Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

Jiang Bo, after being released from the detention center, didn't return to the municipal bureau but drove straight to Binjiang Park. Tangyuan lay sprawled in the passenger seat, her head resting on her paws, eyes half-open, ears twitching occasionally. Sunlight shone on the river, shattering into dazzling glittering pieces of gold. The park wasn't crowded; a few elderly people strolled, a few young people jogged. Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful. But just a few days ago, a woman died here, strangled to death, her body thrown onto the rocks, her hands clasped over her chest. Her name was Lin Xiaoxue. She loved to run and came every night. That night, she came, and she didn't leave.

Jiang Bo parked the car at the park entrance and turned off the engine. He sat in the driver's seat, not getting out immediately. He watched the runners—men and women, young and old. They wore headphones and sportswear, running intently, each step measured, their breathing even. They didn't know that someone was watching them. Someone was waiting for them. Someone would follow them and then kill them. They knew nothing. They simply enjoyed running, enjoyed sweating, enjoyed the feeling of the wind blowing through their hair. They didn't know that someone was lurking in the shadows, watching their every move.

He opened the car door and got out. Tangyuan followed behind. He walked slowly along the path, his steps heavy and firm. The path was a red rubber track, softened by the sun, making no sound underfoot. The holly bushes on both sides were neatly trimmed, like rows of silent soldiers. Most of the ginkgo leaves had fallen, the remaining yellow ones fluttering in the wind, one by one, like butterflies, or like tears.

He walked to the viewing platform, stood by the railing, and looked down at the rocks. The rocks were gray, smoothed by the river, and covered with green moss, slippery and glistening. There were dark red marks on the rocks—blood. It had dried, but remained, like patches of brown scars. Su Min said that the blood came from the wound on Lin Xiaoxue's neck. When the assailant choked her, his fingernails had scratched her skin. She struggled, but it was no use. There were flakes of skin under her fingernails—the assailant's. But the DNA database didn't match. The assailant had no prior criminal record, no criminal history, no record at all. He was like a blank sheet of paper, with nothing to his name.

Jiang Bo crouched down, looking at the rocky outcrop. The stone was slippery, gleaming bluish in the sunlight. He wanted to touch it, to know what Lin Xiaoxue had seen before she died. His fingers reached out, then froze in mid-air, hesitating. Each touch brought a headache, like nails driven into the back of his head. But each touch also brought the truth. He took a deep breath, his fingers touching the stone. Cold, slippery, like touching a snake.

Images flooded my mind—

Darkness. A darkness as thick as ink, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. The sound of the river, rushing and gurgling, was very close, as if it were right beneath her feet. A woman was running, her footsteps hurried and heavy, as if someone was chasing her. Her breathing was also heavy, like a bellows, as if she were about to suffocate. She looked back; someone was chasing her. The person's footsteps were light, but fast, like a cat, like a ghost. She ran faster, but the person was faster. She fell, her knee hitting a stone, and cried out in pain. She got up, only to fall again. The person caught up, one hand covering her mouth, the other gripping her neck. That hand was strong, like an iron vise, like a pliers. She struggled, kicking, scratching. Her fingernails scratched the back of the person's hand, drawing blood. But the person didn't let go. Her eyes widened, staring at the person's face. A blurry face, the features indistinct. Only a pair of eyes, bright and cold, like the winter river. Those eyes stared at her, expressionless, devoid of emotion, as if they were looking at an object. She slowly lost consciousness; her hands fell limp, and her legs stopped moving. Those eyes continued to watch her, watching and watching.

The screen disappeared.

Jiang Bo grabbed the railing and stood up. His head throbbed like needles, shooting from the back of his head to his forehead, like a red-hot iron rod churning inside his brain. He gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead. Tangyuan came over, nuzzled his leg, and looked up at him, its eyes sparkling. He squatted down and stroked its head. His hands trembled; Tangyuan's fur was soft and warm.

"Tangyuan, I saw him. His eyes. Cold. Bright. Just like Mr., just like Dong Jian'an, just like Lao Liu. They are all like that. Bright eyes, cold eyes. Like the river in winter, like the stone in winter, like the dead in winter."

The phone rang. It was Liu Tong calling. His voice was hurried, as if he were running, or chasing something.

"Officer Bo, we found something. There's an encrypted folder on Lin Xiaoxue's USB drive, just like Dong Zhiqiang's. We cracked it; it took us several hours. Inside were some chat logs. She chatted with someone for a long time. That person's online name was 'Jiang Shui,' just like Dong Zhiqiang's. He asked her many questions: her address, her workplace, her running route, her daily routine. She told him everything. She thought he was a friend from her night running group, a kind-hearted person. She didn't know who he was. She thought he was a good person. She didn't know that good people can kill."

Jiang Bo clenched his fists. "Jiang Shui. It's Jiang Shui again. Dong Zhiqiang is called Jiang Shui, Zhang Jianjun is called Jiang Shui, and now another Jiang Shui has appeared. They are all Jiang Shui. They are all by the river. They are all watching. They are all waiting. What exactly does Jiang Shui mean? Is it a person, or a group of people? Is it a code name, or an organization?"

Liu Tong lowered his voice, as if he were talking about a secret. "We found the IP address. It's at the old pontoon bridge. In that little house. The one where the gentleman stayed. The login time was the night Lin Xiaoxue died, around 9 PM. An hour before she died. That person was chatting with her, asking if she had arrived, asking if she was alone. She said she had arrived, that she was alone. He said okay. And then she died."

