Chapter One: Hijacking

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"Sir, may I ask if you need anything?"

On the international flight from Cape Town to Jinghua City, a beautiful and alluring flight attendant pushed a trolley down the aisle, stopping beside a man seated next to the aisle. Her ever-present warm smile and graceful movements could make anyone forget the weariness of travel.

"Erguotou."

The flight attendant was momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained her composure with her usual poise and elegance.

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't have that onboard."

"Really? Isn't this a flight to Jinghua City? Did I get on the wrong plane?" Wang Zheng turned to look at the lovely flight attendant, his brows knitted together in confusion.

In his mind, a man who doesn't drink is as dull as a woman who can't flirt.

"Sir, this is indeed the flight to Jinghua City. You didn't board the wrong plane. However, we don't serve high-proof alcoholic beverages onboard. Perhaps you'd like something else, we have..."

"Then bring me a glass of elephant liquor, a South African specialty..." Wang Zheng hadn't even finished his sentence when he saw the awkward smile on the flight attendant's face. He couldn't help but ask, "Don't tell me you don't even have elephant liquor!"

"I'm sorry, sir. If you really want a drink, I can fetch you a glass of wine from first class, if that's alright..."

"Can wine taste like elephant liquor?" Wang Zheng interrupted her bluntly, then, thoroughly enjoying himself, ran his tongue over his lips and said, "It's made from the flesh of the marula fruit, distilled into brandy, then mixed with fresh marula juice and milk fat. At first, you taste the sweet aroma of milk, then the sides of your tongue pick up the bitterness of coffee, and when the liquor hits your throat, you feel the burning passion... Wait, am I not in first class?"

"Sir, this is economy class."

"What?" Wang Zheng was taken aback, slapped his forehead, and cursed loudly, "Damn locals, how dare they trick me!"

"Which is the most expensive drink you have? Bring me two buckets—I need to drink back the money I was cheated out of!"

The two flight attendants glanced at the man who was still muttering curses. He was tall and powerfully built, his skin dark and glossy—perhaps a result of spending too long in Africa. He looked strong and robust, a stark contrast to the effeminate, K-pop inspired men who were all the rage at the time.

But his outfit left much to be desired: a gray cloth vest, baggy gray shorts, a pair of slippers, and a hemp string tied around his head, adorned with two feathers. He looked every bit like a tribesman from some remote African village, or perhaps a refugee fleeing hardship.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the cabin. Five black men stood up from their seats, each wielding a submachine gun, and took positions across both economy and first class.

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At such a scene, the first thing that came to mind was a terrorist hijacking. In the turmoil of Africa, hijacking a plane seemed easier than a cheetah hunting an antelope.

Panic erupted in the cabin. Some of the more timid women turned deathly pale with fright. If the plane weren't airborne, they'd have scrambled for cover in an instant.

"BXP 9mm submachine guns? I've hit the jackpot," Wang Zheng muttered to himself with a smile, then, without drawing attention, gently pulled the terrified flight attendant beside him into the empty seat next to him.

"Shh," Wang Zheng gestured for silence to the beautiful woman at his side, then watched the terrorists' performance with great interest.

The BXP 9mm submachine gun is a South African specialty, manufactured by Armscor for the South African Defense Force and police. It is also the most widely used weapon among local anti-government forces and tribes—known to young and old alike. Its main features are a compact structure and simple operation, making it easy to use one-handed.

Airport security was not especially strict, but it shouldn't have been so lax as to allow submachine guns onto the plane. If they managed to board with such weapons, there must have been inside help at the airport.

Suddenly, the plane shuddered violently and banked steeply. The terrified passengers erupted into hysterical screams, heightening the already frantic atmosphere.

Wang Zheng steadied himself with the trolley to prevent drinks from spilling onto him. Glancing outside, he realized the plane was changing course.

Just then, a voice came over the intercom:

"Attention all passengers, the plane has been hijacked and is now returning to Cape Town. For your safety, remain seated with your seatbelts fastened and do not move, or you'll be the first to die. I am the captain of this flight, and also the mastermind behind this hijacking. Please cooperate!"

The announcement was delivered in halting Mandarin, followed by a rapid string of words, as if the speaker had bitten his tongue.

"Even the captain is with them?" Wang Zheng was surprised, and couldn't help but regard these terrorists with newfound respect.

After the broadcast, the cabin gradually quieted. No one knew what the hijackers wanted, but faced with the cold, yawning muzzles of their guns, the only alternative to cooperation was death. Who didn't want to live? So all the passengers obediently clasped their hands behind their heads and rested them on the seatbacks in front, not daring to make a sound.

The armed black men didn't search or rob anyone; they simply stood quietly at intervals along the aisle, keeping watch over everyone.

The tension was palpable.

Suddenly, a strange rattling sound broke the silence, sharp and jarring in the otherwise deathly quiet cabin, filling the air with a sense of imminent danger that made hearts race. Everyone tensed, furrowed their brows, and shut their eyes, dreading the bloody scene that might follow.

The terrorists immediately raised their guns, aiming at the source of the noise...

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A man was leisurely pouring himself a cup of hot coffee, seemingly oblivious to the tense, dangerous, and oppressive atmosphere around him.

"Would you like a cup?" Wang Zheng, holding a steaming cup of coffee, looked at the nearest terrorist with a friendly smile, speaking in flawless, authentic Zulu.

Seeing that the coffee-drinking man posed no immediate threat, the terrorists ignored him, allowing him to drink in peace. Still, one of them walked over to stand behind him, weapon at the ready, keeping a close eye on him. For someone to remain so calm and relaxed in such a situation, there could only be two explanations:

Either he was insane, or he was no ordinary man.

A competent terrorist not only instills fear in others, but must also be wary of fear befalling himself. It’s like a man taking performance pills to prevent premature failure, only to overdo it and be left frustrated all night—painful, isn’t it? Vigilance at all times is essential; carelessness can have dire consequences.

"Miss, would you like a cup?" Wang Zheng asked the beautiful flight attendant beside him with a smile. He felt that, as a man, it was his duty to make a girl a woman, and it would be a sin to let such a beauty pass by. The flight attendant’s uniform was, to Wang Zheng, a special kind of temptation.

The woman froze, already paralyzed with fear—she could not fathom how the man beside her could remain so composed. If not for the terrorist standing nearby with a gun, she would have suspected him to be an accomplice.

"N-no, thank you," she stammered, glancing nervously at the terrorist before lowering her head.

Wang Zheng smiled. Though he knew a submachine gun was trained on him from behind, he didn't care. He tossed back the rest of his coffee in one dashing gulp, set the cup down, and suddenly stood up.

The terrorist behind him immediately pressed the gun to his back and barked out a string of words.

"I want to speak to your leader," Wang Zheng said in Zulu.

After eight years of risking his life working in Africa, he was finally on his way home for some well-deserved comfort. With the plane just about to reach Jinghua City, now he was being forced back to Cape Town—how could Wang Zheng accept that?

"Sit down, you bastard!" the terrorist shouted, smashing the butt of his gun into Wang Zheng's shoulder. But Wang Zheng stood tall and unmoving, not even flinching.

The sound of a gun being cocked came from behind.

"I said sit down!" The terrorist grabbed Wang Zheng's vest and yanked hard, intending to force him into his seat, but ended up tearing the vest right off him.

"Ahhh!"

The terrorist let out a terrified scream, eyes wide with horror at the sight of Wang Zheng's back.