Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

After the case of Dong Jian'an and others was transferred to the procuratorate, it was quickly formally filed. More than thirty lives lost, over thirty years of investigation, a complete chain of evidence, and irrefutable confessions—there was no possibility of overturning the verdict. The procuratorate investigators said this was the longest-running case they had ever handled, and also the one with the most solid evidence. Those notebooks, those photos, those letters—every page was irrefutable proof.

Jiang Bo, as the lead investigator, wrote a lengthy case report. He wrote for three days and three nights, writing and deleting, deleting and writing again. He could recite those names, those dates, those locations with his eyes closed. But writing was difficult for him. Every time he wrote a name, he had to stop and smoke a cigarette. When he wrote about Ah Zhen, he smoked three. When he wrote about Xiao Mei, he smoked five. When he wrote about Xiu Lan, he stubbed out his cigarette and couldn't smoke anymore.

Liu Tong helped him organize the materials. Zhang Yuhang helped him verify the evidence. They copied the notebooks page by page and scanned the photos one by one. The bound files piled up on the table. Liu Tong said it was the thickest file he had ever seen in his life. Zhang Yuhang said it was the heaviest case he had ever handled. Not because it was large, but because it was heavy. Heavy with the weight of those who had died, heavy with the weight of those who had waited a lifetime, heavy with the weight of those who stood at the door watching.

A month later, the case went to trial.

The courtroom was located in the Jiangcheng Intermediate People's Court, a gray building with high steps leading up to the entrance, flanked by stone lions whose eyes seemed to glare at everyone who entered. When Jiang Bo arrived, a large crowd had already gathered at the entrance. There were reporters, family members, and onlookers. He recognized most of the family members: Chen Fang's sister, Wang Li's brother, Liu Xiaoqin's brother, and Sun Xiaomei's brother. They had come from all over, some having traveled for over ten hours by train, others driving hundreds of kilometers. Their eyes were red, and their expressions were complex. There was anticipation, anger, sorrow, and also an inexplicable sense of relief. They had waited for over thirty years; this day had finally come.

The courtroom was packed. Jiang Bo sat in the first row of the gallery, next to Liu Tong and Zhang Yuhang. Tangyuan, unable to enter, waited for him at the courthouse entrance. The judge entered, dressed in a black robe and white collar, his expression serious. The court clerk read the court rules, and bailiffs escorted the defendant into the courtroom.

Dong Jian'an was the first to walk in. He was wearing the detention center vest, orange, and his hair was completely white and disheveled. He walked slowly, dragging his right foot on the ground, his handcuffs jingling in front of him. He walked to the defendant's dock, stood still, and raised his head. His eyes swept over the audience, over the family members, and finally settled on Jiang Bo's face. He smiled. The smile was very light and faint, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth. Jiang Bo saw his lips move slightly, as if he were saying, "You've arrived."

Old Liu followed behind. He too was wearing an orange vest, his hair was gray, and his back was severely hunched. He walked even slower, each step a labored effort. He reached the defendant's dock, stood still, and lowered his head. He didn't look at anyone.

The man followed behind. He was wearing an orange vest, and the notebook was gone, replaced by a blank one, which the court allowed him to bring in. He clutched the notebook tightly. He walked to the defendant's dock, stood still, and looked up. He saw Jiang Bo and nodded. His eyes were still so bright, like the river water in winter.

Dong Zhenhua, Sun Jianguo, and Zhang Jianjun walked in one after another. They stood in a row, heads bowed. Six people, six old faces, six people standing at the door watching. They finally came in. Not into that small room, but into the courtroom, into the judge's bench, into where they belonged.

The judge struck the gavel once, the sound crisp and clear, echoing in the quiet courtroom. "Court is now in session. Bring in the defendant, Dong Jian'an."

Dong Jian'an walked to the witness stand and stood still. The judge asked him for his name, age, and place of origin. He answered each question clearly, his voice hoarse but distinct. The prosecutor stood up and began reading the indictment. The names, the dates, the locations, the crimes. A-Zhen, Xiao-Mei, Chen Fang, Wang Li, Zhao Xiu-Ying, Liu Xiao-Qin, Sun Xiao-Mei, Zhang Jianguo, Li Mei, Gao De-Ming, Xiu-Lan. More than thirty names, more than thirty lives. The prosecutor read for a long time, his voice becoming hoarse towards the end.

