Po Sir's Police Affairs: The Hunter

After Chen Weiguo's twin brother was taken away, Jiang Bo sat in the small house by the old pontoon bridge for a long time.

The kerosene lamp was still burning, its flame flickering and casting swaying shadows on the wall, like countless hands gesturing something. Dust settled on the lampshade, making the light somewhat hazy, as if seen through a layer of fog. On the table lay the notebooks, the photos, the letters. Mr. [Name]'s notebook, Dong Zhenhua's notebook, Sun Jianguo's notebook, Zhang Jianjun's notebook, Chen Weiguo's notebook. They had all written, all recorded, all said sorry. They were gone, but these things remained. Their covers were worn, the edges curled, the pages yellowed, but the words inside remained. Some handwriting was neat, some was hasty, some forceful, some light. Some was written slowly, each stroke like carving on stone. Some was written hastily, crookedly, as if someone was chasing them. They were all alive, breathing, speaking.

Jiang Bo opened the book his teacher wrote; the last page bore Lin Xiaoxue's name. Next to it was the date, and below it, the words "I'm sorry." The teacher had written slowly, each stroke deliberate, as if carving characters. He wondered what his teacher was thinking as he wrote that name. Was he thinking of her face, or of her death? Was he thinking of those apologies, or of the debts he could never repay? He closed the notebook, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside the window lay the ruins, the river. The moon rose, its light shimmering on the water like shattered pieces of silver, dazzlingly bright. The river flowed slowly, just as it had a hundred years ago, just as it had a thousand years ago. It knew everything, yet said nothing. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door, watching, were also in his heart. They were gone, but he remained. He had to continue. So many cases, so many names, so many apologies. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He didn't know what he would see inside, but he knew he had to go. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, those names would be forgotten. If he stopped, those apologies would be left unsaid.

He turned and walked out of the hut. Tangyuan followed behind. He stood in the doorway, looking at the lamp. It was still lit, dim and warm, shining through the window like an eye that refused to close. He reached out and touched the lampshade. The glass was hot, burning his hand. He withdrew his hand, stood there, and looked for a long time. Then he turned, got into 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. Like a star, like an eye, like someone who had waited a long time. He drove onto the Yangtze River Bridge, looking at the river. The river shimmered silver in the moonlight, flowing slowly. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. He thought of the families, those who had waited their whole lives. Chen Fang's mother, eighty-six years old, was still waiting, asking every morning if Fangfang had returned. Li Mei's sister, bedridden and unable to get up, upon hearing that her sister would not return, only said, "Put away the dishes." Liu Xiaoqin's brother had searched for many years, spent a lot of money, and traveled to many places; his mother murmured her daughter's name when she died, and his father did too. They had received the truth, received the apologies. They could let go. Those who had died could rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching could let go. But he couldn't let go yet. He had to continue.

As dawn broke, Jiang Bo returned to the municipal police station. Liu Tong had already finished writing the case closure report, a thick stack of papers placed on the table, the cover bearing the words "Case Closure Report" and the date below. Seeing Jiang Bo enter, he looked up, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. His eyes were red, his lips chapped, and there were red marks from the keyboard on his face, stretching from his forehead to his cheeks. His hair was a mess, like a clump of withered grass. He had clearly also been up all night.

"Officer Bo, Chen Weiguo's twin brother, was sentenced to death. His brother was acquitted and released in court. The gentlemen are also coming out. Their probation periods are over, so they don't need to go back in. They can go home. Dong Zhenhua, Sun Jianguo, and Zhang Jianjun, their probation periods are all over, so they don't need to go back in. They can go home."

Jiang Bo took the report and opened it. He read it page by page. The names, the dates, the locations, the crimes. He read slowly and carefully, not missing a single word. When he reached the last page, he closed the report and placed it on the table. His hand lingered on the report for a moment, then he removed it. His fingerprint remained on the cover, damp with sweat.

