Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

The car was quiet on the way back from Wuhu. The gentleman held his notebook, gazing out the window, his fingers tapping lightly on the cover, as if counting something. Dong Zhenhua leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep or lost in thought. Dong Jian'an looked down at his hands, resting on his knees, his fingers slightly curled, as if grasping something unseen. Sun Jianguo sat in the back, huddled in a corner like a wounded cat, his face buried in his collar. Tangyuan lay quietly at the gentleman's feet, neither barking nor making a sound, only occasionally twitching its ears. Jiang Bo watched them in the rearview mirror, a complex mix of emotions swirling within him. The apologies had been said. The families had been met. But the debts were far from being repaid. Chen Fang's mother said, "Go, I don't want to see you again." What would Sun Xiaomei's brother say? What would Liu Xiaoqin's brother say? Would they also wave goodbye and say, "Go?"

The second stop was Sun Xiaomei's home. Xiaomei, the woman who was murdered while pregnant, had her child sent to an orphanage, who grew up to become Liu Tong, a policeman, who killed someone, and died. Her home was in the countryside, in a village in Wuwei County. Jiang Bo had never been to that village, but he knew it must be very remote and quiet, like those forgotten places.

The car drove for three hours, the road growing narrower and narrower, from asphalt to concrete, then to dirt. On either side were farmlands and reed beds; the reeds were withered, yellow, swaying in the wind and rustling. Harvested rice stubble remained in the fields, like rows of silent soldiers. In the distance, smoke rose from villages; some were cooking, some were going about their lives, some were waiting. Those people didn't know that four people were saying sorry to each other in this car. They also didn't know that in that village, someone had been waiting for over thirty years.

Sun Xiaomei's mother and father were both dead. She had an older brother named Sun Dajun, who farmed in the village. Jiang Bo inquired for a long time before finally finding their house. The village was small, with only a few dozen households. The houses were all old-fashioned brick and tile structures, some already empty, their doors and windows wide open and dark. At the village entrance stood a large locust tree, its leaves all fallen, its bare branches stretching towards the sky like a withered hand. Several elderly people sat under the tree; seeing strangers enter, they all looked up, their eyes filled with curiosity and wariness.

The courtyard was small, with three tiled houses. The plaster had peeled off the walls, revealing the red bricks underneath, many of which were weathered and crumbled at the slightest touch. Farm tools—hoes, shovels, and sickles—were piled up in the yard, all rusted. A yellow dog, its fur dull and its body emaciated, was chained in the corner. Seeing strangers, it barked wildly, struggling against its chain, which rattled loudly. Sun Dajun emerged from the house. He was in his fifties, dark-skinned, and thin, wearing an old military overcoat with worn-out cuffs revealing the cotton underneath. His face was deeply wrinkled, like a dried-up riverbed. His eyes were small but bright, radiating the light of someone who had toiled for years. He saw Jiang Bo, paused for a moment, then saw the four people behind him, paused again. His gaze shifted from confusion to wariness, then to an indescribable sadness.

"Who are you?"

Jiang Bo showed his identification. "Sun Xiaomei's brother?"

Sun Dajun's face turned pale. As white as paper, his lips trembled, and he couldn't speak for a long time. "Yes. You are...you are the one who made the phone call? The case has been solved? The murderer has been found?" His voice trembled, like leaves rustling in the wind.

"We've investigated. We're here to apologize." Jiang Bo stepped aside, revealing Dong Jian'an behind him. Sunlight shone on Dong Jian'an's face, making the wrinkles look deep and etched like they were carved by a knife.

Sun Dajun stared at Dong Jian'an for a long time. His eyes traveled from Dong Jian'an's forehead to his eyebrows, from his eyebrows to his eyes, from his eyes to his nose, and from his nose to his mouth. He was trying to recognize that face. The face he had hated for over thirty years. The face he dreamed of every night.

"It was you? You killed my sister?"

Dong Jian'an lowered his head. The nod was slow and gentle. "Yes. It's me. I've come to apologize. I've waited many years, and I've finally been able to come. I've wanted to come since the day your sister died. I didn't dare. I was afraid. I waited for over thirty years, until my hair turned white, until my legs could no longer walk. I've come."

Tears streamed down Sun Dajun's face. He didn't speak, turning and walking into the house. His back was thin and hunched, like an old tree about to fall. Jiang Bo followed him in, the others trailing behind. The room was dark, lit only by a single incandescent bulb, its light dusty and dim. A black-and-white photograph hung on the wall, showing a young woman with a round face, large eyes, and a sweet smile. Sun Xiaomei. Next to her was a color photograph of an elderly couple, their hair completely white, sitting in chairs, smiling happily. They were dead. They had waited for their daughter to return until their deaths. Below the photograph was a small incense burner, containing several incense sticks, now burned out, leaving only stubble of grayish-white incense.