"Defendant Dong Jian'an, what are your opinions on the criminal facts alleged in the indictment?"

Dong Jian'an raised his head. "No objections. I killed them all. I plead guilty."

Someone in the audience broke down in tears. It was Chen Fang's younger sister. She covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders and body trembled. People next to her supported her and offered her tissues. She took the tissues, wiped her tears, and then cried again.

The judge asked Tung Chien-an why he killed those people. Tung Chien-an remained silent for a long time. His eyes were on the audience, on the family members, on the people who were crying. Tears streamed down his face.

"Because I hate. I hate this city, I hate this river, I hate those people. I hate them for saving my brother but not me. I hate them for letting me live. I've hated for so many years, killed so many people. But I don't hate anymore. I've waited for you for so many years, and I don't hate anymore."

The judge then asked him if he regretted it. Dong Jian'an lowered his head. "I regret it. I've regretted it for so many years. I dream about 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 so many years for them to come and ask me. They didn't come. You came. I can't answer. I can only say I'm sorry."

Another wave of weeping swept through the audience. Wang Li's younger brother stood up, pointing at Dong Jian'an, his hand trembling. "You killed her, you said sorry. She can't hear you. My mother can't hear you. My father can't hear you either. Who are you saying this to?" Dong Jian'an looked at him, tears streaming down his face. "I'm saying it to you. I'm saying it to those who remember her. I'm saying it to 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."

A bailiff came over and asked Wang Li's younger brother to sit down. He sat down, but didn't stop crying. He slumped over the table, his shoulders shaking.

Next was Old Liu. He walked to the witness stand and stood still. The prosecutor read the indictment: he had killed Li Hongmei, Fang Min, and Xu Yanran—three lives. Old Liu lowered his head and remained silent. The judge asked him if he had any comments, and he shook his head. "No comments. I killed them all. I plead guilty."

The judge asked him why he killed those people. Old Liu raised his head and looked at the audience. His eyes swept over the family members, finally settling on Jiang Bo's face. "They looked like my wife. My wife died, by the river. She was pregnant, about to give birth. She stood by the river waiting for someone. The person she was waiting for didn't come. She waited for Dong Jian'an. He killed her. I hate him. I can't kill him. I killed those people who looked like her. I went mad. I was mad for so many years. Now I'm not mad anymore. I've waited for you for so many years, and I'm not mad anymore."

Whispers rippled through the audience. They didn't know who Old Liu's wife was, why she died by the river, or who she was waiting for. But Jiang Bo knew. He lowered his head, tears dripping onto the back of his hand.

The judge asked Old Liu if he regretted it. Old Liu nodded. "I regret it. I've regretted it for so many years. I dream about 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 so many years, waiting for you to come and ask me. You came. You asked me. I answered. I regret it. I'm sorry."

Then it was Mr. [Name]. He walked to the witness stand and stood still. The prosecutor read the indictment: he knew about the crime but failed to report it, protected the perpetrator, and helped destroy evidence. Mr. [Name] listened without speaking. The judge asked him if he had any comments, and he shook his head. "No comments. I plead guilty. I've waited so many years for you to arrest me. You've finally come."

The judge asked him why he had protected Tung Chien-an. The man looked at him for a long time. "Because he's my brother. I watched him grow up, watched him make mistakes, watched him kill. I couldn't save him. I could only remember. Remember those names, remember those apologies. I've remembered for over thirty years, written for over thirty years. There's nothing I can do. I stand at the door watching. Like him, I owe those who died a life."

The gallery fell silent. No one spoke. The family members looked at him, at his gray hair, at his hunched back, at the blank notebook in his hand. They didn't know who he was, didn't know he had kept this up for over thirty years, didn't know how many times he had written "I'm sorry." But Jiang Bo knew. He stood up, then sat down again.

