The sensation of suffocation surged from the mirror like a polar chill, enveloping the space with an invisible sense of oppression, clutching Zhang Liyou's throat mercilessly.
Her lungs felt like they were filled with mercury, every futile gasp eliciting a tearing pain in her chest cavity.
The average person would instinctively shrink back and flee from such drowning-like fear—just like Zhang Liyou used to.
But at this moment, she seemed enchanted, swimming against the current, embracing the fear with abandon.
Her eyes bulged like copper bells; if it weren't for the concern that Luo Ji might open his eyes at any moment, she would have eagerly pressed her face against the mirror to scrutinize closely.
It was as if the gallery within the mirror had an irresistible allure for her.
This abnormal courage was like a spark bursting forth from despair, guiding her future direction.
"Could this mirror be my chance?" Zhang Liyou pondered as if touched by inspiration.
