By Tao Yongyan
　　
　　"Routine briefing: Wang is emotionally unstable; Chen has a poor appetite."
　　"In life, in work, and in study, I’ve never forgotten why I started."
　　These were among the final entries in the journal of Yang Chunhua, a Second-Class National Heroic Model of Public Security Sector and a Third-Class Senior Police Officer within the Yinchuan Municipal Public Security Bureau . Logically and neatly written, they seemed to indicate another day of ordinary work, rather than a sign of his last moments.
　　On May 1, 2025, International Workers’ Day, while most families were gathering for relaxation and celebration, Yang, in full uniform, reported for duty as usual at the Yinchuan Custody Center. It was also the day of his niece’s engagement. Despite repeated requests from his family to swap shifts and join the celebration, he declined. "Holiday shifts are demanding," he said, "My colleagues need the time off too."
　　No one had expected this seemingly ordinary remark would become his final words to his loved ones. At around 8 a.m., Yang arrived at his workplace,yet staggering step by step. Yang Jiao noticed something was wrong with him.
　　"Uncle Yang, what’s wrong? Sit down and have a rest," said Officer Yang Jiao, the first to notice something was amiss. Attempting to reassure her, the veteran officer, long accustomed to relentless work, attributed his condition to recurring vertigo. "It’s nothing, probably low potassium. I’ll be fine after a short rest," he said, gesturing toward the banana in his hand.
　　This time, however, he did not recover. Within hours, a desperate race against death unfolded. Despite intensive efforts, Yang Chunhua died in the line of duty at 3:45 p.m. on May 2, at the age of 58. Since joining the police force in 1999, he had devoted 26 years to public service. His final breath was given to the custody center he had steadfastly guarded; his final devotion was to the people and the land he had deeply loved.

　　An "Indefatigable Detective" on the Investigation Front
　　In 1999, the "4/20" bomb attack on police shocked the nation. Though new to the police force, Yang was assigned to the task force. He demonstrated sharp investigative instincts and a strong sense of responsibility. Working with his colleagues, he pursued leads around the clock and played a key role in identifying the principal suspect, establishing his reputation in criminal investigation.
　　In 2002, Yang took on a robbery-homicide case that was hardly progressing, with neither surveillance footage nor witnesses. He led his team to spend three months in a roadside inn under harsh conditions. At a time when investigations depended heavily on fieldwork, he sacrificed his weekends and stayed in the village, conducting door?to?door inquiries during the day and working through case details late into the night. His notebooks were filled with observations and fragments of daily interactions with local residents. These seemingly minor details ultimately yielded critical clues and led to a breakthrough.
　　After transferring to a supervisory role in 2022, Yang maintained his exacting work ethic. He scrutinized legal documents with meticulous care, even down to the punctuation, reducing their error rate from 12 percent to 0.3 percent and ensuring strict compliance with procedural requirements.
　　Despite his exceptional achievements, Yang shunned the limelight. He once declined a second-class merit award, insisting it be awarded to younger colleagues. Without grand rhetoric, he dedicated himself to his duties with quiet resolve, embodying the integrity and courage expected of a criminal investigator, and safeguarding justice through unremitting efforts.
　　From a novice investigator to a widely respected case expert, and later a rigorous supervisor, Yang Chunhua worked on the front line of law enforcement for decades. Driven, resilient, and diligent, he was widely regarded as a "Indefatigable Fighter" of the criminal investigation front, fulfilling the mission of a people’s police officer through steadfast commitment.

　　 A Force of Stability
　　 On the front lines of criminal investigation, Yang Chunhua was a "Iron Judge" who struck fear into the hearts of lawbreakers with his lightning-fast actions. He was obsessively meticulous in handling cases, refusing to overlook even a single punctuation mark in a document or the slightest detail in a clue. Yet outside of work, he was known as "Old Yang" or "Uncle Yang" to his colleagues; an approachable and dependable senior figure who cared for everyone but himself.
　　He was exceedingly stingy when it came to his own needs, adopting a lifestyle that others viewed as simply "too makeshift.". Off duty, he wore a gray jacket, frayed at the cuffs, and a pair of durable cloth shoes. He rode the same bicycle for more than a decade, repeatedly repairing its loose chain and worn seat rather than replacing it. He spent almost nothing on himself and kept his meals simple. Yet he was consistently generous toward his colleagues, often quietly settling the bill for group meals after long shifts.
　　He was an ineloquent man and often expressed concern in awkward ways. But he helped others through action rather than words. At times, his insistence on precision led to heated disagreements with colleagues over work details. Yet he would later quietly complete any overlooked tasks himself.
　　Each evening before leaving the office, he would make his rounds, leaning into each room with a smile to remind his colleagues: "Go home. The work can wait, but your health can’t." After Yang passed away, his son, Yang Shiyao, found that his father’s office was always kept in order—books, awards, and case files arranged with care, even pens aligned neatly in place. Busy and quiet, this man had left behind both order and warmth in that small workspace.