Dong Zhenhua, Sun Jianguo, and Zhang Jianjun walked past the witness stand in turn. They all pleaded guilty and said sorry. They stood in a row, heads bowed, like six children who had done something wrong. The judge adjourned the court and announced that the verdict would be delivered at a later date.

Jiang Bo walked out of the courtroom and stood on the steps. The sunlight shone on his face, warm and comforting. Tangyuan ran over and rubbed against his leg. He squatted down and stroked its head. The family members also came out; some were still crying, while others had already wiped away their tears. Chen Fang's sister walked over and stood in front of Jiang Bo.

"Officer Jiang, thank you. Thank you for investigating for so many years. Thank you for letting me know the truth."

Jiang Bo stood up. "You're welcome. It's what I should do. Did you hear those 'I'm sorry's? They said them so many times, did you hear them?"

The woman nodded. "I heard it. I heard it for my mother. I heard it for Fangfang. That's enough. They've been saying it for so many years, that's enough. My mother waited her whole life, and she's finally here. She can rest in peace now."

Tears streamed down Jiang Bo's face. He watched as the family members left one by one—some by car, some on foot, some still weeping. They had waited their whole lives, waited for the truth, waited for the apology. They could finally let go. Those who had died could finally rest in peace.

A month later, the court delivered its verdict.

Dong Jian'an, death sentence, immediate execution. Old Liu, death sentence, immediate execution. Sir, three years imprisonment, suspended for four years. Dong Zhenhua, two years imprisonment, suspended for three years. Sun Jianguo, one year imprisonment, suspended for two years. Zhang Jianjun, one year imprisonment, suspended for two years.

Jiang Bo stood in the courtroom, listening to the judge's verdict. Tears streamed down his face, unwiped. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood watching at the door were also in his heart. They were sentenced; they had to pay their debts. But they were still alive. They could continue writing those names, continue writing those apologies. They could continue paying their debts in prison, in their small rooms, during their probation. Until they couldn't pay anymore, until they couldn't write anymore, until they couldn't speak anymore.

After the verdict was announced, Jiang Bo went to visit his husband in the detention center. His husband was sitting in the visiting room, wearing a vest; his hair was white, and he had lost weight. He saw Jiang Bo and smiled. The smile was faint and gentle, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart.

"You're here? Did you bring dumplings? It's not even the third day of the third lunar month yet. You've arrived early."

"I brought it. My mom made it. It's pork and cabbage filling. She said to eat it while it's hot."

The man took the insulated food container and opened it. The dumplings were still steaming, white and plump. He picked one up, put it in his mouth, and chewed for a long time. "Delicious. Your mother's dumplings are delicious. Yizhou used to bring me dumplings too. Every time he comes to see me, he brings dumplings. He says his wife makes them." He smiled happily.

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Sir, are you alright inside? Is anyone bullying you? Are you eating well? Are you sleeping well?"

The man nodded. "Good. All good. They know who I am, they know I am your master's teacher, they know I am the person who has remembered names for over thirty years. They don't bully me. They even help me buy paper and pens. I write those names and 'I'm sorry' every day. I write until you come to see me."

Jiang Bo grasped his hand. The hand was thin, cold, and bony. "Sir, after you get out, I'll take you home. You can stay at my place. My mom will make dumplings for you. She'll make them every day. You can eat as many as you want."

The man smiled. "I can't come out anymore. I'm old, I can't walk anymore. I'll just write here. I'll write until I die. You only need to come see me once a year. Come on my birthday. March 3rd. Remember that."

Jiang Bo nodded. "I remember. March 3rd. I come every year. I bring dumplings. Dumplings my mom makes. Pork and cabbage filling."

The man released his hand. "Go on. You're busy. There are so many cases to investigate, so many names to remember, so many apologies to say. You remember them for us. You say them for us. You pay them for us."

Jiang Bo stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back. The man sat there, holding the notebook, looking at him. His eyes were bright, like the waters of a river in winter. He waved. Jiang Bo waved back. Then he turned and walked out of the visiting room. Tangyuan was waiting for him outside. He squatted down and stroked its head. "Tangyuan, the man is inside. He's still alive. He's still writing those names. Still saying those apologies." Tangyuan called out, its voice echoing in the detention center corridor.