Becoming a Saint Starting with the Chasing Wind Leg Technique

The twilight, as red as blood, soaked the damp cobblestones of the old street.

Song Jing carried Zhou Xingyun on his back, each step extremely steady, as if afraid of aggravating the gruesome, bone-revealing wound on his senior brother's back. Blood had already soaked through half of his clothes, warm and sticky against his back.

"Junior brother... what's the panic?" Zhou Xingyun leaned on his shoulder, his voice barely audible, but he still managed a forced smile. "Your senior brother here... is very tough."

Song Jing choked up, managing to squeeze out only three words through gritted teeth: "Don't speak."

The aroma of medicine from Huichuntang mingled with the smell of old wooden cabinets, wafting towards them. The shopkeeper noticed Zhou Xingyun's injuries, his expression changed, and he hurried forward.

"Two boxes of 'Golden Wound Jade Dew Ointment'." Song Jing slapped the loose silver on the counter, his voice tense. "They need to be aged for three months to achieve the highest potency."

That was the best wound medicine available in the outer city, made using ancient methods, blending snow lotus, dragon's blood, Bletilla striata, and Panax notoginseng. The ointment was as white as grease, specifically designed to cure internal injuries and toxins. An ordinary martial artist might not be able to afford even one box after saving for half a year.

Back in the Zhou family courtyard, the candlelight was dim.

Song Jing washed his hands, dissolved the ointment in warm water, and applied it little by little to the rolled-up flesh with his fingertips. As the medicine seeped in, Zhou Xingyun's shoulders trembled violently, and cold sweat poured down his forehead.

"Just bear with it," Song Jing said in a very soft voice. "You'll be able to get out of bed tomorrow."

Old Man Zhou gripped his hand, wiping away tears. Zhou Xingyun, however, smiled palely: "Father, look, my junior brother serves me even more meticulously than you do."

The next day at dawn, Song Jing carried the freshly brewed ginseng soup into the courtyard, only to find two figures already standing under the eaves.

Third Senior Sister Lin Wan'er, dressed in a plain white dress, carefully placed a packet of medicinal herbs wrapped in mulberry paper into Zhou's mother's hand, her fingertips still glistening with morning dew. "Auntie, don't worry. Apply this medicine three times a day. It will scab over in three days and heal completely in seven." She turned and saw Song Jing, her eyes gentle and warm. "Junior Brother Song, you've worked hard. The headmaster asked me to pass on a message: Junior Brother Zhou was injured while protecting the martial arts school. Zhuifeng Martial Arts School will not mistreat its own brother."

Before he could finish speaking, the courtyard gate was pushed open again.

Second Senior Brother Zhuo Bufan strode in, his black martial arts attire covered in dust from the training ground. He placed a jar of sealed old wine heavily on the stone table, his voice like muffled thunder: "The headmaster personally instructed that Junior Brother Zhou should rest assured and recover from his injuries. Everything in the martial arts school will be taken care of."

This wine can nourish your vital energy and replenish your blood. Junior brother, just focus on getting well as soon as possible and don't worry about anything else.

His gaze swept over Song Jing's reddened eyes, and he patted him on the shoulder with his large, fan-like hand. "You and Junior Brother Zhou are the backbone of the Chasing Wind Martial Arts School. The school master said that things have been rather unsettled in the outer city lately, so you brothers should look out for each other even more."

Zhou Xingyun leaned against the bamboo couch, his eyes welling up with tears, and nodded repeatedly.

Lin Wan'er bent down to tuck the blanket around him, and sighed softly as her fingertips brushed against the bruises on his wrist: "It's always Junior Brother Zhou who protects us, now it's our turn to protect you."

As Zhuo Bufan turned around, half a steaming hot osmanthus cake suddenly slipped out of his sleeve and was precisely placed into Zhou Xingyun's palm: "The master just steamed these on the stove, saying you've loved them since you were little."

Song Jing stood by the door, his palms slightly warm from the ginseng soup, but his heart felt as if something even hotter was washing over him.

The museum owner hasn't forgotten.

They didn't forget their fellow disciples either.

After seeing off his senior brothers and sisters, Song Jing returned home alone.

On the way home, a gust of wind rose, swirling withered leaves and dust against the alley walls.

He stopped at the alley entrance, gazing at the familiar vermilion gate ahead—just three days ago, children were playing by the gate, but now it was covered in cobwebs, and even the door knocker was nowhere to be found.

The entire alley is now eerily empty, with these few houses standing empty.

He took a deep breath, his nails digging deep into his palms.

Senior brother, I will definitely get that position of personal disciple back for you.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the corner of the wall.

An old beggar was huddled in a haystack, his clothes tattered and his eyes sunken like dry wells.

Song Jing squatted down, gently placed two hundred copper coins into the broken bowl, and then took off his water bag and handed it over: "Uncle, where are all the people in this alley...?"

The old beggar's withered hands trembled like autumn leaves in the wind, and a hoarse, bellowing sound came from his throat: "Young...young hero...half a month ago there was still smoke rising from the chimneys...now, now there are fewer and fewer people every day!" Cloudy tears rolled into the dust. "Last night...Wang the blacksmith's daughter...was gone too. Everyone says, everyone says it's the 'Blood Lotus Sect'...kidnapping people to make medicine..."