Jiang Bo was stunned. "Sir? No. Sir is in detention. He couldn't possibly be online. Then who is it? Who's there? Who used that IP address? Who used the name Jiang Shui? Who's chatting with her? Who asked her those questions?"

Liu Tong was silent for a moment. There were sounds of typing, rustling papers, and his rapid breathing on the other end of the phone. "Officer Bo, besides you, there's another person living in that small house. Dong Zhenhua. He got a suspended sentence and went home. He lives in that small house. He's there every day. He's online too. He's chatting too. He's using the name 'Jiang Shui' too. He's asking those questions too. He's waiting too. During his probation, he can't leave Jiangcheng, he can't leave that place. He can't go anywhere. He can only stay in that small house. But he can go online, he can chat, he can use any name."

Jiang Bo hung up the phone and stood there, motionless. Tangyuan looked up at him, its eyes sparkling, its tail wagging. He remembered Dong Zhenhua's words: "I've waited for you for so many years. Waiting for you to come to me." He remembered Dong Zhenhua's eyes, so bright, like the waters of a river in winter. He remembered Dong Zhenhua's ring, the J. He remembered Dong Zhenhua's letter: "I'm a member of the J organization. But I'm not a bad person. I joined the J organization to find out the truth." He wasn't a bad person. But he was also asking those questions. He was also waiting. Who was he waiting for? Was it him? Or those women? Or those who resembled his wife?

He got in the car, started the engine, and drove out of Binjiang Park. Tangyuan jumped into the passenger seat. He gripped the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The old pontoon bridge, again the old pontoon bridge. That place, like a whirlpool, had swept up everyone's fate. Ah Zhen, Xiao Mei, Xiu Ying, his father, He Wu'an, Zheng Jianguo, Dong Jianhua, Mr., Dong Zhenhua, Dong Jian'an, Sun Jianguo, Zhang Jianjun, Lao Liu, and those who had died, those who stood at the door watching. They were all there. Now, Dong Zhenhua was there too. He was using the name "Jiang Shui" (River Water). He was asking those questions. He was waiting.

The old pontoon bridge, bathed in sunlight, resembled a forgotten ruin. The bulldozers still stood there, rusted and blotchy, like a massive skeleton in the sun. Wild grass swayed in the wind, yellow and dry, rustling like countless hands whispering secrets. The door to the small house was open, the light still on. But no one was inside. The gentleman was gone. Only Dong Zhenhua remained. He sat in the doorway, wearing his dark overcoat, his hair completely white. Seeing Jiang Bo's car, he stood up, gripped the doorframe, and made way for him. His movements were slow, his knees creaking like rusted iron doors, like an old, worn staircase.

"You're here? You're here. I knew you'd come. From the day you started investigating that case, I knew you'd come."

Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked over. Tang Yuan followed behind, running ahead. He walked up to Dong Zhenhua and stood in front of him. The sunlight shone on his face, half bright and half dark.

"Dong Zhenhua, why did you use the name 'Jiang Shui'? Why did you ask Lin Xiaoxue those questions? Why did you know her address, workplace, and running route? Why did you know her daily routine? Did you kill her? Answer me. Look me in the eyes and answer me."

Dong Zhenhua stared at him for a long time. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. Tears streamed down his face, flowing down the wrinkles that resembled dried-up riverbeds.

"I didn't kill her. I just wanted to protect her. She was like someone I knew. She was like someone I knew. That person is dead. I couldn't protect her. I stood at the door watching. Just like those people. I couldn't do anything. I could only ask. I could only remember. I could only apologize. I asked her those questions to see if she was in danger. I checked her route to see if anyone was following her. I followed her to protect her. She's dead. I couldn't protect her. Just like my wife. I couldn't do anything. I stood at the door watching."

Jiang Bo's tears streamed down his face. "Who is that person you know? What's her name? How did she die? What's your relationship with her? Why are you so concerned about her?"

Dong Zhenhua lowered his head. Tears dripped onto the ground, one drop at a time. "Her name was Xiulan. She was my wife. She died. Died by the river. Pushed into the river. I saw it. I stood at the door watching. I didn't save her. I couldn't do anything. I owed her my life. I waited so many years for you to come and arrest me. You arrested me, sentenced me. I'm still alive. She died. I owe her. I dream of her every night. She stands by the river, looking at me. She asks me, 'Why didn't you come to save me?' I can't answer. I waited for you for so many years, and you came. You asked me. I answered. I didn't kill Lin Xiaoxue. I didn't kill anyone. I just wanted to protect her. She was like my wife. I was afraid something would happen to her. She died. I couldn't protect her."

Jiang Bo stood before him. "You didn't kill Lin Xiaoxue. You didn't kill anyone. But you were asking those questions too. You were waiting too. Who were you waiting for? Me? Or those who resembled your wife? Or those who had died? What exactly are you waiting for?"

Dong Zhenhua looked up at him. "I've been waiting for you. I've waited for you for so many years. You've come. You asked me. I answered. I didn't kill her. I just wanted to protect her. She was like my wife. I was afraid something would happen to her. I asked her those questions to see if she was in danger. I checked her route to see if anyone was following her. I followed her to protect her. She's dead. I couldn't protect her. Just like my wife. I couldn't do anything."

Jiang Bo turned and walked out of the small house. Tang Yuan followed behind. He stood by the river, looking at the water. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. Dong Zhenhua was one of them. He hadn't killed anyone. He was also one of those standing at the door watching. He couldn't do anything either. He had also said sorry. But the murderer was still there. He was still killing. He had to find him. He would.