Sun Dajun sat on the stool, head down, looking at his hands. His hands were rough, calloused and cracked, black grime accumulating under his fingernails. "My sister, she died pregnant. She wasn't married, hadn't had a good life. She was murdered, and she lost her child. When my mother died, she kept calling her name. When my father died, he kept calling her name too. They waited until their deaths. They never saw her again. In her last few days, my mother didn't recognize anyone, but she still remembered Xiaomei. She asked me, 'Has Xiaomei come back?' I said, 'Soon.' She smiled. She left with a smile."

Dong Jian'an walked over and stood in front of him. His legs were trembling, and his hands were trembling too. "I'm sorry. I killed her. She was pregnant and about to give birth. She came to that man, but he denied everything. She cried all night. The next morning, she was walking along the riverbank when she saw me. She saw my face. I killed her. The child is gone too. I'm sorry. I've waited so many years, waiting for you to come and ask me. Now I've waited. I'm here to say I'm sorry. I've been saying I'm sorry for over thirty years, and today I finally say it to your face."

Sun Dajun looked up at him. "You killed her, and you said sorry. She can't hear you. My mother can't hear you. My father can't hear you either. Who are you talking to? Who are you talking to?"

Tears streamed down Dong Jian'an's face. "I'm telling you. I'm telling those who are still alive. I'm telling those who remember her. I know she can't hear me, but I still want to say it. I'll say it as many times as I want. I'll say it for a lifetime. Hit me. Curse me. Kill me. I owe your sister a life. Hit me, curse me, kill me, I'll take it all."

Sun Dajun stood up and walked up to Dong Jian'an. He was a head taller and a size bigger than Dong Jian'an. He raised his hand; it was a large hand, thick and calloused. His hand froze in mid-air, trembling. Then he lowered it.

"Go away. I don't want to hit you. If I do, my sister won't come back. Go away. I don't want to see you again. I've remembered your face for over thirty years. I dream about it every night. Now that I've seen it, I don't want to look at it anymore."

Dong Jian'an didn't leave. He stood there, head bowed. "I won't leave. Hit me. Curse me. Kill me. I owe your sister a life. Hit me, curse me, kill me, I'll take it all. Hit me. Hit me, it'll make me feel better."

Sun Dajun stared at him for a long time. Tears streamed down his face, cutting into the wrinkles that resembled a dried-up riverbed. Then he squatted down, buried his face in his hands, and burst into tears. He cried loudly, like a child. He cried for his sister, for his parents, for those who had waited his whole life. He trembled all over, his face streaked with snot and tears. Dong Jian'an stood before him, silent. The teacher stood at the door, also silent. Jiang Bo stood by the window, tears streaming down his face. Tangyuan lay on the floor, looking up at this person, then at that person, then lowering his head again.

After a long while, Sun Dajun stood up and wiped away his tears. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and took a deep breath. "Go. I won't hit you, I won't scold you, I won't kill you. Go. You said sorry, I heard it. I heard it for my sister. If she knew, she would forgive you."

Dong Jian'an looked at him. "Will she? Will she? Will she really forgive me? I killed her, I killed her child. Will she really forgive me?"

Sun Dajun looked at him for a long time. "She will. She's a good person. She's soft-hearted. She can't stand seeing people cry. If you cry, she'll forgive you. She's always been soft-hearted; she'll cry even when she sees a kitten or puppy injured. She won't hate you. She won't hate anyone."

Dong Jian'an lowered his head. "I'm not a good person. I'm a bad person. I killed her, I don't deserve her forgiveness. I don't deserve anyone's forgiveness."

Sun Dajun didn't speak. He turned around, walked to the black and white photograph, and stood there for a long time. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the photograph and Sun Xiaomei's smiling face. Her smile was sweet and warm. Sun Dajun reached out and touched his sister's face in the photograph. His fingers were rough, but he touched her very lightly and carefully, as if handling a fragile treasure.

"Go away. My sister is here. She's watching you. She heard you. She forgives you. She won't hate you. She never hates anyone. Go away. Don't come back. I don't want to see you again. But remember, my sister has forgiven you."

They stepped out of the house and stood in the yard. The sun was shining brightly, warm and pleasant. The yellow dog had stopped barking and lay down, watching them, its tail wagging. It seemed to know that these people weren't bad. The pile of farm tools in the yard gleamed with rust in the sunlight. The persimmon tree in the corner had lost all its leaves, and a few shriveled persimmons, red like little lanterns, hung from its bare branches.

Sun Dajun stood at the door, watching them. He didn't wave, didn't say goodbye, just stood there, like a tree. The wind blew, making his hair, white and gray, flutter.

As he boarded the bus, Dong Jian'an glanced back. The three tiled houses, the courtyard, the yellow dog, the man—they all grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Tears welled in his eyes again. The gentleman patted him on the shoulder but said nothing.

