Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo didn't sleep a wink all night. He sat in his office, the map spread out before him. The old pontoon bridge, that little house, Mr. Dong, Dong Jian'an, Sun Jianguo, Zhang Jianjun, Old Liu. Those people, those names, those apologies—all were on this map, like coordinates, like tombstones. He circled Old Liu's little house in red pen and wrote a question mark next to it. He knew he was getting closer and closer to the truth. Old Liu said he was waiting for someone who would never return. His wife was dead, dead by the river. He had searched for so many years, but couldn't find her. He killed any woman who resembled his wife. He killed one, then another, and another. He couldn't stop. He hated this city, hated this river, hated all the people who were alive. He had hated for so many years, killed so many people. Now he didn't hate anymore. He had waited for you for so many years, and now he didn't hate anymore.

He stood up and walked to the window. It was still dark outside, the streetlights illuminating the empty street. Tangyuan lay at his feet, looking up at him with bright, sparkling eyes. He squatted down and stroked its head. "Tangyuan, tell me, who is Old Liu's wife? How did she die? Was she among those names? Was she also killed by Dong Jian'an? Was she waiting for someone too? Was the person she was waiting for my dad?" Tangyuan, of course, didn't answer. It just licked his hand, then lay down, resting its head on its paws. It didn't understand what its master was saying, but it knew that its master was very sad.

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. The smoke drifted in the darkness, like those names, like those apologies, like those who would never return. He remembered his husband's words: "Her name was Xiulan." He remembered Old Liu's words: "She died by the river. In 1992. She was pregnant, about to give birth. She went to the river to wait for your father. Your father didn't come." He remembered Dong Jian'an's words: "Yes. I killed her." He remembered those names, those apologies, those people standing at the door watching. They were all on this map, all by this river, all in this city. They wouldn't leave. They wouldn't go anywhere. They were right here. He wouldn't leave either. He was here too.

As dawn broke, Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Sunlight shone on the river, shattering into dazzling golden fragments. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood watching at the door were also in his heart. He was going to see Old Liu. One more time. He still had so many questions to ask. Why did he kill those people? Who was his wife? How did she die? Who had he been waiting for all these years? Was it him? Or his father? Or those who had died? He had to find out. He couldn't sleep without finding out. He couldn't leave without finding out. Without finding out, those names would forever remain just names, and those apologies would forever remain empty words.

In the morning light, the old pontoon bridge resembled a forgotten ruin. The bulldozers still stood there, rusted and worn, raindrops dripping from their steel bodies like tears. Wild grass swayed in the wind, yellow and dry, rustling softly like countless hands whispering secrets. The door to the small house was open, and the man sat in the doorway, a notebook on his lap. He saw Jiang Bo's car, stood up, and, supporting himself on the doorframe, made way for him. His movements were slower than yesterday, his knees creaking, but there was a light in his eyes, as if he were waiting for something.

"You're here so early today. You didn't sleep all night, did you? Your eyes are red and you don't look well. Your mother will be worried if she finds out."

"Sir, is Old Liu here? I need to see him. I have something to ask him. I have to get to the bottom of this. I can't sleep until I get it."

The man paused. He turned and looked at the smaller, more dilapidated, and more inconspicuous hut. Nestled between two ruins, it was like a patch, a forgotten corner. Most of the roof tiles were missing, covered with a torn plastic sheet that rattled in the wind. The plaster had peeled off, revealing the red bricks beneath, many of which were weathered and crumbled at the slightest touch. The door was wooden, the paint completely peeled away, revealing the grayish-white wood grain; the frame was crooked, the door panel warped, and it wouldn't close properly.

"Yes. He's always been here. He's been waiting for you for many years. Go find him. He's in that little house. He sits there every day, watching the river, waiting for you. He knew you would come. He said he wasn't in a hurry. He could wait. He's waited so many years, a few more days wouldn't matter."

Jiang Bo walked to the small house; the door was closed. He knocked. No one answered. He knocked again. Still no one. He pushed the door open. The hinges creaked loudly, especially clear in the quiet morning. The house was dark, without a light. The windows were covered with plastic sheeting, letting in no light except for a narrow strip of light that shone through the doorway onto the floor. Dust motes danced in the beam of light, like countless tiny stars. Old Liu sat on the edge of the bed, his back to him. He wore that dark overcoat, his hair completely white, long, draped over his shoulders like reeds in winter. His back was hunched, like a withered old tree, his hands resting on his knees, his fingers slightly curled. He heard the door open and slowly turned around. His movements were slow, like withered leaves in the wind, like a slow-motion scene in a movie. His eyes were bright, like the waters of a river in winter.

