Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

The rain stopped the night Sun Jianguo left. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting a pale, frost-like light on the ruins. The light in that small house stayed on all night. Jiang Bo didn't leave; he sat in the car, looking out the window. Tangyuan lay at his feet, fast asleep, her belly rising and falling, her breathing even. He didn't know what they were saying inside, but he knew they were talking about those names, those apologies, those debts owed for over thirty years. They had spoken for so many years, written for so many years, and now they were speaking face to face, their voices soft, but every word heavy. As dawn approached, he fell asleep, his head resting against the car window, his neck tilted, drool dripping from his mouth.

As dawn broke, someone knocked on the car window. Jiang Bo opened his eyes and saw his husband standing outside, his back hunched, holding an enamel mug with the words "Serve the People" worn away and illegible on it. The morning light behind him bathed his silhouette in a golden glow. He rolled down the window, and his husband handed him the mug. "Drink some hot water. You didn't go home all night; your mother must be worried. She called you several times, but you didn't answer. She thought something had happened to you."

Jiang Bo took the cup and took a sip. The water was very hot, numbing his tongue, but warming his stomach. "Sir, where are they?"

"They're all here. They're all up. They didn't sleep all night, they were all talking. They said a lot, they cried a lot. Now it's quiet. Dong Jian'an is writing names, stroke by stroke, very slowly. Dong Zhenhua is organizing the evidence, arranging the files by year. Sun Jianguo is helping, classifying the photos one by one. They're like a family, busy preparing for the New Year. It's just that this New Year is more than thirty years old."

Jiang Bo got out of the car and went into the small house. It was dark inside; the kerosene lamp was still lit, but it was already dawn, and the light was faint, like an eye about to go out. Dong Jian'an sat at the table, head bowed, writing names stroke by stroke. His back was hunched, his hand trembled, but the pen was steady. Dong Zhenhua sat on the edge of the bed, the files spread out in front of him, flipping through them page by page, pausing occasionally to make marks in red pen. Sun Jianguo squatted on the floor, helping to organize the photos, classifying them one by one, arranging them into stacks according to year and location. They didn't speak, each doing their own thing, occasionally looking up to exchange a glance before looking down again. Tangyuan lay by the door, head resting on its paws, eyes half-closed, enjoying the sunlight filtering through the crack in the door.

Jiang Bo stood at the doorway, watching them. He remembered those names, those apologies, those people who stood at the door watching. They weren't standing at the doorway anymore. They came in, into this little house, into those names, into those apologies. They weren't leaving. They were here. Their shadows were cast on the wall, long and thin, like four withered old trees, but their roots were still firmly planted in the soil.

"Sir, you should visit those family members. They've waited their whole lives. Now that the truth is out, and I'm sorry to have said it, it's time for them to know. They've waited too long; if they wait any longer, they'll be gone too. Like those who have died, once they're gone, they'll never come back."

The man nodded. He gently patted the notebook, as if comforting the names. "It's time to go. They've waited so many years, a lifetime. We can't wait any longer. If we wait any longer, they'll be gone too. And once they're gone, no one will hear our apologies. And the debts will never be repaid."

Dong Jian'an raised his head and put down his pen. His eyes were red, but bright. "I'll go with you. I'll go and apologize to them. I'll say it to their faces. I'll take it if they want to hit me or scold me. I killed their daughter, so it's only right that they beat me and scold me. I'll take it."

Dong Zhenhua also looked up and closed the file. "I'll go too. I'll speak for him. I'll answer for him. I'll stand at the door and watch, I also owe them an apology. I didn't kill them, but I watched them die. Like him, I owe them a life."

Sun Jianguo stood up and brushed the dust off his knees. "I went too. I saw it, but I did nothing. I ran away, hiding for so many years. I also owe them an apology. I saw it, I ran away. I didn't stand up, I didn't say anything. I'm even worse than him."

The man stood up, gripping the edge of the table. His movements were slow, his knees creaking. "I'll go too. I've remembered for so many years, written for so many years. I also owe them an apology. I remembered their names, but I couldn't save them. I wrote so many apologies, but I never said them to them in person. I owe them."

Jiang Bo looked at them. Four people, four old faces, four people standing at the door watching. They were about to go in. They were going to go into the homes of those families, into the eyes of those who had waited their whole lives, into the eyes of the dead. They were going to say sorry. They were going to say it many times. They were going to say it for a lifetime. Until they could no longer speak, until they could no longer hear, until they died.

The first stop was Chen Fang's home in Wuhu. The old woman there was eighty-six, hard of hearing, and couldn't hear the phone clearly. Her daughter said her mother would ask every morning, "Has Fangfang come back yet?" She'd ask, then forget, and ask again the next day. She had waited her whole life, until her hair turned white, until her eyesight failed, until her legs gave way, until her hearing failed. She was still waiting. Waiting for someone who would never return. She didn't know her daughter was dead, dead for over thirty years. She only knew that Fangfang had gone out to work and hadn't returned. She would come back. She definitely would. She had said she would come back.

