Becoming a Saint Starting with the Chasing Wind Leg Technique

The night was as dark as ink, and a cold wind swept across the low eaves of Xiushui Village, making the torn window paper rattle.

Song Jing pushed open the door. The house still smelled musty, cobwebs hung from the corners, and the stove was deserted. But tonight was different.

He took out a brand-new dark gray outfit from his bundle—the two characters "Chasing the Wind" on the chest were embroidered with fine silver thread, the stitches were dense and the patterns were cold and sharp, and it gleamed under the dim yellow oil lamp, like a sharp blade quietly awakening in the dark night.

He slowly changed, his movements meticulous.

Tighten the belt, straighten the clothes, and put on soft-soled leather boots. The boots are silent, and the footsteps are like a cat.

This isn't dressing up; it's being crowned.

He looked at his reflection in the water vat—in the reflection, his palms were as hard as iron, his knuckles were rough, his figure was as upright as a pine tree, and the decadence and forbearance of the past were gone from his brows. In their place was a calm and sharp spirit, like a knife that had been sheathed for a long time and was finally beginning to show its edge.

As he went out, he encountered villagers returning home late at night.

"Oh my, isn't this Ah Jing?" An old man carrying a shoulder pole stood there, stunned, looking him up and down. "This...this is the martial arts school? Wow, his physique, his aura, he's so different from before!"

"Yes, yes, he walks with a swagger, his eyes are shining!" another person chimed in. "Song Yi's second son has really made something of himself! He's brought honor to his brother and to Xiushui Village!"

The news spread extremely quickly. The eldest brother, Song Yi, was finishing up at the blacksmith shop when he was surrounded by several acquaintances as soon as he stepped out the door.

"Old Song, did your Ah Jing really become a formal disciple of the Chasing Wind Martial Arts School? Wow, that's incredible! Wearing that outfit, he looks like a martial artist straight out of a painting!"

"You're lucky to be his older brother! If he makes something of himself someday, your family will truly be turned around!"

"Who knows, maybe one day your Ah Jing will become an official, riding a grand horse just like the county magistrate, all majestic and awe-inspiring!"

Song Yi smiled憨厚ly, modestly saying, "How could that be... I'm happy as long as the child is willing to improve." But the pride in his eyes and brows was undeniable. He even forgot to put down the hammer, and the iron pliers were still holding the red-hot iron bar, oblivious to the sparks flying everywhere.

He had just arrived home when Wang was sitting in front of the stove tending the fire.

"I heard your Song Jingzhen has made a name for himself?" she suddenly asked, the firelight illuminating her sharp face. She snorted and retorted defiantly, "What a spendthrift! Don't spoil him. The Chasing Wind Martial Arts School only teaches escape techniques; they're far inferior to the formal disciples of my Wang Hu's Broken Mountain Martial Arts School!"

Before he could finish speaking, Song Jing pushed open the door and entered.

As soon as the oil lamp was lit, he stood at the door, dressed in a dark gray outfit, his shoulders and back like swords, his boots silent, exuding a dignified air. He was no longer the poor boy who would be scolded by her.

Wang looked up and saw the words that were about to come out, but she swallowed them back down.

She was startled.

—This kid…is really different.

That look in her eyes, that posture, that calm ruthlessness—it was clear she had truly mastered the art. Even her younger brother, who had only been at the martial arts school for three months, didn't seem to possess such bearing.

But she refused to back down, snorted coldly, turned her head away, and stirred the porridge in the pot fiercely: "Dressed so well, it's not certain that you'll go very far in the martial arts world."

But her gaze lingered on him for a fleeting moment.

The next morning, under the old locust tree at the village entrance, the group met again for a small gathering.

Lin Hou'er, his sister Xiao Chan, and Chen Pangzi had been waiting for a long time.

"Ah Jing!" Lin Hou'er jumped up at the sight of him. "My goodness! This outfit... he's a formal disciple?!"

He circled Song Jing twice, clicking his tongue in amazement: "That outfit, those boots, that belt... wow, he looks even more dashing than those rich young masters in town!"

Xiao Chan blushed, lowered her head and twisted the hem of her clothes, muttering softly, "Brother, don't make a fuss..." But her eyes couldn't help but steal glances—the gray-clad boy, with clear features and standing like a pine tree, was no longer the Ah Jing who used to catch fish barefoot with them.

"Jing, your presence..." Fatty Chen swallowed, looking on with envy. "Why do I feel like I can't breathe when you're standing here?"

Lin Hou'er slapped his thigh: "I knew it! The three of us grew up together, and you're the smartest, with the most ideas. You were definitely going to be successful! And look, it's true!"

He suddenly lowered his voice: "When you become a great martial artist, don't forget about us brothers! Arrange a job for me in the government office, like that tax collector who collects taxes every day would be great. I'll wear leather boots and a badge, and look impressive!"

Xiao Chan couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Brother, you're dreaming! How high a position would you have to be to get someone like you into that kind of job!"

"Pah! Pah! Pah!" Lin Hou'er retorted angrily, "You little brat, you're always talking bad about your brother!"

"What a blunt truth Xiao Chan is telling!" Fatty Chen immediately added insult to injury.

Song Jing, unusually, half-jokingly said, "Don't worry, even the little black dog from the village will be dragged into the county government office to eat the officials' meals."

Is your brother even worse than the village thug?

Upon hearing this, the group couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Looking at this scene, Song Jing felt a surge of warmth in his heart.