Before he could finish speaking, a mournful cry of a night owl suddenly came from afar.

The old beggar trembled, then shrank into the depths of the haystack like a frightened mouse, and fell silent.

Song Jing slowly stood up.

Blood Lotus Cult.

He silently memorized the name.

From then on, Song Jing began a near-self-torturous period of asceticism.

Before the morning mist dissipates, practice the Wind Chasing Leg Technique:

The "Treading Swallow" movement begins with the toes touching the ground like a dragonfly skimming the water, leaving no dust on the three-zhang-long bluestone slab;

"Shadow" spun around, her clothes fluttering in the wind, her figure flashing like a ghost;

The "flow interruption" occurred suddenly, the wind from the leg split the surface of the stream, and the water curtain broke and only closed after three breaths;

With a graceful finish, she lightly touched the locust branch with her toes, and before the dewdrops could fall, she had already landed lightly.

The four techniques flowed smoothly and gradually became more harmonious. The moves were faster, the effort required was less, and only a blur remained in the distance.

Under the blazing midday sun, the golden bell-shaped shield is forged:

Sitting cross-legged and regulating one's breathing, one guides internal energy from the Yongquan point to the Baihui point, the true energy flowing through the body like molten gold. The skin gradually develops a bronze luster, and when the fingertips lightly tap the shoulder blades, a clear "clang" is produced.

The wooden stick struck his forearm hard, snapping with a "crack," leaving only a faint white mark on his arm. After three days of arduous training, his Iron Skin Realm foundation was as solid as a rock, and warm currents flowed continuously within his meridians.

After finishing his daily practice, he would always go to the Zhou family.

On the third day, Zhou Xingyun was able to play chess with him, laughing and scolding him for "making a mountain out of a molehill," but there was an undisguised warmth in his eyes. As he made his move, Zhou Xingyun suddenly looked up: "Junior brother, there's too much hostility between your brows."

Song Jing lowered his eyes, his fingertips unconsciously caressing the teacup.

—On the training ground, the image of Xiao Miechen kicking his senior brother three zhang away with a single kick, blood splattering onto the blue bricks, once again stung his eyes.

As dusk fell, he secluded himself to secretly practice the Wind and Thunder Leg Technique:

"Wind-Treading Steps" allows one to move by borrowing the wind, with unpredictable footwork. Within ten steps, one can instantly move three zhang (approximately 10 meters), as if stepping on invisible stairs.

When the "Thunderbolt Leg" is charging up, the energy in the dantian roars, and the leg is released like a thunderclap. The century-old locust tree in the courtyard cracks open with a deep mark.

"Wind and Thunder Combination" is a fusion of two techniques—the left leg steps on the wind to draw in energy, while the right leg gathers and explodes lightning, causing a whirlwind around the body, even rippling the surface of the ancient well.

Memories surge like a tide.

He recalled that when he first entered the martial arts school, it was his senior brother who presided over the ceremony and shielded him from all the ridicule.

Whenever he hit a bottleneck in his leg techniques, his senior brother would always practice with him until the stars and moon filled the sky.

After recalling the incident where he slew the Iron Head of the Vajra, the senior brother stepped forward to take all the blame.

The Dragon and Tiger Duo's night raid, He Dabiao's ambush, Qiu Daxuan's trap... in every dangerous situation, it was always the senior brother who was the first to arrive.

Even if he himself was completely unharmed, his senior brother would pat him on the shoulder, panting, and say, "It's good that you're alright."

That day, seeing his senior brother lying in a pool of blood, Song Jing's fingernails dug deep into his palm, and beads of blood seeped into his fingers.

Zhou Xingyun gripped his wrist tightly, his voice low and hoarse: "Don't be impulsive... Junior brother, you're no match for him now." His bloodshot eyes were fixed on him, "But I believe in you... One day, you will be able to rightfully avenge your senior brother!"

The warmth of your palm is still etched into my bones.

It was late at night.

Song Jing stared at the layers of new calluses on his palm. With the Iron Skin Realm just beginning to form, and aided by the Wind and Thunder Leg Technique, he might already be able to contend with those in the early stages of the Copper Skin Realm.

He stood up and kicked the wooden stake in the courtyard.

The "Thunder Leg" erupted with a deafening roar, cracking with a "crack," and the wooden stake shattered with a three-inch deep gash, the aftershocks shaking down the dust accumulated on the eaves.

Xiao Miechen.

He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and forcefully suppressed the surging killing intent back into his dantian.

Being patient is not a sign of weakness.

A gentleman takes his revenge, even after ten years.

A few days later, he reported to the academy master that he had broken through to the Iron Skin Realm.

In the face of the likes of Li Wei and Zhang Wu, it might be wise to show some weakness now, after all, Li Wei's strength is unfathomable, and he has already reached the peak of the Bronze Skin Realm.

Only by concealing one's strengths and remaining humble can one protect those one cherishes in this turbulent outer city.

Outside the window, the moonlight shone like a ribbon, coldly illuminating the newly formed spider web in the corner of the wall.

Empty houses, missing persons, rumors of cults... the shadows of this outer city are silently creeping over everyone's ankles.

The calluses on the boy's palms hardened like iron in the silence.

Waiting for dawn.