The smell of ozone was so thick it tasted like copper wire held against the tongue.
Lin Ke sat upright on the anvil slab. His knees were locked together, his bare back straight as an iron ruler. In his mouth, clamped firmly between his rear back teeth, was a two-inch dowel of seasoned white ashwood.
Apothecary He had pulled the eight silver cooling pins twenty minutes ago. The inflammation was suppressed. But the living canvas was about to face something far worse than heat.
Electricity.
High-hum spiritual tracking data needed current-carrying channels, not muddy living nerves. To turn the Conception and Governor vessels into an Inter-Process Comms ring buffer, Lin Ke had to etch sixty-four runic register slots directly into the myelin sheaths of his main spine nerve.
Phase Two, he signaled to the Tian Fu compiler. Burn the bus.
A tiny needle of clear, diamond-grade Yang intent dropped from the crown of his skull. He walked into the Baihui acupoint.
The shock hit him instantly.
