Jiang Bo turned and walked out of the small house. Tangyuan followed behind. He stood by the river, looking at the water. The moon had risen, its light shimmering on the river like shimmering silver fragments. The river flowed slowly, just as it had a hundred years ago, just as it had a thousand years ago. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. They had said sorry, and they were still waiting. Waiting for the families to come, waiting for the dead to come, waiting for the unanswerable questions to come. They wouldn't leave. They weren't going anywhere. They were here, by this river, in this small house. They waited for people to come, waited for people to leave, waited for people to remember those names, waited for people to say those apologies.

He won't just stand at the door and watch. He'll go in. He will.