Becoming a Saint Starting with the Chasing Wind Leg Technique

Before we knew it, it was the fourth day of the lunar new year. Just as dawn was breaking, a misty fog enveloped the low eaves of Xiushui Village.

The waning moon had not yet set, the stars were still few, and all was silent except for the murmuring stream outside the village, which sounded like a soft whisper.

Song Jing stood under the old locust tree in the backyard, his feet firmly planted on the ground, his posture as steady as a pine tree, his breath calm and composed, as if he had become one with this small space.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then slowly opened them. His eyes were now clear and free of any distracting thoughts.

One leg slowly rises, knee slightly bent, foot gently rotates, then suddenly sweeps out—

"Snapped!"

The air exploded, a blur flashed by, the thick branches of the locust tree trembled slightly, and a few withered leaves snapped off and drifted down.

Before the fallen leaf even touched the ground, the second leg arrived like the wind, followed closely by the third leg. The three moves were linked together, like waves rising one after another, drawing three arcs in the air, as if cut by wind blades.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, but his breathing was deep and even, his chest rose and fell barely, and his blood and qi circulated slowly throughout his body like a stream flowing into a river.

His eyes, once sharp and shrewd, now held a quiet strength, devoid of the restlessness and impatience of the past.

This is precisely the daily practice after mastering the "Chasing Wind Leg Technique"—not for the sake of the moves, but for the refinement of the "intention".

What he pursues is to move his legs as his mind moves, to act on a whim, to be as invisible as the wind, as elusive as thunder.

Speed ​​is no longer the limit; the real danger lies in its "invisibility" and "seamlessness."

Just as they were practicing the "sweeping leaves in the wind" technique, the courtyard gate creaked open, breaking the tranquility of the early morning.

Sun Li stood at the door, a smile plastered on his face, but his eyes darted around. He clutched a paper package tightly in one hand and carried a bulging cloth bag in the other, as if it contained a heavy object.

He hesitated, as if he were stepping into a mountain of knives and a sea of ​​fire, not a private residence.

"Junior Brother Song... Song." He chuckled dryly, his voice hoarse, "You're up really early."

Song Jing slowly withdrew his stance, his aura returning to its original state. He glanced at him calmly, without saying a word.

That look sent a shiver down Sun Li's spine.

Three months ago, he dared to publicly ridicule Song Jing as a "poor freak," but now he doesn't even dare to look Song Jing in the eye.

At that time, relying on Zhang Wu's influence, he thought Song Jing was just a trial disciple who could be easily manipulated. However, he did not expect that the other party could break through the Great Perfection of Skin Forging in one fell swoop and step into the threshold of Iron Skin Realm. He even overpowered everyone in the assessment. Even Sun Li was willing to admit defeat, and Zhang Wu's face turned ashen. This kid is definitely not someone to be underestimated.

Now, Song Jing is a formal disciple, wearing a jade pendant at his waist, receiving a monthly stipend, and also receiving extra rewards every month. Even the martial arts instructors nod in approval when they see him.

As for Sun Li, he was still struggling among the trial disciples, with meager monthly stipends, and he had to be careful with even a bottle of premium skin-tempering ointment.

Comparisons are odious. When circumstances force you to yield, you have no choice but to submit.

"Junior Brother Song," Sun Li said, forcing himself to step forward and handing over the cloth bag. His voice was so low it was almost trembling. "This is... these are the two bottles of premium skin-tempering ointment I have left. I'm giving them to you."

Song Jing raised an eyebrow slightly.

The finest skin-tempering ointment costs at least five taels of silver per bottle, making it unaffordable for ordinary disciples.

This substance can accelerate the tempering of the skin and make the muscles and bones more resilient. It is a precious auxiliary medicine for martial artists to break through their cultivation levels. Sun Liken has already gone to great lengths to give this away—it is almost all of his savings, and even the few pieces of silver that Zhang Wu occasionally rewards him with when he is in a good mood are all put into this bottle of ointment.

"And another thing," Sun Li opened the oil paper package again, revealing several steaming hot meat buns with a fragrant aroma, "I...I'll treat you to a meal at 'Old Li's' in town, quietly, preferably without anyone knowing."

He lowered his voice, glancing nervously around, "You know what's going on with Senior Brother Zhang..."

Song Jing finally spoke, his voice calm: "Are you afraid he'll find out?"