"Alright. Send them to their families. I'll go. I'll go to each family. Tell them one by one. Chen Fang's family, Li Mei's family, Liu Xiaoqin's family, Sun Xiaomei's family, and those whose families can't be found, I'll go there too. Gao Deming, no one's waiting for him anymore, but I'll go to him too. Tell him the case is closed. The person who killed him is dead. He can rest in peace. Although he was a scoundrel, foul-mouthed, loved to brag, loved to exaggerate, and wasn't well-liked, he was still a human being. He's dead, no one's looking for him, no one's waiting for him. But someone remembers him. The gentleman remembers him, and I remember him."

Liu Tong nodded. "Boss, I'll go with you. It'll be too tiring for you to go alone. There are so many hospitals, you can't possibly visit them all. Wuhu, Hefei, Tongling, Wuwei. Going to each one would take several days. Your body can't take it. You haven't slept for days, your eyes are all red."

Jiang Bo shook his head. "No need. I'll go alone. You stay here and organize those notebooks, photos, and letters. File them. Store them away. Those names, those 'I'm sorry,' someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they're truly gone. You remember them for me. You store them for me. When I'm old and can't remember, tell me. When you're old and can't remember, have your children tell me. Keep it passed down, it can't be broken."

Tears streamed down Liu Tong's face. "Brother Bo, I remember. I'll remember for you. If you can't remember, I'll tell you. I'm old, so I'll have my children tell you. It must be passed down, it can't be broken."

Jiang Bo nodded. He walked out of the office, Tangyuan following behind. He stood in the corridor and lit a cigarette. The smoke drifted under the lamplight, like those names, like those apologies, like those who would never return. He thought of the families, those who had waited their whole lives. They had waited. They could let go. Those who had died could rest in peace. Those who stood at the door watching could let go. But he couldn't let go yet. He had to continue. There were still so many cases, so many names, so many apologies. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.

In the afternoon, Jiang Bo went to the detention center to pick up his husband. His husband was coming out today; his probation period was over, and he wouldn't need to go back in. Jiang Bo parked the car at the detention center entrance and turned off the engine. He sat in the driver's seat, not getting out immediately. He looked at the iron-gray gate, at the rust on the metal, and at the old man dozing in the guardhouse. Sunlight shone coldly on the barbed wire. He remembered when his husband first went in; he was the one who brought him. His husband hadn't turned back, just walked straight in. Today, he was going to pick him up.

The man stood at the entrance of the detention center, wearing a dark overcoat, his hair completely white, his back hunched. He clutched the notebook tightly in his hands, like holding a baby. The blue cover was worn, the edges curled, revealing the gray cardboard inside. His fingers gently stroked the cover, as if touching something precious. He saw Jiang Bo's car and smiled. The smile was light, faint, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, but it warmed Jiang Bo's heart. In that smile, there was waiting, expectation, and peace of mind.

"You're here? You've come to pick me up. I thought you weren't coming. I thought you'd forgotten."

Jiang Bo got out of the car and walked over. "Sir, I've come to take you home. My mom made dumplings for you to eat when you get back. They're pork and cabbage dumplings. She said you're too thin and need to eat more. She got up early this morning to knead the dough, chop the filling, roll out the wrappers, and filled them all morning."

The man looked at him, for a long time. His eyes were cloudy, but there was still light. "Go home? Go back to which home? That little house? Or yours? Is that little house still there? Is that lamp still on?"

Jiang Bo helped him into the car. "Go back to my place. My mom is waiting for you. That little house is still there, and that light is still on. I'll take you back whenever you want. Stay as long as you want."

The man sat in the back seat, clutching the notebook. Tangyuan lay at his feet, its head resting on his lap, its tail wagging. The car started and drove out of the detention center. In the rearview mirror, the gray-white building grew farther and farther away, smaller and smaller. The man didn't turn around; he just kept looking out the window, watching the fleeting fields, villages, and rivers. He looked for a long time, then closed his eyes. His breathing was light and even. He had fallen asleep.