　　His Final 30 Hours
　　"He was always so full of energy, yet staggering step by step that morning, he covered the 100 meters from the gate to his office," recalled Officer Yang Jiao, one of the colleagues who remained by his side in his final hours.
　　Yang continued working, reviewing surveillance footage, making notes, and checking the previous day’s shift records. By 9:12 a.m., his vision had become dull, and his colleagues insisted on taking him to the hospital.
　　Even from his hospital bed, Yang was still preoccupied with work. At around 8 p.m., already in the ICU, he called Gu Guowen, director of the custody center, to request leave and relay several pending matters. When his phone pinged, he took it back from his son and began replying to work messages in multiple WeChat groups. "You’re still thinking about work even now," his wife said, distressed as she took the phone away.
　　Years of aspirin use had reduced his platelet count to just 12,000 per microliter, making an urgent transfusion necessary. His son rushed to the blood center, pleading with medical staff: "Please, hurry! I want to save my father! Take my blood, as much as you need."
　　"Son, thank you for donating blood for me," Yang said weakly, trying to raise his hand to touch his son’s head. Kneeling at the bedside, his son replied through tears: "Don’t speak. I want to make you proud."

　　Silent Love, Enduring Legacy
　　Though work took up much of his time, Yang, as a father, still went out of his way to make his children feel loved. On rainy or snowy days, his presence at the school gate was a constant source of reassurance. He would arrange shift changes in advance and arrive early, holding an umbrella as he waited for them after school. During rare moments of leisure, he would put on an apron and cook his signature fish dish for the family. In their hearts, his reserved affection was infused into the meals he prepared, especially that dish. One day, interrupted by an urgent work call, he hurriedly finished cooking and left for duty, placing on the table a simple fish dish seasoned with only scallion and ginger. Hungry and helpless, the children held onto a deep reverence for their father’s devotion—a feeling that, mixed with the lingering smell of fish from that day, stayed in their hearts for a long time.
　　After his son’s college entrance examinations, Yang showed him his own police academy admission letter and asked, "Would you like to become a police officer like me?" The question ignited a dream in his son’s heart. Knowing his son’s scores fell short, Yang encouraged him to make another attempt. "I believe in you," he said, "Whatever you set your mind to, you will do it well."
　　During the week of college applications, the light in his bedroom stayed on late into the night. He typed slowly with two fingers to search for information online, reviewed a full table of program materials printed by his colleagues, and marked in red pen the "engineering" programs his son had mentioned, carefully noting the admission requirements. In these small, painstaking efforts lay quiet, unspoken care.
　　The emergency blood donation became the final exchange between father and son. After Yang’s passing, his son left the funeral hall holding his father’s police badge. He came to understand that the father who had so often seemed "absent" had, in fact, expressed his deepest love through a lifetime of protecting nature, the public, and those closest to him: his colleagues and his family.
　　On August 22, 2025, at a report session on Yang’s exemplary service, his son addressed hundreds of uniformed officers: "My father often said that police officers are guardians of peace and trusted companions of the people. I will carry forward his mission and live up to his expectations."
　　Yang Chunhua is gone, but his spirit lives on. His son’s words reflect not only filial devotion, but also the continuity of his professional ethos. Across the Yinchuan police force today, his example has inspired a culture of dedication, integrity, and service. Generation after generation of officers follow in his footsteps, steadily advancing the mission of safeguarding public security and ensuring that his legacy takes root and bears fruit.■
　　
　　(Translated by Chen Xiaoying, School of Foreign Languages, Beijing Forestry University)