Jiang Bo drove, with his wife in the front passenger seat and Dong Zhenhua, Dong Jian'an, and Sun Jianguo in the back. The back seat was cramped; the three elderly people huddled together, none of them speaking. Tangyuan lay beside his wife's feet, her head resting on them. After two hours, they entered Wuhu. The sky cleared, and the sunlight shone warmly on the streets, like springtime. The plane trees along the street had lost all their leaves, their bare branches stretching towards the sky like withered hands. Steam from the breakfast stalls wafted in the sunlight, mingling with the aroma of fried dough sticks and soy milk.

Chen Fang's mother lived in a narrow alley in the old town. The alley was densely packed with residential buildings on both sides, and the power lines overhead were tangled into a net, like countless snakes. Small stains covered the walls, layer upon layer, obscuring their original color. Puddles of water reflected the sky, creating a hazy, gray hue. Jiang Bo parked the car at the alley entrance and helped his husband out. Dong Zhenhua, Dong Jian'an, and Sun Jianguo followed behind. They walked slowly, step by step. The elderly people in the alley stopped to look at them, their eyes filled with curiosity, wariness, and a hint of unspoken expectation.

Chen Fang's mother was on the third floor. The stairs were steep, the motion-activated lights were broken, and only the dim, yellowish light filtering in from the window illuminated the small GG on the wall and the stair railing. The railing was iron, the paint peeling off to reveal the rust underneath, and it felt very rough to the touch. The gentleman walked in front, holding onto the railing, climbing step by step. His knees creaked, like rusty iron doors, like an old staircase. His breathing was heavy, a hoarse sound coming from his throat, like a bellows. He didn't stop. Dong Zhenhua followed behind him, Dong Jian'an followed behind Dong Zhenhua, and Sun Jianguo brought up the rear. They didn't speak, they just climbed. When they reached the third floor, they stood in front of the door, panting for a long time. Their hands gripped the wall, their fingers white, as if trying to dig into the wall.

Jiang Bo knocked on the door. The middle-aged woman who opened it was Chen Fang's sister. She was wearing an apron, her hands dusted with flour, as if she were making breakfast. She saw Jiang Bo, paused for a moment, then paused again when she saw the four people behind him. Her eyes moved from her husband's face to Dong Zhenhua's, then to Dong Jian'an's, and finally to Sun Jianguo's. Did she recognize any of them? Perhaps she did, perhaps not. She simply stood there, gripping the doorframe, her knuckles white.

"You...what are you all doing here? What happened? Is there any news about the case?"

Jiang Bo looked at her. "We're here to apologize. The cases have been solved. The murderer has been found. He apologized. Those who stood at the door watching also apologized. They've waited so many years, and they've finally come."

Tears streamed down the woman's face. She didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely. "My mother is inside. She just woke up. She's in good spirits today and didn't ask about Fangfang. Sometimes she's lucid, sometimes she's confused. When she's lucid, she asks, 'Has Fangfang come back?' When she's confused, she doesn't ask. She didn't ask today. I thought she forgot. She didn't forget. She's just tired. She can't ask anymore."

They went inside. The room was small but very clean. A black-and-white photograph hung on the wall, showing Chen Fang in her youth—round face, big eyes, and a sweet smile. Next to it was a color photograph of an elderly woman, sitting in a wheelchair, smiling happily. Now she was old, her hair completely white, her back hunched, sitting in her wheelchair like a statue. Her eyes were half-open, her lips moving slightly, as if she were saying something, as if she were reciting something. Her hands rested on her knees, her fingers moving constantly, as if she were kneading something, as if she were making dumplings. Beside the wheelchair was a cane, its handle worn smooth and shiny.

The woman walked over and knelt down beside the old woman. "Mom, someone has come to see you. The people who investigated Fangfang's case. They've come. They said the case is solved. The murderer has been found. They've come to tell you."

The old woman raised her head, her cloudy eyes scanning the scene for a long time. She blinked a few times, as if trying to make something clear. "Fangfang? Fangfang's case? It's been solved? The murderer has been found? Who? Who killed my Fangfang?"

The woman nodded. "Found them. They came to apologize. There were many of them, four, and that policeman too."

Tears streamed down the old woman's face. "It's good that we found it. It's good that we found it. I've waited so many years, and I've finally found it. I thought I would never see it again. I thought I would die before I could see it again."

Dong Jian'an walked over and squatted down in front of the old woman. He squatted very slowly, his knees cracking as if they were about to break. He looked at her, for a long time. Her eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. That kind of light—the kind that only those who have waited a long time have, the kind that only those who have finally waited for something have. Tears streamed down his face.

"Chen Fang... I killed her. I killed her. She knew nothing, she was just passing by. She saw my face. I killed her. I'm sorry. I've waited so many years, waiting for you to come and question me. Now I've waited. I'm here to say sorry. I've been saying sorry for over thirty years, and today I finally say it to your face."

