Now, the first and most pressing problem before everyone was simple—food and water.
With the plane's explosion, all supplies had been destroyed. Their only hope now was to find food and fresh water somewhere on this island—otherwise, they wouldn't last a month.
But that was tomorrow's problem.
The sun was already sinking into the sea.
After the horror of the crash and the miracle of survival, everyone sat silently, dazed, uncertain what to do next. The glow of the dying sunset lit up faces full of confusion and exhaustion.
Before them stretched the blood-red horizon; behind them, the twisted wreckage of the plane still burned in the dusk.
Huddled around the campfire, the survivors passed their first night on the island—cold, hungry, and shaken.
Meanwhile, far away on the opposite shore, Chen Mo was living a very different night.
He had set up a large tent by the beach, eaten a hot meal, and now lay comfortably in a hammock strung between two trees, wearing nothing but shorts and a T-shirt.
The cool sea breeze brushed against his face as he gazed out at the dark ocean. The rhythm of the waves under the moonlight, the faint smell of salt, the quiet—after years of blood and tension, it was the kind of peace he hadn't felt in ages.
Unlike in the cinematic worlds—where he was constantly on edge, decisive and ruthless—here, in the real world, it felt as though he had stepped off a battlefield and returned home.
The killing intent he'd carried for so long finally faded.
He became calm, composed… almost gentle.
With his current strength, there was nothing on Earth that could threaten him anymore—so long as he didn't go looking for trouble.
At this moment, Chen Mo was like a sword sheathed after a long war—its edge hidden, its aura subdued. It would remain that way until the next world called him forth once again.
As the night deepened and the sea breeze turned cool, Chen Mo packed up his hammock and slipped into his tent. Wrapped snugly in his sleeping bag, he fell into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in years.
That same night, news of the Boeing 747 crash spread across every major network in China.
Search and rescue operations began immediately.
At the same time, the police investigating Zhou Tianhao's murder reopened their files—and Chen Mo's name appeared among the key suspects.
Dawn came quickly.
The survivors stirred beside the fire, one by one waking from a restless sleep.
No one had slept well. Though the campfire had warded off the chill, the ocean wind and the gnawing uncertainty of their situation left them uneasy.
The two young girls—Zhang Xin and Xu Qing—had spent the night trapped in uneasy dreams, reliving the crash again and again.
In their dreams, they saw it vividly: a tall figure dressed entirely in black had shielded them from falling debris, his broad shoulders taking the impact of every strike.
Then the dream shifted—they were carried on those same strong shoulders, out of the burning, blood-soaked cabin, through a rain of fire and death.
And strangely—both of them had dreamed exactly the same thing.
Yesterday, when they had awakened trembling and confused, Su Wan, the elegant woman who'd rescued others from the flames, had comforted them. She told them that when she escaped the plane, she found the two of them already lying safely outside, over a hundred meters away from the wreck.
At that time, the only other survivors she saw were the three foreign men by the beach.
And judging by their cowardice, there was no way they had saved anyone.
Yesterday the girls' minds were still clouded with shock, so Su Wan assumed they must have somehow escaped on their own before fainting.
But after a night's rest, Zhang Xin and Xu Qing's memories cleared. They were certain now—it wasn't a dream. Someone had truly carried them out of that hell.
They remembered the feeling of those powerful shoulders beneath them, the silhouette of a towering man wrapped in darkness—the Black Man who had saved their lives.
Yet they told no one.
They might be young and naïve, but they weren't stupid.
If their savior had chosen to hide himself, there must have been a reason.
They would keep his secret.
By mid-morning, the group divided tasks.
The women stayed behind to tend to the injured and keep the fire going, while the rest set out to explore the island.
The island was small—roughly oval in shape, less than one square kilometer in size, its interior covered almost entirely by dense forest.
For the plane to have managed an emergency landing here was nothing short of miraculous. The captain's skill—and their sheer luck—had saved them all.
After a full morning of searching, they finally discovered a small pool of rainwater on the opposite side of the island. It was only two meters wide and about a foot deep, but it was clear—and for now, it would do.
Water, at least, was no longer a problem.
Using a scrap of aircraft skin bent into a makeshift pot, they boiled the water over a fire.
When it finally began to bubble, the group crowded close, eyes fixed on the steam.
Hours without water had left their throats raw. When they finally drank their fill—hot, smoky, slightly metallic water—they all sank to the ground in exhaustion and relief.
But their joy didn't last.
Water was solved—food was not.
The island was too small. No animals. No fruit. Not even coconuts.
Only the cry of distant seabirds echoed over the waves.
Hunger crept in again.
"Ahh… that feels better," Zhang Xin sighed, rubbing her now slightly rounded belly.
"But I'm still starving…" Xu Qing murmured, leaning weakly against her friend.
"What can we do? There's nothing to eat here." Zhang Xin forced a small smile. "Just drink more water—it'll make you feel full."
"Do you think… we'll starve to death?" Xu Qing asked, her voice trembling.
For a moment, Zhang Xin said nothing. She was just as scared.
They were both barely seventeen—children from comfortable homes, raised in peace and warmth. They'd never gone a day without comfort, never imagined facing death like this.
But as the older of the two—even if only by a few days—Zhang Xin felt she had to be the strong one.
She forced herself to smile, searching for something, anything, to comfort her friend.
Then, suddenly, a thought struck her.
Her eyes lit up. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then leaned close to Xu Qing's ear and whispered:
"You forgot how we got out of the plane, didn't you?"
Xu Qing's eyes widened.
"You mean… the BLA—?"
Her voice caught in her throat. The two girls exchanged a look—half fear, half wonder—before the same word left both their lips at once, barely audible, reverent like a secret prayer:
"BLACK MAN."