The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 453 – Arguing

What was John laughing at?

Of course, he was laughing at Faith.

After all the drama and theatrics, it turned out the woman was looking for him this whole time.

Back when John inherited Queen Cyan's will, he hadn't known what it truly meant. Later, he learned that it symbolized a kind of fortune—a destiny, a golden opportunity.

Just like in those fantasy novels, where the protagonist is always favored by fate, carrying the so-called "protagonist's halo"—an invisible power that brings not just luck to themselves, but to everyone around them.

When a man rises, everyone around him rises too.

John had become that kind of protagonist.

But this wasn't a novel world—it was real. Even so, there was still such a thing as fate, destiny, and fortune. In this world, those with great fortune were known as the Sons of Fortune.

And Faith?

Faith wanted her daughter to marry someone like that. A chosen one. A man of destiny. Because if Violet married such a man, she would share in his fortune—and so would her family.

It was simple logic.

Now, John finally understood just how popular he'd become after inheriting Queen Cyan's legacy.

But the irony made him chuckle to himself.

Faith...

Here I am, the very son of fortune you're looking for.

Standing right in front of you.

And you called me a damn bald bastard.

Did the bald man offend you?

Let me tell you something—the fewer hairs a top master has, the stronger he usually is!

John found the whole situation hilarious. But he was careful to restrain his laughter, out of respect.

He underestimated, however, Faith's sensitivity and sharp perception.

It didn't take long for her to catch on.

She was already pissed—her mouth practically blistered after arguing with Mark and getting absolutely nothing in return. That cunning old fox hadn't revealed a single thing, even with their long-standing relationship.

Of course she was frustrated.

And just as her frustration peaked, she saw John smiling.

Damn it!

Is this bald bastard laughing at me?!

That burst of pent-up anger erupted in an instant. Her voice was cold and sharp.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

John wiped the smile off his face but shrugged, completely unbothered. "Is it illegal to laugh now? I can laugh if I want. What's it to you?"

He hated people like this—arrogant, entitled.

Respect is mutual.

He always treated people with respect if they respected him. But the moment someone came at him like a tyrant, he would become even more unreasonable.

That was just who he was.

If someone acts arrogant, he'll be even more arrogant.

No compromises. No apologies.

"You dare talk back to me?"

Faith's beautiful face was contorted with anger. Thanks to her cultivation, her skin remained flawless and youthful, untouched by time. She was still stunning, despite her age.

John had seen women like her before—timeless beauties. Queenie's mother, his aunt Alexandra... all examples of women whose allure defied age.

But Faith?

She was more gorgeous than them.

Cultivators aged more slowly. Their energy remained vibrant, their bodies maintained in a peak state. John once heard from his old monk master about a woman over sixty whose skin was as supple as a thirty-year-old's.

In fact, Perry had told him about a love affair he had in his youth, thinking he'd met a warm, older "sister." Turned out she was a seasoned sixty-year-old cultivator who gave him his first time—along with some very skilled techniques.

It had been a bittersweet memory. Perry cried when he found out the truth.

He never believed in true love again. He drowned himself in indulgence.

John had been too young to understand it back then, but now, as someone with deep cultivation, he realized—age meant nothing. Even at a hundred years old, a powerful cultivator could appear eternally youthful.

In Perry's case?

It wasn't a tragedy.

The woman may not have given him her innocence—but she gave him expertise.

A fair trade, in John's opinion.

Still, despite Faith's beauty, her bitter, domineering demeanor severely damaged the charm she carried.

At least, that was John's take.

"I know you're older than me," John said coldly, "but you're not my relative, and you're certainly not my elder. So how am I contradicting you?"

No respect. No apologies.

Hearing that, Nancy let out a soft, bitter smile.

That voice...

It sounded all too familiar.

When she first met John, she had also been scolded as an "old witch." It had infuriated her.

No woman wanted to be reminded of her age.

Faith's expression darkened. Her nostrils flared with rage.

"What did you just say?"

She was nearly trembling.

"Much older than you?"

That's what this little bastard said?

'I'm only twenty or thirty years older than you! That's not old!'

And the way he said *"older"—*like he was emphasizing it just to piss her off!

She took a step forward, eyes blazing, and raised her hand.

"You bald bastard! I'll teach you a lesson today!"

"Wait!"

Just as Faith was about to slap him, Mark jumped in between them, panicked.

"Miss Wood, please calm down. John's still young and impulsive. It's natural for him to speak out of turn sometimes. You're an understanding person—there's no need to get worked up over a few words."

"Oh? You're defending him now?"

Faith turned and glared at Mark, her voice icy.

"This bald brat is no longer part of your Cinnabar Sect, remember? I believe you were the one who said that whether he lives or dies has nothing to do with you now, right?"

"Since that's the case, what's wrong with me teaching this rude little bastard a lesson?"