The third stop was Liu Xiaoqin's home in Tongling. Liu Xiaoqin's brother was still there, the man who had searched for her for many years, spending a lot of money and traveling to many places. On the phone, he said that after so many years of searching, he had finally learned the truth. He said he had wronged his sister and had hated her for many years. He said he wanted to come see her and apologize. He cried as he said this.

The car drove for two hours and entered Tongling. Tongling is larger than Wuhu and more prosperous than Wuwei. Liu Xiaoqin's brother lives in a residential area on the outskirts of the city. The building is tall and new, with tiled exteriors that gleam in the sunlight. There are flower beds downstairs, planted with holly bushes, their green so dark it's almost black. He stood waiting downstairs, wearing an old jacket, his hair gray, thin, and wearing thick, round glasses. He saw Jiang Bo's car and came to greet him.

"You're here? Come in. Have a seat. I'll pour you some tea. We don't have anything fancy at home, and the tea is from the supermarket; it's not very good, so please make do."

He led them upstairs. The elevator was fast, the numbers jumping one by one, from 1 to 2, from 2 to 3, from 3 to 4. He stood in the elevator, his hand on the handrail, his fingers slightly curled. He glanced at Dong Jian'an, then at Dong Zhenhua, then at the gentleman. He didn't speak, but Jiang Bo knew he was recognizing those people. Those he had hated for many years. Those he had searched for for many years.

The room wasn't large, but it was very clean. The cushions on the sofa were faded from washing, but laid out neatly. On the coffee table was a plate of fruit, apples and oranges, arranged neatly. Hanging on the wall was a black and white photograph of Liu Xiaoqin when she was young, with a round face, big eyes, and a sweet smile. Next to it was a color photograph of an elderly couple, their hair completely white, sitting in chairs, smiling happily. Those were her parents, now deceased. They had been calling out their daughter's name until their dying breath.

He poured them tea and sat down opposite them. His hand trembled as he held the teacup. "Did you kill my sister?" he asked, looking at Dong Jian'an.

Dong Jianan nodded. "Yes. It's me. I've come to apologize to you. I've waited many years, and I'm finally able to come."

Tears streamed down the man's face. "I've been looking for her for so many years. I posted missing person notices everywhere, asked around, and begged people everywhere. I spent a lot of money and went to so many places. Nothing came of it. When my mother died, she kept calling out her name. When my father died, he kept calling out her name too. They waited until their deaths. But they never saw her again. I hated her for so many years. I thought she went out to work and abandoned us. I hated her. Every year during the Spring Festival, while other families were reunited, our family was missing one person. My father drank alone, one glass after another. My mother cried secretly, hiding in the kitchen. I hated her, hated that she wouldn't come back, hated that she abandoned this family. Now I know, I wronged her. She didn't abandon us; she just can't come back."

Dong Jian'an stood up and walked up to him. "I'm sorry. I killed her. She liked to go to the riverbank and watch the boats. She saw my face. I killed her. She knew nothing. She was just passing by. I'm sorry. I've waited so many years, waiting for you to come and ask me. Now I've waited. I'm here to say sorry. I've been saying sorry for over thirty years, and today I'm finally saying it to your face."

The man stared at him for a long time. "You killed her, and you said sorry. She can't hear you. My mother can't hear you. My father can't hear you either. Who are you talking to?"

Tears streamed down Dong Jian'an's face. "I'm telling you. I'm telling those who remember her. I'm telling those who waited for her their whole lives. I know she can't hear me, but I still want to say it. I can say it as many times as I want. I can say it for a lifetime."

The man stood up, walked to the black-and-white photograph, and stood there for a long time. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the photograph and Liu Xiaoqin's smiling face. Her smile was sweet and pure. He reached out and touched his sister's face in the photograph. His fingers were thin and white.

"Xiaoqin, someone came to see you. He said he was sorry. Did you hear him? If you heard him, nod."

Liu Xiaoqin in the photo is smiling, but she doesn't nod. But the man seems to have heard something, and tears stream down his face. "She heard it. She said she doesn't blame you. She said you should go. She said she forgives you. She said you shouldn't kill anyone again. She said you should take care of yourself."

Dong Jian'an stood there and burst into tears. He cried silently, tears streaming down his face, his shoulders trembling. The gentleman went over and patted him on the shoulder. Dong Zhenhua also went over and stood beside him. Sun Jianguo stood at the door, also crying. He cried so hard that snot was running down his face, which he wiped with his sleeve.

They walked out of the house and stood in the hallway. The man stood in the doorway, watching them. He didn't wave, didn't say goodbye, just stood there. The elevator doors closed, the numbers ticking down from the sixth floor to the first. Jiang Bo stood in the elevator, watching the numbers, a mix of emotions swirling in his heart. Those apologies, they'd said them. Those families, they'd met them. Those debts, a little bit paid off. So much more, a lifetime to repay. But they weren't leaving. They were here. On this road, in this city, by this river. 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. They'd waited their whole lives, and now it was their turn to say them. Until they couldn't say anymore, until they couldn't hear anymore, until they died.