Kira stared at the beautiful, descending sun. She still had a couple of hours until darkness.
She concluded that it would be best to train in a martial art now that she had taken her first step on the path of cultivation. The shame of her pathetic, childlike punch still burned in her chest.
She grabbed her little bag. She still didn't understand how everything fit inside. It wasn't bigger than her hand but somehow had the volume of an average-sized cupboard.
I'm only at the beginning of my journey. I'm nowhere close to understanding how these things work, Kira mused.
The fabric of the pouch felt as fine as the finest silk—or how she imagined silk must feel. She had never actually touched silk before. But this pouch… it felt unworldly in her hand. This morning, she hadn't noticed it like this.
Weird. Is it because of the cleansing? she wondered. My sense of touch has definitely improved. This is amazing!
Kira reached into the bag and pulled out the Windy Hands Martial Technique.
Let's learn how to punch correctly, she chuckled.
Walking over to a small rock, she sat down. The wind ruffled the bushes and trees. It felt cold on her still-damp hair. She opened the old manuscript, the worn, yellowed pages crackling in her hands.
Introduction: Windy Hands
Windy Hands is a martial art developed by an ancient cultivator who mastered the wind. It emphasizes fluidity, speed, and unpredictability, allowing the practitioner to move like a gust of wind—elusive, swift, and devastating. This style embodies both the calm breeze and the violent storm, giving its wielder control over air currents.
It is composed of two techniques:
Whispering Palm:
A gentle strike that channels the wind to slip past an opponent's defenses, striking at vital points with precision. The blow feels like a breeze but leaves a devastating impact beneath the surface.
Stormbreaker Fist:
The practitioner gathers wind Qi in their fists, delivering a concentrated strike that explodes with the force of a typhoon upon impact, shattering defenses and sending foes flying.
Philosophy:
The essence of Windy Hands lies in adapting to the flow of battle, like the wind itself. It teaches the practitioner to remain formless and unpredictable—striking when least expected and vanishing before the counter. The strength of the wind lies not in raw power but in its ability to wear down mountains over time. Practitioners of Windy Hands embody patience and precision.
It is recommended to pair this martial art with a wind-attribute movement technique, which should be trained simultaneously.
Kira read through the introduction carefully. Then she reached the techniques—described in great detail with technical instructions and precise sketches of movements and Qi flow.
It was overwhelming at first. She feared she'd never understand it in a million years. But the more she read, the more everything began to make sense.
An hour passed. She was completely immersed.
The orphanage had never cared much about the children—but Kira couldn't help but feel a sliver of gratitude that they at least taught her how to read. Writing, on the other hand, was a luxury she didn't have.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement and understanding. She closed the book and set it beside her on the rock.
This is a lot to process… but I should be able to practice some moves. Though first, I need to read the movement technique, she groaned.
It's getting darker. Better hurry if I want to accomplish anything today, she thought.
Kira didn't know that simply reaching Body Tempering Stage One on her first day was already an immense achievement—let alone attempting to train not one, but two martial arts.
But she didn't feel pride. Only urgency. Only the hunger for more knowledge and power.
She quickly pulled out the movement technique. The booklet was thinner than the last, and its yellow pages were even more worn. But that didn't faze her in the slightest.
Her mind became like a sponge in the desert.
Gale Step:
A movement technique that allows the practitioner to merge with the wind, disappearing and reappearing with the swiftness of a gust.
Of course, at her current cultivation level, she could only vanish for a split second—reappearing a few steps away. Still, her heart beat with excitement.
She set the manual aside.
Closing her eyes, Kira settled into a meditative pose and processed everything she had learned—replaying the movements in her mind, piecing them together one by one.
After a while, she slowly opened her radiant green eyes.
With an excited hop, she sprang to her feet, leaving deep footprints in the cool, wet sand.
With uncontained energy, she skipped over to her designated punching boulder.
Kira took a deep breath, calming herself. She smelled the sand, the river's moisture, and the earthy scent of leaves.
She fell into the basic stance of Windy Hands—slightly leaned forward, hands relaxed at her hips. Then, she adjusted her feet to match Gale Step's form—balanced on the balls of her feet, weight evenly distributed and ready to explode in any direction.
Then she dashed forward and executed Whispering Palm.
A loud crack echoed through the clearing, followed by a small shriek.
Cold sand smacked her face. She'd lost her balance and fallen flat.
Groaning, she pushed herself up and spat out a mouthful of dirt. Her mouth, eyes, nose, clothes, and hair were covered in sand.
"Ew, puh. Disgusting," the sandy girl spat.
I need to work on my balance. Only practice makes perfect, she reminded herself.
Once her eyes were finally clear of sand, she glanced toward the boulder.
"No way… I did that? Heavens," she gasped, switching her gaze from the rock to her hands and back again.
A huge chunk—about the size of a human head—was missing. Stone splinters were scattered all around.
Her chest burned with exhilaration. A little squeal escaped her sand-covered lips.
Cultivation is amazing! Even at the first stage… This force could break bones or even kill someone. I can't waste time—I need to practice more.
Kira was already addicted to her newfound power. The desire to grow stronger filled her completely.
A few sand-eating sessions later, she finally managed a strike without losing balance—motivating her even more.
She practiced for hours.
By the time the moon hung high over the valley, illuminating the peaks in an ethereal light and painting the river silver, she was still going.
The original boulder was long gone. There were no rocks left in the little river bay she had stayed in all day. The sand was buried under a blanket of shattered stone.
Only then—when she felt she had reached an acceptable level of harmony between the two techniques—did she finally stop for the day.