Shen Le: Am I Cultivating Magic Artifacts, or Playing Super Link-Link?

A numb, piercing pain shot up from his fingertips, stabbing into his spine, stabbing into his brain.

Shen Le's head buzzed. Instinctively, he tried to pull his hand back, tried to withdraw it, but failed. His fingers curled reflexively, pressing against the bronze seal and clenching tight—yes, clenching tight—

At last, he remembered Xiang Yang's warning—or rather, the electrical safety knowledge he had casually explained to him:

"When touching something live, or something that might be live, always keep your palm turned inward and use the back of your hand to touch it.

"After getting shocked, your palm will cramp reflexively and clench. If you touched it with the back of your hand, you'll naturally pull away from the power source. If you touched it with your palm, you'll stick to it and won't be able to let go—"

This was the experience of veteran electricians—or rather, a bitter lesson bought with their health, limbs, and lives.

Shen Le had never taken it seriously. It would never be his turn to repair wiring anyway. Even if the whole house really lost power, Little Oil Lamp was still there to protect them. Who could have known...

The current raced through his arm, through his spine, then down his legs and into the ground, where it gradually faded. Shen Le stood there hissing for quite a while before remembering to roar:

"Qing Deng! Are you trying to strike me dead?!"

[I'm not! I didn't—]

Little Oil Lamp's voice swiftly retreated. The first word was still by his ear, while the last was already so far away that it was nearly inaudible.

Shen Le sighed, lowered his eyes, and began circulating his power. He ran the warm current through himself several times, washing back and forth over his arms and fingers. Then he