Becoming a Saint Starting with the Chasing Wind Leg Technique

First test: Iron sand test.

The crimson iron filings hissed in the pot, the heat distorting the air, and the scorching heat could be felt even a hundred paces away. Ordinary disciples would be drenched in sweat just by getting close.

He took a deep breath and thrust both palms in!

"Hiss—!" The onlookers gasped in unison, as if the pain were being branded onto their own palms.

But Song Jing remained unfazed, his arm as steady as a rock, without even a furrow of his brow!

All eyes in the room immediately focused on this unknown, ascetic disciple, watching his every move and change in expression.

Some people wish for his defeat—that's jealousy, fear, and an unwillingness to see an "outlier" rise.

The vast majority of people did not want him to pass—they had long believed that fate was irreversible and that asceticism was just a way for the weak to comfort themselves.

Some people are just watching the show, seeking excitement, waiting for him to scream and pull his hand away, so they can have something to laugh about after dinner.

A very small number of people, such as Zhou Xingyun and Xu Qian, held their breath and a glimmer of expectation ignited in their hearts.

And so, time passed second by second...

For Song Jing, every second was not difficult to endure; on the contrary, it was a reward for all his past efforts and the blood and sweat behind them.

He felt the burning of the iron filings; the pain was no longer torture, but a clarion call to awaken his vital energy.

Beneath my skin, copper flows and my bones hum, as if cheering – I am now armored!

When the third incense stick had burned out, the steward struck a gong and announced, "Time's up!"

He slowly withdrew his hand—

The palms are slightly red, without blisters, burns, or ulcers! The skin is as smooth as before, with only a faint redness that disappears in an instant!

"How is this possible?!" Sun Li exclaimed in shock, his voice shrill. "He...he's stronger than me?!"

Zhang Wu paused, a shadow crossing his eyes—this kid does have some skill, quite good among the disciples of the Bull-skin Realm, at a mid-level. While not comparable to the likes of Sun Li, compared to me, he's like a firefly before the bright moon.

Liu Jiankun whirled around, his face filled with disbelief: "He...did he also use drugs?! It must be, there's no way that kid could do that!"

A sharp glint flashed in Zhou Xingyun's eyes, and he couldn't help but smile.

The old curator finally opened his eyes, a hint of surprise flashing across his cloudy gaze.

Xu said softly, "His skin is as tough as an old ox's hide, and his qi and blood are restrained... This boy has a frighteningly solid foundation."

Scorching the skin with iron filings is the best test of true skill.

Sun Li was barely holding on with the help of medicine, looking utterly pathetic; Song Jing, on the other hand, was as radiant as a spring breeze, handling everything with ease!

Second challenge: Crush the blue bricks with your palm.

Three blue bricks were stacked on the stone pier, each more than three inches thick and as hard as iron.

Song Jing stood still, his right palm held out horizontally, seemingly clapping casually—

"Snapped!"

With a crisp sound, it wasn't a brick cracking, but rather three bricks breaking simultaneously, the cut as clean as if made with a knife!

Even more astonishingly, there were no marks on his palms, not even a red mark!

"Awesome realm! Absolutely awesome realm! And the foundation is extremely solid!" a senior disciple exclaimed.

The entire room fell silent.

Zhang Wu's face was ashen, and one of the ribs of his folding fan snapped off with a "crack".

He forced a laugh, realizing he had underestimated this young man and couldn't afford to lose face: "Nothing special."

Sun Li's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling: "Impossible... With his talent, where would he get the resources? Could it be..." He suddenly thought of something, secretly glanced in the direction of the Black Tiger Gang, then quickly looked down again—could it really be Zhou Xingyun secretly funding him? But Senior Brother Zhou is also poor, where would he get so many medicines?

Liu Jiankun fell silent, his eyes filled with a complex mix of jealousy and fear.

Because Song Jing's talent is indeed stronger than his own, it's only a matter of time before he surpasses him.

On the high platform, the old master slowly nodded: "Your perseverance is commendable, and your foundation is solid... It's a pity that you started too late. Compared with Zhang Wu's talent, you are still like a firefly compared to the bright moon."

Xu stepped forward, his voice clear and bright: "Song Jing's breakthrough this time is entirely due to his hard work and cultivation, without relying on external aids. In terms of willpower alone, few in the academy can match him."

Zhou Xingyun strode down from the platform and slapped Song Jing hard on the shoulder, the force causing the boy to stumble half a step. His eyes, however, were full of satisfaction and pride: "Good lad! I knew you could do it!"

Song Jing smiled slightly and said nothing more.

He knew the old curator was right—his current performance was still inferior to Zhang Wu's.

With precious medicines, renowned teachers, and the support of his family, Zhang Wu's cultivation level is even more stable.

He had only just crossed the threshold.

But he also knew—

A low starting point does not mean a low ending point.

You may laugh at me for being ordinary today, but in the future, won't you remember my shortsightedness today?

After the assessment ended, Song Jing silently left the stage.

Behind them, a murmur of discussion rose up like a tide:

"So he really did break through..."

"He actually succeeded within the three-month assessment period, and he did it so calmly the whole time, as if he hadn't just broken through."

"No wonder Senior Brother Zhou treats him differently!"

"Senior Brother Zhou certainly has a sharp eye."

