Wang Bo didn’t know exactly when he became the representative of the Chinese community, but for this case he didn’t need to grab all the credit — in fact, half of the credit should rightly go to his team.

Wang Bo knew that Chinese were a “minority” in New Zealand, and he also knew many Chinese faced discrimination in the cities. You could tell from how Mo Yuning was treated. The program “Voice of the South Island” got its name because it served small-language communities, aimed mainly at Asian audiences. Chinese, Japanese, Korean and other languages are considered minority languages in New Zealand, but behind those “small languages” there’s a big market — the program had a lot of viewers.

Still, the “Voice of the South Island” office was the shabbiest in the TV station building: no independent interview room. Wang Bo knew why — it was simply the nature of the program. Asians in New Zealand had low status; the whole community had to pull together.

After hearing Mo Yuning’s suggestion, Wang Bo decided to temporarily drop his usual low-key stance and be a little more public on TV. When a case happens back home, police officers shouldn’t speak out before the organization issues a statement. New Zealand was different: reporters liked to interview people involved in a case before any official account was released.

New Zealanders also liked this sort of “insider gossip” news; they felt it was closer to the scene and more first-hand — more credible than official reports. Police officers weren’t bound by strict discipline; they could talk about cases. Most of them didn’t, though, because cases were sensitive — privacy, discrimination, shady methods — once touched on, criticism was one thing, being sued and taken to court was another.

Wang Bo had to be careful. Mo Yuning wasn’t doing a live broadcast — she recorded, edited, and then aired the piece — so there weren’t many taboos during the interview.

First, Mo Yuning introduced the case and recapped the news and developments of the past two or three weeks. Then she introduced Wang Bo and Uncle Bing, and they began to discuss how the case was solved.

The format was a panel talk. Wang Bo wasn’t greedy for credit but he also wasn’t falsely modest; he calmly recounted the process of solving the case — from following Sheriff Smith to the arrest of the car thief, to analyzing the case from what they learned from the thief. He gave some of the credit to Uncle Bing — after all, he still needed to keep face at the Stubborn Bull Club.

When the interview ended, Mo Yuning invited Wang Bo to try Dunedin’s distinctive South Island seafood, and only then did they part ways.

The task force was staying at a hotel; with the case cracked, the follow-up work would be handed over to Dunedin Central Police, and the task force officers had some free time. That’s how Wang Bo ran into those policemen — everyone greeted him and their attitude toward him changed noticeably.

Policing requires proven ability; the officers pulled into the task force were top members from various places, so at first they were all pretty haughty. In the end they hadn’t even had to act — Wang Bo and his small team had wrapped the case up in short order — and they respected that capability.

Of course, Wang Bo solved the case more by luck than anything, but New Zealanders considered luck to be part of one’s ability.

Not long after Wang Bo returned to his room, someone knocked and came in. The man was a police officer too, but not from the task force. Wang Bo recognized his face but couldn’t place him at once.

Seeing Wang Bo’s hesitation, the officer smiled. “Hello, Officer Wang. I’m Sam Wilson — pleased to meet you. Perhaps you don’t know me yet. I’m from Cromwell and a member of the AOS support squad.”

Wang Bo suddenly remembered where he’d seen Sam: Sheriff Smith had introduced him when they met the AOS tactical support team.

Sam congratulated him on the credit he’d earned in the case, then spoke frankly about his purpose: “Officer Wang, would you be interested in the AOS? I’m one of the leaders of the South Island’s 13th squad, and I’d like to invite you to join.”

New Zealand police operate with the idea of “serving the community” rather than “using force.” Ordinary local police you see in daily life generally don’t carry lethal weapons — handcuffs, a baton and pepper spray are about the limit. Drawing a Taser would indicate a “major incident.”

But the police are the state’s enforcement force; they can’t always be smiling and pleasant like neighborhood volunteers. What if they encounter real, armed criminals? That’s when AOS officers are needed. Unlike many countries, New Zealand’s special response officers are part-time; they’re scattered across departments in various regions. Only when a local or nearby area has a “major incident” do they respond, arm up, and carry out forceful operations on short notice.

As far as Wang Bo knew, there are 17 AOS units nationwide, made up of over 300 part-time officers, and they bear responsibility for 100% of the country’s armed civil response capability. To clarify: AOS handles civil violent conflicts. As international situations become more complex, transnational, extremely violent terrorist crimes have begun to reach New Zealand — those are beyond AOS’s remit.

Above AOS there is a full-time elite counterterrorism force called the Special Tactics Group (STG); they handle non-civil violent conflicts.

Wang Bo had some interest in handling weapons and tactics, but the invitation gave him pause. The closer one comes to using force, the more one understands its terror. Ordinary New Zealand police were relatively safe, like neighborhood volunteers or security guards — not very dangerous. AOS was less dangerous than the STG, but they still faced violent people and could get shot on an operation.

Wang Bo looked at Sam. Sam didn’t look especially large or particularly strong, so Wang Bo probed: “Which area does your AOS squad cover?”

Sam smiled faintly and said, “You don’t look convinced, do you? Actually, I’m the PNT in our unit. I came to Dunedin this time to provide psychological analysis support rather than armed support.”

PNT stands for Police Negotiation Team — the negotiation specialists; each AOS squad has one. Real-life negotiators aren’t the TV caricature that shouts “You’re surrounded!” or “Drop your weapon!” They undergo rigorous training in psychology and crisis intervention, excel at reading and influencing the minds of offenders through language, and are a crucial part of operations.