"Mm-hmm, if he could save both of us that fast, he must be really strong — like a superhero in a movie!"
"But who do you think he is?"
Zhang Xin frowned, trying hard to recall, but their memories of Chen Mo were too faint — more of a feeling than an image.
"You think it might've been that handsome guy sitting next to us?" Xu Qing suddenly suggested.
At her words, Zhang Xin's mind flashed to that sharp, handsome face — and come to think of it, the one who'd shielded them when the plane went down did seem to be that man beside them.
"No, wait… he wasn't wearing black, and he wasn't that tall or muscular," Xu Qing quickly corrected herself.
"Don't forget, superheroes can transform!" Zhang Xin said, eyes shining with certainty. "It has to be him!"
"Right…"
The two girls exchanged a look — and silently agreed on their conclusion.
Zhang Xin glanced around, her tone turning serious.
"This secret can't be told to anyone."
Xu Qing nodded earnestly. "Of course! A superhero's identity must be kept secret!"
Chen Mo had no idea that his "secret identity" had already been guessed by the two little girls. Still, he had anticipated this possibility.
When he saved them, he'd already accepted the risk of being recognized. Though his appearance had changed drastically, his seat hadn't — so it was only natural for the two who sat right beside him to notice.
The reason he didn't let the two girls die, despite the risk of exposure, was partly conscience — he couldn't just watch them die.
And partly because, at most, they might suspect he was alive — but they couldn't possibly recognize him now.
Even if they did talk, as long as he avoided the rescue team, there would be no proof.
The chaos of the crash, their fainting twice, the blood, the smoke — they hadn't even seen his face clearly. Their fragmented memories and blurry impressions wouldn't convince anyone.
So, Chen Mo wasn't worried.
While the two girls were busy playing little detectives, the three foreign men had already started moving.
They each found a sturdy branch the thickness of a thumb, sharpened one end on a rock, then held it over the fire — crafting spears.
The three, all from the same country, had naturally banded together among the Chinese survivors, forming a small clique. They kept their distance, rarely speaking to the others.
From the look of it, they were used to camping and outdoor adventures — skilled in survival, though without knives, they could only sharpen their makeshift weapons as best they could.
When the spears were done, they ignored everyone else and headed straight for the beach. Only then did the others realize — they were going fishing.
"Let's go to the shore too," said Chief Stewardess Zhang Lan. "Maybe we can find something edible."
The girls nodded. None of them had any experience catching fish; making spears wouldn't help much. Better to search the tide pools and rocks for food instead.
So they set off for the beach together, leaving the bodyguard behind to finish crafting his own spear.
Fishing, however, was harder than it looked.
By the time the bodyguard reached the beach, the foreigners were already gone — they had swum far out to deeper waters. The girls were crouched among the rocks, searching for shellfish.
After a while, realizing he couldn't find any fish, the bodyguard stripped off his shirt and swam out to join the others.
That night — the second night after the crash — the survivors finally had something to eat. Not much, just a handful of shellfish from the rocks, but it was still a start.
Except, of course, for the three foreigners, who sat apart from the group, each holding a freshly roasted fish.
The bodyguard had caught only a single sea snail — after dividing it, there was barely a taste for anyone.
The two flight attendants had gathered some shellfish too, but they didn't eat them. They gave most of it to the captain, who was still weak from his injuries, and mashed some for the unconscious middle-aged man. They only tasted a little themselves.
For most of the survivors, the night would once again be spent hungry.
From the shadows of the forest, Chen Mo watched it all.
When he saw the two little girls licking their lips after finishing a few tiny clams, his heart softened — they reminded him of his younger cousin.
Before returning to the real world, Chen Mo had prepared for every possibility: his storage space now contained plenty of survival supplies — food, water, clothes, sleeping bags, tents, even two inflatable boats.
His pocket dimension was no longer just a "backpack" for wallets and keys — now three meters in every direction, a full 27 cubic meters, like a private garage.
But he couldn't just pull out canned food and biscuits — that would expose him instantly. No one would believe a random survivor could conjure food after a plane crash.
Days passed. The foreigners kept fishing every day and always came back with something. The bodyguard improved over time and occasionally caught fish too.
The others scavenged seaweed, shellfish, and the occasional crab. It wasn't enough to fill their stomachs, but at least they wouldn't starve.
As for the two girls — they were always the most unlucky. Their catches were small, and if not for Zhang Lan and Su Wan sharing their food, they might not have lasted this long.
Perhaps heaven took pity on them. One evening, still empty-handed and unwilling to take from the others, they lingered by the shore, searching desperately among the rocks.
"You think maybe we were wrong?" Xu Qing murmured as she lifted another stone. "Maybe there isn't a Black Man? Maybe we just imagined it all."
"Ha! Got one!" Zhang Xin exclaimed, proudly holding up a tiny crab.
She glanced toward the forest, hesitated for a moment, then smiled softly. "Don't be silly. Our memories were exactly the same. Maybe he's out there right now — watching us."
Xu Qing turned, gazing into the silent forest behind them, as if expecting someone to step out.
And then, with a pitiful little pout, she called out,
"Uncle… I'm hungry!"