Zhang Wu coldly swept his gaze across the crowd, but a thought began to form about Song Jing.

This person, as a wielder, seems to be considerably stronger than the likes of Liu Jiankun and Sun Li.

Perhaps it was because I hadn't personally recruited them before that I felt a bit arrogant, which is understandable.

Suddenly rising to his feet, he glanced at Song Jing, seemingly casually, and announced loudly, "Gentlemen, in three days, I will be hosting a banquet at Juxian Pavilion to celebrate the official induction of the new disciples! All those who have passed the examination are welcome to attend!"

His gaze swept over Song Jing's retreating figure, seemingly unintentionally, and a cold smile curled at the corner of his lips:

"Junior Brother Song...you should come too, you wouldn't refuse your senior brother's request, would you?"

Song Jingyi refused, citing his cultivation as the reason, and continued walking until his figure disappeared into the morning light.

Zhang Wu appears to be full of benevolence and righteousness, and is incredibly enthusiastic, giving people the impression of being magnanimous. In reality, however, he is narrow-minded, hypocritical, and ambitious.

Zhang Wu, now humiliated, clenched his fists, feigning calm and maintaining a composed expression. He didn't erupt in anger on the spot, but inwardly he sneered:

"Junior Brother Song broke through today and became somewhat arrogant. Senior Brother is magnanimous and won't hold it against him."

The next day, in the main hall of the Chasing Wind Martial Arts School, the morning bell rang nine times, and incense smoke filled the air.

Song Jing bowed deeply, raising his hands high above his head.

The old curator personally placed a jade waist token into his palm—

The front is engraved with the words "Chasing the Wind" and the back is marked with "Ci No. 7". The edges are inlaid with copper and have a warm, lustrous sheen.

"From this day forward, you are a formal disciple of the Chasing Wind Martial Arts School, entitled to monthly stipends, to learn the true teachings, and to inherit the martial arts name." The old master's voice was hoarse, yet it carried a rare hint of approval. "I hope you... will not fail to live up to your status as a disciple of this martial arts school."

The entire room fell silent.

His former fellow disciples, who had once mocked him as a "poor freak," now had complex expressions in their eyes; Zhang Wu stood on the high platform, expressionless, but his fingertips were clenched so tightly they turned white.

Many of his temporary disciples, or more accurately, his apprentices, congratulated him, saying, "Congratulations, Senior Brother Song!"

Congratulations, Junior Brother Song.

A clear, familiar voice rang out; it was Senior Brother Zhou, who had always been silently supporting and caring for them.

Song Jing bowed respectfully: "Junior brother, today's success is entirely due to your guidance, senior brother."

He then stood up and tied the waist tag around his waist.

From then on, he was no longer a trial disciple, but a member of the martial arts school!

That afternoon, the deacon delivered the first month's offerings:

One bottle of premium skin-tempering ointment has twice the potency of ordinary ointment, and its color is like amber. It has a refreshing fragrance as soon as you open the lid.

Five catties of fine rice, one catty of coarse salt, and a set of newly made gray and white short martial arts uniforms, which signify the identity of a martial arts school disciple;

A pair of soft-soled, lightweight cloth boots, easy to wear and silent when stepping on the ground.

Furthermore, one can spend twenty taels of silver to receive personal guidance from the master on a cultivation technique.

Although it may sound expensive, a martial artist at the Body Refining Realm is already the ceiling of combat power in Xiushui Village.

For just twenty taels, you can hire a seasoned martial artist who is close to the Great Perfection of the Chasing Wind Leg Technique for one-on-one instruction. Elsewhere, you would probably fight tooth and nail for it.

For aristocratic families, it wouldn't be unreasonable to add up to fifty taels; twenty taels is already an internal preferential price.

After all, it concerns the sect's inheritance and top-secret techniques; how could it be leaked for a mere sum of money?

More importantly, even if we don't rob anymore, there will be a long-term supply of high-quality ointments, so we can focus on cultivation for a while.

Unfortunately, their share has been reduced by half compared to before the rebellion intensified.

The same bottle that used to last a month now only lasts half a month.

But it's still better than having temporary disciples cut off the supply altogether.

Premium skin-strengthening ointment, when applied to the skin, provides a cooling and penetrating sensation, repairs damage, and accelerates blood circulation, making it gentler than ordinary skin-strengthening ointments.

It allows people to withstand damage and recover quickly in higher-temperature quenching processes, but it is also much more expensive.

The cowhide was already tough and resilient, and now, with the addition of excellent medicine, its tempering speed was increasing by leaps and bounds!

Song Jing noticed a change in his body:

In the past, inserting iron sand required gritting one's teeth and enduring the turmoil of qi and blood; now, inserting both palms into the sand is like a fish entering water, the heat becomes nourishing, and the skin greedily absorbs the heat, transforming it into qi and blood.

When running, his legs were as light as swallows, and he covered ten miles of mountain road in no more than half an hour, with his breathing as steady as ever.

He reacts even faster—when an insect flies across his face, he can clearly see the patterns on its wings; when a leaf falls on his shoulder, he can catch it with ease, his fingertips lightly pinching it, the veins clearly visible.

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

The stars are like nails, driven into the sky.

He knew that the real martial arts journey had only just begun.