"You're here again. What else do you want to ask? You asked yesterday, and I answered. Aren't you satisfied? What else do you want to ask? Go ahead and ask. I'll answer. I'll tell you everything. I've been holding it in for so many years, I'm going crazy. Go ahead and ask."

Jiang Bo walked over and stood in front of him. The room was dark, with only light filtering in from the doorway, casting a narrow strip of light on the floor. His shadow was long and thin. "Who is your wife? How did she die? What was her name? Was she among those names? Was she also killed by Dong Jian'an? Was she waiting for someone? Was the person she was waiting for my father? What was her relationship with my father? Why was she waiting for my father?"

Old Liu stared at him for a long time. Tears streamed down his face, flowing down the wrinkles that resembled dried-up riverbeds, dripping onto his coat and onto the ground. "Her name was Xiulan. She died by the river in 1992. She was pregnant, about to give birth. She went to the river to wait for your father. He promised to come, but he didn't. She waited for a long time, until someone appeared. That person was lame, a policeman. He killed her. He pushed her into the river. The baby was gone too. I waited for many years, until that person appeared. I found him. His name was Dong Jian'an. He killed so many people, including my wife. I hate him. I've hated him for so many years. I can't kill him. He's hiding on the old pontoon bridge, hiding among those people standing at the entrance watching. I can't kill him. I killed those who resembled her. I went mad. I killed Li Hongmei, Fang Min, Xu Yanran. They all resembled her. They weren't her. I went mad. I've been mad for so many years. Now I'm not mad anymore. After waiting for you for so many years, I'm not mad anymore."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. Dong Jian'an killed Old Liu's wife. Old Liu killed all the women who resembled his wife. One killed, another killed. One hated, another hated. They all stood at the door watching. They could do nothing. They all owed those who had died a life. He remembered those names, those apologies, those who stood at the door watching. Sir, Dong Zhenhua, Dong Jian'an, Sun Jianguo, Zhang Jianjun, Old Liu. They were all those who stood at the door watching. They could do nothing. They all said sorry. But those who had died couldn't hear. Those who had waited a lifetime couldn't hear either. Those who stood at the door watching said sorry, and then continued to stand at the door watching. They couldn't go in. They dared not go in. They were afraid that if they went in, they would see those faces, hear those voices, and be unable to answer those questions.

"Why don't you kill him? You hate him, why don't you kill him? He's right there, in that little house. You could kill him anytime. Why don't you do it? You've killed so many innocent women, yet you don't dare kill him? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid of death? Are you afraid that if you kill him, you'll die too? Are you afraid that if you die, no one will remember your wife?"

Old Liu lowered his head. His tears dripped onto the ground, drop by drop. "I couldn't kill him. He had people around him. Sir, Dong Zhenhua, Sun Jianguo. They protected him. They said he regretted it, that he wrote so many 'I'm sorry's, that he waited for you for so many years. I couldn't kill him. I couldn't kill him. I killed those people who resembled her. I went mad. I was mad for so many years. Now I'm not mad anymore. I waited for you for so many years, and I'm not mad anymore. You came. You asked me. I answered. I regretted it. I'm sorry. I can say it as many times as I want. I can say it for a lifetime."

Jiang Bo stood before him. "You killed so many people. You killed Li Hongmei, Fang Min, Xu Yanran. You killed them all. Do you regret it? Do you dream of them every night? They ask you, 'Why did you kill me?' Can you answer them? Can you answer them? Can you tell them that you killed them because your wife died, because you went mad? Will they forgive you?"

Old Liu looked up at him. "Regret. I've regretted it for so many years. I dream of them every night. They stand by the river, looking at me. They ask me, 'Why did you kill me?' I can't answer. I've waited for you for so many years, waiting for you to ask me. You came. You asked me. I answered. I regret it. I'm sorry. I can say it as many times as I want. I can say it for a lifetime. Even if they can't hear me, I will still say it. Even if they don't forgive me, I will still say it. Until I die. Until I can't hear you anymore."

