"One year, two years, three years."
The intervals at which the Buddhist Physician, Meng Yaoyin, recovered her consciousness became longer and longer.
Before, she could see Ning Zhuo several times a year. Gradually, it became once every two or three years.
Ning Zhuo immersed himself in the study of Mechanical Techniques, neglecting sleep and food. Ning Ze and others advised him, and the Academy Elder told him to balance his efforts, but he cast their words aside, feigning compliance—what could compare to the importance of his mother?
One deep night, the Buddhist Physician, Meng Yaoyin, appeared.
After examining Ning Zhuo's foundation in Mechanical Techniques, Meng Yaoyin smiled with relief, "My son has studied diligently, creating a solid base in mechanical arts. Although his cultivation level is low, it is enough to help his mother now."
"Mother, what must I do?" Ning Zhuo asked eagerly, full of joy.
