On the seventh day, the pressing crisis was resolved.

The trip to the seaside was not in vain.

I found a lot of things—plastic bottles, worn-out shoes, torn fishing nets, and even aluminum cans. Whether they were useful now or not, as long as they were man-made, I brought them all back to the shelter.

Now, what I needed was salt.

But I didn’t know how to make it. I only knew about sun-drying seawater, but I wasn’t sure how to actually do it. This bothered me greatly.

Moreover, in recent days, I often felt dizzy and nauseous. I wondered if it was because I hadn’t eaten any salt. After all, the sweat I’d lost these days had left a large white stain on my back.

“Hm?”

“That’s it!”

I smacked my forehead hard. How could I have forgotten this?

Excited, I took off my tattered outer pants and shirt, washed them in the sea until they were clean, then soaked them thoroughly in seawater and hung them on the branches in the sunlight.

I thought, this time I should be able to obtain some salt.

But I’m not one to put all my eggs in one basket. So I decided to try every method I could think of.

Time for the second approach.

I wanted to see if sun-drying seawater would work. On a stretch of beach away from the shoreline, I dug a large pit—about the size of a table—all by myself, bit by bit. Then I made a small channel at the edge to lead in seawater and let it evaporate under the sun, hoping it would yield salt.

But soon, I realized this was a failure. Only I would think to try leading water onto sand, and before long, it had all seeped away.

All that effort and time, wasted. I was furious at the result and kicked the sand I’d dug out, sending it flying in all directions.

Fortunately, I had a third method in mind: boiling seawater to see if I could extract any salt.

But I didn’t have a suitable container. If I used the aluminum cans, the amount would be far too small.

Time passed quickly as I racked my brains for a solution.

Through the coconut trees, I saw the sun nearly overhead—and suddenly, a perfect idea for a container came to me.

Coconuts.

But opening them was a real challenge; I would need a larger, sharper stone than the one I used on the first day.

Yet, as is always the case, in moments of urgent need, you never find what you’re looking for. I understood that phrase all too well now.

I’d already searched for a long time, but still hadn’t found a suitable stone.

With other tasks to do in the afternoon, I had no choice but to gather up my sun-drying clothes and the large coconut and head back.

Once at the clearing near the shelter, I ate a few fruits. The leaves on the “bed” had changed color, but still looked dry; lying down now would likely be more comfortable than before.

But I had more pressing matters. I didn’t even have time to open the coconut.

Yesterday, the shadow in the woods—and the black shape that startled me awake at midnight—had haunted my mind all day.

So today, I had to come up with a solution, at least something to make myself feel secure.

I hurried back because I had an idea.

I continued gathering dead branches, especially the longer ones. I intended to build a circle of fencing around where I slept.

Once I started, I realized just how much work this would be. I’d already taken nearly all the branches around a meter long from the area.

Ridiculously, even after all that, I’d only finished half the fence. If I wanted to complete the task, I’d need to find just as many branches again—a task I knew was impossible for me.

So, I settled for second best and used vines to weave around the gaps where there were no branches.

Still, I wasn’t satisfied. The sense of safety I craved hadn’t materialized.

So I dug several pits in the gaps left by the vines and buried sharp sticks in them, pointing upward from below the ground.

The aluminum cans and bottles I’d picked up were hung in the center of the vines. If any creature touched the vines, they would clatter and make noise.

For further security, I propped the vines up to about twenty centimeters high with sticks. If a creature was less than twenty centimeters tall, I figured it could pose no threat to me.

It was the unknown creatures that frightened me most—that was the root of my fear.

By the time I finished all this, the sky was gradually darkening.

Before night descended completely, I went to the riverbank once more.

Filling an aluminum can with water, I didn’t bother fishing; instead, I returned to the shelter.

Luckily, I’d lit the fire before I left—otherwise, I wouldn’t have found my way back.

It had been so long since I’d drunk properly boiled water.

I set the aluminum can upright in the fire, flames curling around it. Steam hissed from the opening.

At last, I could drink safely.

After nearly half an hour, the water cooled, and I gulped it down.

Just then, I heard the roar of an airplane.

“They’re here—they’ve come to rescue me.”

“It must be them.”

In my excitement, I tossed the can aside.

There really was a plane in the sky, its taillights flashing.

Without thinking, I ran desperately in its direction, waving and jumping.

No response.

“I’m here, save me!” I shouted.

Even as it flew higher and farther away, I kept chasing it.

Reason told me it was probably just a passing passenger plane; if someone were coming to rescue me, it would likely be a helicopter or a ship.

But I couldn’t accept that. I wanted to be found, to be rescued, so I couldn’t give up any opportunity.

Now, as the plane disappeared again, my spirits plunged once more.

I didn’t understand why—every time I began to forget, hope would return, only to be crushed again.

It took a long time to calm myself after that. My clothes, after a day of sun and fire, were now completely dry.

I picked them up and saw white marks all over them.

Giving them a gentle shake, I saw small white crystals falling out.

It worked—it actually worked.

I touched my finger to my tongue, picked up a few grains from the ground, and placed them in my mouth.

As they melted and dissolved on my tongue, I was elated.

Salt—it could be this delicious, I marveled.

If only I had more, I thought. I could try curing some fish and meat; if food ever ran short, it could be used in emergencies.

But perhaps I was getting ahead of myself. I’d only succeeded with one method so far, and with this sun-drying technique, the yield of salt was far too low.

I doubted it would even be enough for daily use.

Tomorrow, I should try another method.

And I needed to keep searching for more debris along the shore—anything useful, I had to bring back. Right now, I felt I lacked everything.