218: Chapter 218 Spreads Again

In the eastern Pacific Ocean lies an island nation called Tuvalu, home to nearly twenty thousand residents. In a small fishing village in the south of this country, there is a village with a very pleasant name—Taruru Village—where five hundred villagers live.

In the early morning, as the sun rose, it was another beautiful day.

The residents of Taruru Village woke up as usual in the faint morning light. The salty, damp sea breeze carried a faint sweetness of tropical flowers, gently brushing over the rooftops. The men busied themselves with physical labor, while the women lit fires in the open spaces in front of their houses, preparing simple breakfasts.

It is worth mentioning that, in the hearts of the people living in Taruru Village, having descendants of their own is an extremely important matter—and they must be boys. Only after a family has a son can they truly hold their heads high in the village.

Fathers would teach their sons the skills needed for life on the island from a young age, guiding them hand-in-hand in weaving fishing gear and passing down fishing knowledge, ensuring this legacy continued from generation to generation.

Fifteen-year-old Broka was one of the children who grew up in Taruru Village. Since childhood, he had been one of the top fishermen in the village, the kind of child others would point to as an example.

Today, Broka had originally planned to go fishing at sea with his father again, but he was suddenly informed by the village chief that the entire Taruru Village was forbidden from going out to sea to fish. No reason was given to them.

Broka's father waved his hand and said to Broka, 'It's fine to rest for a few days. Go play with your friends.'

'Father, I'll go find Marku then!'

Broka thought for a moment and said.

He and Marku had been close friends since childhood. The two of them would always explore every corner of the village together and loved hunting in the large forest to the east. After all, eating fish all the time could get tiresome, and occasionally catching other small animals for a change was a treat.

But ever since Marku's father bought him a mobile phone, Broka hadn't gone on any adventures with Marku for a long time. The latter was always engrossed in that glowing little screen, showing no interest in their past adventures.

Truth be told, Broka was a bit envious of Marku. His own father was much stricter, believing that novel gadgets like mobile phones only made people lazy and never allowed him to touch such things.

Since he had nothing to do today, he had to gather Marku and a few other friends and head to the forest in the east for some meat. He had heard there were wild boars around, and they had to take down that big fellow.

Thinking of this, Broka grew even more excited. He grabbed a handful of Watogan with a bag and ran out of the house.

Watogan is a small dessert made by mashing fresh coconut meat into a paste, mixing it with taro puree and a little palm sugar, wrapping it in banana leaves, and steaming it. After drying, it can be preserved for a long time. It is a common snack in the village.

Perfect for today's picnic dessert.

Marku's house wasn't far from Broka's. After about ten minutes, a house built of adobe appeared before Broka's eyes.

But strangely, the door was tightly shut.

As soon as Broka approached the house, he heard violent retching sounds coming from inside, as if more than one person was vomiting.

'Ugh—'

'Ugh—'

The sounds were painful and persistent, as though they were trying to empty their very insides. Broka's heart tightened. What had happened to Marku's family?

Broka stepped forward and knocked on the door. 'Marku, Uncle Tavo, it's Broka. What's wrong with you?'

There was no response, only intermittent retching sounds.

Broka was very familiar with this family and had no concerns about privacy. Given that the people inside might be in danger, he immediately pushed the wooden door open with force.

The light inside the house was somewhat dim,

and the air was filled with a sour, putrid stench.

Broka instinctively covered his nose and mouth. When his eyes adjusted to the light, the scene before him made his heart tremble with fear. Marku and his parents were curled up on the floor, extremely weak, surrounded by pools of vomit. Even more terrifying, the exposed skin of Marku's parents was covered in grayish-white patches, somewhat resembling vitiligo but far more horrifying in appearance.

In the middle of them was a pot of sticky, mushy food, still emitting a faint herbal scent.

'Broka, what are you doing here? You should leave. It seems like we're sick...'

Seeing the visitor, Marku tried to hide his hand behind his back, but Broka had already seen it. Most of Marku's right hand had turned that eerie grayish-white color, the skin losing the luster of a living person, looking as though it were made of stone.

'Should I go call the village doctor for you?'

Broka forced himself to speak, a wave of unease rising in his heart. Instinctively, he wanted to leave this eerie environment.

'He's already been here...'

'Alright, then I'll go. I'll come find you another time.'

Faced with their terrifying appearance, Broka practically fled from Marku's house, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. The horrifying sight he had just witnessed was branded in his mind like a nightmare, and the excitement he had felt for the adventure earlier had completely vanished.

What kind of illness was this? What had happened to them?

As the door closed, Marku looked at his parents, curled up on the floor, the grayish-white patches on their skin becoming increasingly pronounced. Fear washed over him like a tide.

It must be because of that black barrier. Perhaps he shouldn't have reached out.

'Marku! Marku!'

Marku's father, Tavo, watched as his son gradually turned to stone and cried out his name in terror, overwhelmed by utter despair.

In less than half an hour, three lifelike stone statues had appeared in the adobe house.

——

After Broka ran home,

he still felt uneasy. The bizarre scene at Marku's family's house lingered in his mind like a nightmare.

Even by dinnertime, he was still distracted.

'What are you spacing out for? Eat. I made your favorite fish balls today.'

Broka's mother nudged him. This middle-aged woman wore a brightly colored, loose cotton dress, a common attire for women on the island.

'Okay...'

In Tuvalu, utensils are not used. Broka picked up a fish ball from the bowl with his hand. It was his usual favorite, but at that moment, as he chewed, he couldn't taste the usual flavor.

Shortly after swallowing,

Broka suddenly felt a bit nauseous. Unable to hold back the wave of sickness, he retched and vomited everything he had just eaten.

He kept vomiting until nothing was left.

'Broka!' the middle-aged woman exclaimed in alarm. She quickly put down the food in her hands, walked over, and patted his back, her voice full of concern. 'What's wrong? Did you eat something unclean while running around during the day?'

Broka coughed violently, tears welling up in his eyes from the strain. He was about to shake his head and explain that he hadn't eaten anything strange, but his gaze inadvertently fell on the vomit he had just expelled.

The puddle of partially digested food residue looked somewhat similar to that of Marku's family.