I, an Electrician, Actually Became a Savior - Reviews

I’m most looking forward to seeing how the appetite connects to the electricity. Is he turning calories into electricity? Can he generate energy from food? The push-ups and sit-ups being easier suggests some physical enhancement. If the story is going to be about him becoming a super-strong eater, that’s fine, but I hope it’s more creative. The defibrillator addiction is such a unique starting point that I’d be disappointed if it just becomes a generic “eat to get stronger” web novel. Let’s see.

The “unqualified electrician” detail is a good example of the story’s moral gray area. Zhang Shuai isn’t a victim; he’s a guy who cheated to get a license and then almost killed himself. He’s responsible for his own shitty situation to some degree. That doesn’t make him a bad person, but it makes him complicated. I like that the story doesn’t paint him as a pure underdog. He’s incompetent and lucky, and he knows it. That self-awareness makes him easier to root for than a perfect victim.

Overall, this story has a very specific vibe—a mix of urban slice-of-life, low-key body horror, and comedy. It’s not trying to be epic. It’s about a broke guy who can suddenly eat a ton and maybe has some electricity-based powers. I’m not deeply invested in the characters yet, but I’m interested enough to keep reading. The humor is good, the dialogue is sharp, and the premise is weird enough to stand out. I just hope it builds on this foundation instead of repeating the same joke.

One small criticism: the transition from “he’s scared” to “he’s going to a buffet” felt a bit abrupt. After running away from the hospital because of the nurses’ gossip, he’s immediately thinking about food. I would have liked a moment of him sitting in his apartment, looking around at his poor life, maybe a moment of loneliness. The emotional beat of the near-death experience gets a bit lost in the comedy. A little more downtime would make the comedy land harder.

The ending of the third segment with the manager trying to find a reason to kick him out is a classic cliffhanger. It’s not life or death, but it’s a social conflict. Zhang Shuai is technically in the right, but the social pressure is building. I’m invested in seeing how he handles it. Will he be stubborn? Will he get kicked out? Will he cause a scene? The mundane stakes are surprisingly compelling. I actually want to read the next chapter to see if he gets his money’s worth.

I’m intrigued by the “professional platform for electrical and plumbing jobs” detail. It suggests a very modern, app-based economy. This isn’t a traditional wuxia or cultivation setting. It’s a very contemporary Chinese urban problem. That uniqueness is a selling point. The fish-out-of-water feeling isn’t about a modern man in a fantasy world; it’s about a powerless man in a world that treats him as replaceable. That’s a different kind of struggle, and I think it’s fresh.

The use of dialogue to reveal character is really effective. Wang Qiang’s loud crying about the debt, Director Chen’s quiet authority, the nurses’ snickering, He Qing’s cold dismissal—everyone talks exactly how you’d expect them to. There’s no stilted exposition. The conversations feel like eavesdropping on real people. This is a huge strength of the writing. The author has a good ear for how different people speak depending on their class and role.

I’m a little worried about the pace slowing down after this. The first three segments are very high-energy and dense with event. But after the buffet, what’s the next conflict? Is he just going to eat a lot and get strong? I hope there’s a plot beyond the appetite. The electric shock mystery has legs, but it needs to be followed up on soon. If the next chapter is just another eating scene, I might get bored. I need a hint of a bigger goal or antagonist.

The food descriptions are too detailed. I mean that as a compliment. The author spends real estate on the kinds of skewers, the sauces, the hot pot setup. It’s almost like food porn. For a story where the character’s primary power is eating, this is essential. I felt the grease and the heat. I could smell the BBQ. That sensory immersion is what makes the absurdity of eating “five jin of meat” feel tangible rather than just a number on a page.

The hospital’s reaction to his “false death” is a good example of a system that almost failed him. The three doctors were ready to give up. Only Director Chen’s instinct saved him. That’s a subtle commentary on medical burnout or liability. It’s not a major theme, but it adds a layer of realism. I like that the story acknowledges that his survival was partly luck and partly one person caring a little bit more. That feels true to life in a way that perfect heroes don’t.

The internal monologue is strong. Zhang Shuai’s thoughts are very immediate and reactive. He’s not a philosophical guy; he’s just responding to stimuli. When he’s hungry, he eats. When he’s embarrassed, he leaves. When he’s scared, he panics. This makes him easy to follow. I’m never confused about why he’s doing something, even if it’s stupid. That clarity is important for a story that’s going to get weird. I trust the narration to keep me grounded in his perspective.

I’m not entirely sold on the female character designs so far. He Qing is described almost entirely by her body and face—65 meters, smooth legs, 80-point rating. The female doctor and nurses are also defined by their looks. It’s a bit reductive. I’m hoping the story isn’t going to be just a harem of beautiful women commenting on his body or appetite. There’s potential here for more interesting interactions, but the early signals are a little concerning if you’re looking for strong female characters.