He was still Song Jing, but the way they looked at him was completely different. Before, he was "poor boy A-Jing," now he was "Song Jing, a formal disciple of the martial arts school."

He knew that this outfit was not just about fabric and silver thread, but about the dignity he had earned with his blood and sweat.

"Don't worry," he said with a smile, patting Lin Hou'er on the shoulder and making a solemn promise, "Once I've gained my footing, I'll be the first to help you turn things around."

The wind rustles through the locust tree, its branches and leaves whispering as if bearing witness to this youthful promise.

In the distance, the plaque of the Chasing Wind Martial Arts School glowed faintly in the morning light, awaiting him—step by step, as he ascended to an even higher peak.

After officially becoming a disciple, Song Jing devoted himself entirely to the "Chasing Wind Leg Technique," studying it diligently and neglecting sleep and meals.

Every night, in order to speed up his cultivation, he not only practiced the key points of the techniques diligently, but now he has mastered every movement and technique by heart.

He even strapped on nearly ten pounds of sandbags and ran day and night for dozens of miles along the steep slope of the back mountain. His legs felt as heavy as lead, and every step felt like stepping on a knife's edge. His calf muscles tore and healed, forming thick calluses, with a faint bluish tinge beneath the skin.

In the dead of night, he would sweep and kick the old locust tree at the village entrance, treating it like a wooden stake—kicking the stake a thousand times until his leg bones went numb; sweeping the bricks a hundred times until his insteps were bruised and ulcerated, with blood seeping through his cloth shoes.

After taking a cold shower at night, he would repeatedly adjust his angle, exert force, and retract his stance under the moonlight until he was completely exhausted and fell asleep immediately.

At first, his legs felt stiff and sluggish, as if he were stuck in mud; after half a month, his leg muscles began to develop, and he could break dry branches; after a month, his figure began to leave afterimages.

Finally, tonight.

He had a sudden inspiration—the key to chasing the wind lies not in its form, but in its intention! His legs moved with his mind, and his energy flowed to his toes!

In an instant, his blood and energy surged like rivers flowing into the sea, and his right leg instinctively lashed out—

"Snapped!"

The air exploded! A thick branch of the old locust tree in the courtyard snapped in two with a sharp crack, the break as clean as if it had been cut with a knife, and splinters of wood flew everywhere!

Wind Chasing Leg Technique, Minor Success!

The skill skill bar in the panel has also changed from beginner (100/100) to minor mastery (1/100).

From then on, Song Jing underwent a complete transformation and became entirely new.

[Person] Song Jing

[Realm Progress] Minor Success in Skin Forging - Bullhide Realm (23/100)

[Technique Progress] Wind Chasing Leg Technique - Minor Success (1/100)

His gaze no longer darted away, but became sharp as an eagle's, yet restrained as a deep pool; his steps were light and silent, as if he were walking on the wind; even his breathing became long and deep, and his aura was contained as if nothing existed.

I heard from Senior Brother Zhou before that cultivation techniques are also divided into beginner, minor success, major success, and perfection, and there is even a realm of returning to simplicity above that.

It is said that once you reach that level, your technique will be as if the creator of the technique is present, or even better, and you will be able to correct its flaws and upgrade the technique.

It is said that only those who break through the third realm of martial arts have a slight chance of achieving such a feat, and such stories are only heard of in the legends of martial artists in the prefectural city.

Each breakthrough brings a spiritual and intellectual elevation, the wonder of which is beyond words and can only be understood intuitively.

Now that the cultivation technique has broken through the minor stage and is about to enter the major stage, the benefits to oneself are all-round.

The most amazing thing is the change in speed—not only does it greatly increase movement speed during combat, but it also slightly increases the speed of attacking units and can even slightly reduce the time required to charge up attacks.

Don't underestimate this short period of time. In a life-or-death struggle, every second counts, and this short time can, to some extent, determine life or death.

The moment the thought arose, the person was already three zhang away; the leg was raised, the move was made, and the movement was withdrawn, all so fast that it was difficult to see with the naked eye, leaving only a blurry afterimage.

At this moment, he mentally simulated encountering Iron Head and King Kong again.

Ironhead lunged forward with a sinister grin, his fists whistling through the air.

Instead of retreating, Song Jing advanced, his left foot touching the ground and slightly spinning, while his right leg whipped up from below!

"Bang!"

The toe struck the throat precisely, the sound of the throat bone shattering crisply.

Ironhead's pupils shrank, his body stiffened, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud—he died without ever seeing where the attack came from, and even his scream was stuck in his throat!

—The Vajra roars and swings its arm to seize the target.

Song Jing dodged to the side like a willow catkin avoiding the wind, his right leg springing out from his waist with lightning speed!

"Click!"

The tibia struck the jaw, causing a fracture of the neck.

King Kong's eyes were wide open, his tall body fell like a broken tree trunk, and before his nerves could even transmit pain, his consciousness was extinguished!

Two kicks, two people, instant kill!

There was no resistance, no sound!

He stood in the courtyard, gazing up at the night sky.

The Milky Way stretched like a ribbon, and a cold wind brushed against my face.

He knew that this was far from enough.

The real enemy is yet to come.

The Black Tiger Gang has not fallen, Zhang Wu has not been eliminated, Zhou Xingyun's crisis is not resolved, and the war has not ended... and he has only just embarked on this path.

But at this moment, he was no longer afraid.

Because he finally had some initial strength, he felt more confident.