Jiang Bo turned and walked out of the small room. Tangyuan followed behind. He went to the small room where the teachers had stayed. Dong Jian'an sat at the table, head down, writing names. His back was hunched, his hand trembled, but the pen was steady. The kerosene lamp was still lit, its shade polished, the flame flickering and casting swaying shadows on the wall. Dong Zhenhua sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through files, pausing occasionally to make marks with a red pen. Sun Jianguo squatted on the floor, organizing the photos, arranging the scattered ones by year and classifying them by location. They looked up when they saw Jiang Bo come in. Their eyes were red; they had all been crying.

"Dong Jianan, do you know Xiulan?"

Dong Jian'an's hand paused. His pen hovered over the paper, ink dripping down and staining the paper with a black dot. His face turned pale, as white as paper, and his lips trembled. "Xiulan? Old Liu's wife? How do you know about her? You found out? Who told you?"

"You killed her? She was pregnant, about to give birth. She was standing by the river waiting for someone. The person she was waiting for was my father. My father didn't come. You came. You killed her. You killed her and the child in her womb. You killed them. You killed Old Liu's wife, you killed his child. He went mad. He killed so many people. It's all because of you. You ruined him. You ruined so many people."

Dong Jian'an lowered his head. His tears dripped onto the notebook, blurring a name, making it indistinct like ink soaked in water. "Yes. I killed her. She was pregnant, about to give birth. She stood by the river waiting for your father. Your father didn't come. She saw my face. I killed her. I pushed her into the river. The child was gone too. I waited for many years, waiting for her family to come and ask me. No one came. Old Liu came. He found me. He hates me. He can't kill me. He killed those who looked like her. I ruined him. I ruined so many people. I ruined so many innocent people. I ruined Old Liu, I ruined Li Hongmei, I ruined Fang Min, I ruined Xu Yanran. I ruined them all."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "You've harmed so many people. You've killed so many people. You said sorry. You've said sorry your whole life. What good did it do? Could those people come back to life? Could Old Liu's wife come back to life? Could that child come back to life? Could those you killed come back to life? Could they hear your apologies? Would they forgive you? Would Old Liu forgive you?"

Dong Jian'an lowered his head. "No. I was wrong. I'm sorry. I can say it as many times as I want. I can say it for a lifetime. Even if they can't hear me, I will still say it. Even if they don't forgive me, I will still say it. I will say it until I die. I will say it until I can't hear them anymore. Even if Lao Liu doesn't forgive me, I will still say it. I will say it for a lifetime. I will say it until he forgives me."

The man stood up and walked to Jiang Bo's side. His back was hunched, but his eyes were bright. "Xiao Jiang, that's enough. He knows. He regrets it. He wrote 'I'm sorry' tens of thousands of times. He memorized tens of thousands of names. He waited for you for so many years. That's enough. He can't do any more. You can't ask him to do any more."

Jiang Bo looked at his husband. "Is that enough? Those who died, is that enough? Those who waited their whole lives, is that enough? Old Liu, is that enough? He killed so many innocent people, he wrote 'I'm sorry' tens of thousands of times, is that enough? He waited for you for so many years, is that enough?"

The man looked at him, for a long time. "Not enough. Never enough. But he spoke. He wrote. He waited. He did what he could. He couldn't do any more. He couldn't bring the dead back to life. He couldn't bring back those who waited their whole lives. He could only apologize. He could only write. He could only wait. He was like you. He was like me. We couldn't do any more."

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 set, and the sun had risen. The river shimmered in the sunlight, breaking into pieces of gold, dazzlingly bright. 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. Now he knew. Old Liu's wife was named Xiulan. She died by the river. She was pregnant, about to give birth. She was waiting for her father. Her father didn't come. She waited for Dong Jian'an. He killed her. He killed her. He killed so many people. He went mad too. He killed so many people too. They were all mad. They all stood at the door watching. They could do nothing. They all owed those who had died a life.

He got in the car, started the engine, and drove off the old pontoon bridge. In the rearview mirror, the small house grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller, but it was still there. The light was still on. He drove onto the Yangtze River Bridge and looked at the river. The river shimmered in the sunlight, flowing slowly. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those people standing at the door watching were also in his heart. They wouldn't leave. They weren't going anywhere. They were right here. He wouldn't leave either. He was here too. By this river, in this city, on this land. He would go in. He would.