Qin Shi lowered his head and pondered. This was a very serious question, and he had to consider it carefully before answering.
The Old Martial Arts Faction valued both tradition and teacher-student ties. Trying to have it both ways often came at a heavy cost.
"Senior, I'll have to ask Master Liang."
Qin Shi's throat bobbed. He didn't agree right away.
After all, he was a disciple of Hong Sheng. Without his master's permission, switching to another lineage would be an act of betrayal and a direct slap in the face.
In the old days, most feuds and conflicts between Old Martial Arts factions stemmed from pride and self-interest.
A cigarette, a meal, or a single remark could make two sides draw their blades, call in their friends, and start a brawl. It sounded absurd, but such things had happened before.
Things like duels in the ring, sword fights, and life-and-death contracts—the classic tropes most often found in extracurricular reading and cheap street-stall pulp novels—had all originated this way.
"Don't worry. I've already spoken to Liang."
Seeing that Qin Shi knew to respect his master, the white-haired elder gave a slight, satisfied nod.
The Old Martial Arts Faction took a disciple's character and conduct seriously. That wasn't just an exaggeration from movies and TV dramas.
After all, there could only be so many heirs in any one school—five or six at most, two or three at the least, and sometimes even just a single one.
If you took on the wrong disciple and ended up with a wretch who betrayed their master or had wicked intentions—
A disciple turning against their own school would be the least of it. Ruining the reputation built by generations of patriarchs was a sin beyond redemption.
"What did Master Liang say?"
Qin Shi asked