"Of course!" Sun Li smiled bitterly, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "I had no choice in the matter. I offended you back then entirely at the behest of Senior Brother Zhang. He told me to suppress you, how could I dare disobey? But now... sigh, I've been flattering Senior Brother Zhang every day, serving him like a servant, and bossing him around, and in the end it's all for nothing."

He shook his head self-deprecatingly, his voice low: "A simp, a simp, in the end, he gets nothing. Thinking back now, if I had gotten along well with my junior brother back then, I wouldn't be in this situation today."

Song Jing listened quietly, but he already understood.

He knew all along that Sun Li was not the mastermind, but merely a pawn in Zhang Wu's hands. It was Zhang Wu who truly wanted him dead. Sun Li, on the other hand, was nothing more than a pitiful man afraid of death, afraid of losing favor, and afraid of being abandoned.

He remained silent for a moment, as if deep in thought.

Sun Li's palms were clenched so tightly they were sweating, his nails almost digging into his hands. He knew that these two bottles of skin-tempering ointment were his last remaining possessions. If Song Jing didn't accept them, he would have no way out.

Once Song Jing's cultivation is complete and his influence grows, he will definitely suffer the consequences. He can only continue to appease Zhang Wu, and he can't afford to make enemies with Song Jing anymore. This is all for the sake of the future, otherwise he will find it difficult to move forward in the martial arts school.

Finally, Song Jing reached out and took the cloth bag.

"I'll take the things."

Sun Li felt as if he had been granted a pardon, his whole body relaxed, and he almost collapsed to the ground.

"Thank you... thank you, Junior Brother Song!" His voice trembled. "You are so magnanimous. I... I will definitely repay you in the future..."

"Let's skip the meal," Song Jing interrupted him, his tone calm but unquestionable.

Sun Li was taken aback, then nodded repeatedly: "Yes, yes, yes, it should be excused! I can't stay any longer, as for Senior Brother Zhang..."

He chuckled awkwardly, took two steps back, turned to leave, but then stopped and whispered, "Junior Brother Song, there's something... I don't know if I should say it."

Song Jing raised his eyes.

"Lin Hou'er's sister... that matter... I really didn't do it." Sun Li's voice was extremely low, almost touching the ground. "Although I have a sharp tongue, I wouldn't do such a despicable thing. You... you don't misunderstand."

Song Jing's eyes flickered slightly.

He had suspected that Sun Li was behind that incident—after all, Sun Li hated him the most and loved to gossip behind his back.

But now, hearing him deny it personally, his tone sincere, it doesn't seem like he's faking it.

He neither confirmed nor denied it, not entirely believing him, but he couldn't interrogate him to get the truth out of him right now, so he simply said, "I understand."

Sun Li breathed a sigh of relief and hurriedly left, his back view showing panic, as if he had escaped from the gates of hell.

A night of arduous practice.

Song Jing sat cross-legged, placing the "Chasing Wind Leg Technique" on his knees. He closed his eyes and concentrated, his internal energy and blood slowly circulating. Wisps of heat rose from his dantian, traveling along his meridians to his limbs and bones. His ankles were still bound with ten-pound sandbags, and his knees trembled slightly, but remained perfectly still.

He repeatedly reviewed every step he took during the day, correcting the angle and adjusting the force, striving for a perfect unity of "intention" and "form".

[Person] Song Jing

[Realm Progress] Leather Forging - Cowhide Realm (24/100)

[Technique Progress] Wind Chasing Leg Technique - Minor Success (2/100)

The entire fifth day of the Lunar New Year was dedicated to rigorous self-cultivation.

At dawn, he tied sandbags to his back mountain and ran more than 30 miles back and forth. His legs felt like lead, but he gritted his teeth and persevered.

At noon, he studied leg techniques, compared them with the tattered scrolls, and deduced their variations.

At night, he took a cold bath and practiced his leg exercises a hundred times until he was exhausted, then collapsed and fell asleep.

[Person] Song Jing

[Realm Progress] Minor Success in Skin Forging - Bullhide Realm (24/100)

[Technique Progress] Wind Chasing Leg Technique - Minor Success (3/100)

Late at night on the sixth day of the lunar month, the moonlight was like a ribbon.

Song Jing sat in the courtyard, gazing at the starry sky. He knew that true martial arts lay not in talent, but in perseverance.

He had no famous teachers to guide him, no family protection, and had to forge his own path step by step.

In the past two days, rumors have been circulating in the martial arts school, and the struggle for the succession of the school's leadership has become increasingly fierce, with the two sides facing off against each other.