When the car pulled up to Jiang Bo's apartment building, Xiuying was already waiting at the door. She was wearing her old cotton-padded jacket, her hair tied back with a rubber band, revealing her graying roots. Her apron and hands were covered in flour. When she saw her husband get out of the car and come to greet her, her eyes reddened.

"Teacher Zhou, you're back? The dumplings are all ready, just waiting for you. They're pork and cabbage filling, Yizhou's favorite. You said you like them too. I made a lot, enough for you to eat for several meals."

Tears streamed down the man's face. "Xiuying, thank you. Thank you for remembering Yizhou, thank you for remembering me. You waited for him for so many years, and you finally got it. I've waited for it too. You've all waited for it."

Xiuying helped him upstairs. "Don't say that. Come on, let's go upstairs. The dumplings won't taste good if they get cold. I cooked three batches. The first batch might be a little cold, but the second batch just came out of the pot, so it's perfect. Eat them while they're hot."

Jiang Bo followed behind, with Tang Yuan bringing up the rear. They went upstairs and into the house. It was warm inside, the radiators were glowing. Several plates of dumplings sat on the table, steaming hot, white and plump, arranged neatly one by one. Beside them were several dishes of vinegar and minced garlic, and a bowl of dumpling soup. Xiuying helped her husband sit down at the table and poured him a cup of hot water.

"Eat up. Eat it while it's hot. Don't be shy, make yourself at home."

The man picked up his chopsticks, took a dumpling, put it in his mouth, and chewed for a long time. He had lost several teeth, and the remaining ones were loose, making chewing very difficult. He chewed very slowly, as if savoring something, as if remembering something. His tears flowed down, down the wrinkles on his face that resembled dried-up riverbeds.

"It's delicious. Your mom's dumplings are so good. Yizhou used to bring me dumplings too. Every time he came to visit me, he would bring dumplings. He said his wife made them. He smiled so happily. He was young then, with bright eyes that curved like crescent moons when he smiled."

Xiuying's tears streamed down her face. "As long as he's happy. As long as he's happy. He's never smiled much in his life. He only smiles when he's with me. He smiles when he's with his husband. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle like crescent moons. You don't know, when he first met me, he was so serious. He only started to smile slowly after we got to know each other. The first time he smiled, I was stunned. He said, 'What are you looking at?' I said, 'I'm looking at you smiling.' And then he blushed."

Jiang Bo sat beside them, watching. He thought of those names, those apologies, those people standing at the door watching. The gentleman was back, Dong Zhenhua was back, Sun Jianguo was back. They could all let go. Those names, those apologies—someone remembered. He remembered. He remembered for them.

After finishing the dumplings, the man sat on the sofa, holding the notebook. He looked at Jiang Bo, his eyes bright.

"Xiao Jiang, what are you going to do with those notebooks? Are you going to keep them forever? Who are you going to pass them on to?"

Jiang Bo sat down opposite him. "Keep it. Keep it for the families to see. Keep it for the dead to see. Keep it for those who stood at the door watching. They know that someone remembers them. They won't disappear. Once the families have all seen it, know it, and let it go, I'll think of something else. Maybe donate it to the archives, maybe publish a book, or maybe just keep it and pass it on to the next generation."

The man nodded. "Okay. You remember. You remember for us. Those names, those apologies, someone has to remember them. If no one remembers, they're really gone. I'm old, I can't remember anymore. You remember for me. You remember for all of us."

Jiang Bo stood up and walked to the window. Outside was the night view of Jiangcheng; in the distance, the headlights of cars on the Yangtze River Bridge formed a river of light, flowing from one side of the river to the other. Several boats, their lights on, moved slowly across the river. Those names, those apologies, were all in his heart. Those who stood at the door watching were also in his heart. They had returned; he was still there. He had to continue. So many cases, so many names, so many apologies. He wouldn't stand at the door watching. He would go in. He would.