The instant Zheng Qing touched the white mist on the mirror's surface, he felt an immense, viscous force begin to envelop him. The talismans on his body burst into brilliant light almost at once.
He strained with both hands, trying to hold on to the two companions before and behind him.
But Xiao Xiao's sweaty palm was slippery, and shortly after entering the passage through the mirror, he slipped from Zheng Qing's grasp. The young wizard hesitated for a few seconds before giving up on the futile attempt to reach out. He turned around and wrapped his arms around the witch behind him.
A black cat tail extended from beneath his robes like a long rope, binding their waists together.
The witch gave a soft snort, and the cat ears in her hair drooped limply.
The two of them rolled together into the deepest reaches of the Mirror World.
No one knew how long they rolled.
Zheng Qing felt as though they had traveled an incomparably long distance, as if a month—or even a year—had passed. Yet it also felt very brief, so brief that before he could even complete a single breath, his back slammed hard into a soft meadow, nearly knocking the air from his lungs.
Ugh.
Zheng Qing grunted, hurriedly opening his eyes before he could catch his breath.
What met his gaze was a dead oak Tree. Its thick trunk had split down the middle, exposing a pitch-black, hollow core. The edges of the split looked as though they had been scorched by lightning or wildfire, bearing the charred black marks unique to carbonized wood.
The Mystic Gate.
Zheng Qing stared at that crack in the Tree’s trunk, and the term suddenly surfaced in his mind—this was the passage connecting the magic mirror to the Illusory