The old woman stared at him for a long time. Her lips trembled, and she couldn't speak for a long time. "Who are you? Why did you kill Fangfang? She was a good child. She didn't do anything bad. She was just going to the riverbank, just passing by. She wouldn't even dare to kill a chicken. Why did you kill her?"

"My name is Dong Jian'an. I killed so many people, including your daughter. I've waited so many years for you to come and question me. Now I've waited. I'm here to say sorry. I killed her because I hated. I hate this city, I hate this river, I hate those people. I hate that they were like that person. I hate that they weren't that person. I killed them. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

The old woman reached out and touched his face. Her hands were thin and old, veins bulging, nails trimmed short. Her hand moved slowly across his face, from his forehead to his eyebrows, from his eyebrows to his eyes, from his eyes to his cheeks, from his cheeks to his chin. "You hate. Does your hatred justify killing? Does your hatred justify Fangfang's death? Does your hatred justify making me wait so many years? Does your hatred justify making me, an old woman, bury my child? Does your hatred justify making me wake up every day asking, 'Has Fangfang returned yet?'"

Dong Jian'an lowered his head. His tears dripped onto the ground, one drop at a time. "No. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'll say it as many times as I want. I'll say it for a lifetime. You can hit me, you can scold me, I'll take it."

The old woman's hand slid down his face and landed on his knee. "Go away. I don't want to see you again. You killed Fangfang, and you said sorry. Fangfang can't hear you anymore. I can't hear you either. Go away. I don't want to see your face again. I've remembered this face for over thirty years. I dream about it every night. Now that I've seen it, I don't want to see it anymore."

Dong Jian'an stood up and stepped aside. His legs and hands were trembling.

Dong Zhenhua walked over and squatted down in front of the old woman. "I am Dong Zhenhua. I am his twin brother. I watched him kill your daughter, but I did not stop him. I stood at the door watching. There was nothing I could do. I also owe you an apology. I did not kill her, but I watched her die. Like him, I owe her a life."

The old woman looked at him. "You're a murderer too. You didn't kill her, but you watched her die. You're the same as her. You both owe Fangfang a life. Why didn't you stop it? You're a policeman, you have a gun, you have connections. Why didn't you stop it?"

Tears streamed down Dong Zhenhua's face. "Because I was afraid. I was afraid of dying. I was afraid of being exposed. I was afraid that the evidence would be gone, and the truth would be forever buried at the bottom of the river. I chose to live, I chose to remain silent, I chose to stand at the door and watch. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

The old woman didn't speak. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved slightly, as if she were saying something.

The man walked over and knelt down in front of the old woman. "I am Zhou Yuanshan. I've remembered your daughter's name for over thirty years, and I've written 'I'm sorry' for over thirty years. There's nothing I can do. I'm just standing at the door watching. I also owe you an apology."

The old woman opened her eyes and looked at him. "You've remembered her for over thirty years? You've been writing 'I'm sorry' for over thirty years?"

The man nodded. He took the notebook out of his bag, turned to Chen Fang's page, and handed it to her. "Yes. Her name is in my notebook, in my heart, in my dreams. I read her name every night before I can fall asleep. I've been doing this for over thirty years. She's here. She won't disappear."

The old woman took the notebook and looked at that page. The words, the dates, the apologies. She stared at it for a long time, her fingers slowly tracing the lines on the paper, as if touching her daughter's face. Then she closed the notebook and hugged it to her chest.

"It's good that someone remembers her. If someone remembers her, she's not dead. Go. I don't hate you. You've remembered her for so many years, that's enough."

Sun Jianguo walked over and squatted down in front of the old woman. "I am Sun Jianguo. I saw it, but I did nothing. I ran away and hid for so many years. I also owe you an apology."

The old woman looked at him. "You saw it too? You didn't do anything? You ran away too?"

Sun Jianguo nodded. "Yes. I saw it, I was scared. I ran away. I hid for so many years. I was wrong. I'm sorry."

The old woman didn't speak. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her wheelchair. Her lips moved slightly, as if she were trying to say something. The woman went over and knelt beside her. "Mom, you're tired. Rest. They're gone. They've said what they needed to say. They've heard what they needed to hear. You should rest."

The old woman opened her eyes. "Let them go. I'm tired. I've waited my whole life, and this is it. Enough. I can close my eyes now. I don't need to wait anymore."

They walked out of the house and stood in the hallway. No one spoke. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating their faces. The wrinkles, the tears, glistened in the sunlight. They went downstairs, out of the alley, and got into the car. The car started and drove out of Wuhu. No one spoke. The apologies had been said. The families had been met. A little of the debts had been repaid. There was still so much left, a lifetime to repay. But they wouldn't leave. They stayed. On this road, in this city, by this river. They waited for people to come, for people to leave, for people to remember those names, for people to say those apologies. They had waited a lifetime; now it was their turn to say them. Until they could no longer speak, until they could no longer hear, until they died.