My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 132

Chapter: 263

Her Grace, the Duchess Milody Ferrum, and Lord Lloyd Ferrum request the pleasure of your company at a private unveiling. Witness the dawn of a new era in personal refinement. An experience curated for the discerning few.

There was no mention of soap, no hint of a commercial product. The date, time, and location—a small, rarely used but exquisitely appointed solarium in the East Wing of the estate—were noted. And at the bottom, in small, sharp script: This invitation is personal and non-transferable. Attendance is strictly limited.

The delivery was equally strategic. Not sent by common messenger, but hand-delivered by a silent, impeccably uniformed household guard, lending the invitation the weight of a formal ducal summons.

The effect on the capital’s high society was immediate and precisely what Lloyd and Mei Jing had predicted. It was like dropping a single, perfect pearl into a pond of very hungry, very competitive koi fish.

Chaos.

What was it? A secret political gathering? An unveiling of a new magical artifact? A betrothal announcement? The fifty women who received an invitation were instantly elevated, their status confirmed, their days filled with fending off the frantic, jealous inquiries of their less-fortunate peers. The fifty-one-year-old Dowager Marchioness of Silverwood, who had been inadvertently left off the list, was said to have flown into a rage so profound that she shattered a priceless vase and sent three of her handmaidens into hiding. The "velvet rope" effect was in full, glorious, swing.

On the day of the event, the solarium was transformed. Gone was the usual stuffy furniture. In its place were elegant, minimalist arrangements of white flowers, soft music played by a string trio hidden behind a screen of silk, and a single, long table draped in deep blue velvet at the center of the room. On the table, artfully arranged on individual silk cushions, sat fifty of the oak-and-steel dispenser bottles, each one gleaming under the soft, filtered sunlight, looking less like a household item and more like a collection of sacred relics.

The fifty chosen noblewomen arrived, their faces a mixture of piqued curiosity, smug self-importance, and a desperate desire not to appear too eager. They were greeted not by Lloyd, but by Mei Jing, who moved among them with a quiet, confident grace, her severe but elegant silk attire marking her as someone… different. An authority. She wasn't a servant, but she wasn't a noble either. Her role was deliberately, intriguingly, ambiguous.

When all the guests had arrived and been served small, delicate glasses of chilled fruit nectar, Mei Jing stepped to the head of the room. She did not raise her voice. She simply waited, a small, knowing smile on her lips, until a complete, expectant hush fell over the assembled duchesses, marchionesses, and baronesses.

“My esteemed ladies,” Mei Jing began, her voice calm, clear, carrying to every corner of the room. “We thank you for gracing us with your presence. You have been invited here today because you, more than any others in this great city, represent the pinnacle of taste, of discernment, of refinement.”

A wave of pleased, self-satisfied murmurs went through the crowd. Flattery, Lloyd noted from his discreet observation post behind a large potted palm, was always a good opening.

“For centuries,” Mei Jing continued, her tone becoming more thoughtful, almost philosophical, “true luxury has been defined by what we wear, what we own, what we display. Silks, jewels, perfumes. But we in House Ferrum, under the innovative guidance of Lord Lloyd,” (a subtle, respectful nod in his general direction) “believe that the truest luxury is more personal. More intimate. It is the very Aura of a person.”

She paused, letting the brand name hang in the air, allowing the women to connect it to the cryptic invitations.

“We have all, for our entire lives, accepted a simple, unpleasant reality,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming more confidential. “The act of cleansing, of washing away the grime of the world, is a harsh one. We use crude, abrasive agents that strip our skin, that leave behind a residue, that punish us for the simple act of seeking cleanliness.”

A few of the older women nodded slowly, thinking of their perpetually dry, chapped hands, a reality no amount of expensive lotion could ever truly erase.

Chapter: 264

“But what if,” Mei Jing’s voice rose slightly, filled with a new, exciting promise, “it did not have to be so? What if the act of cleansing could be transformed? From a harsh necessity into a moment of pure, fragrant, silken luxury? What if you could purify your skin, leaving it not stripped and dry, but softer, smoother, more vibrant than before? What if you could emerge from your daily ablutions wreathed not in the heavy musk of perfume, but in a clean, natural, invigorating aura of your own choosing?”

She walked slowly along the velvet-draped table, her hand hovering over the gleaming dispensers. “This, my ladies, is Aura. Not a soap. But a cleansing elixir. A secret Ferrum technique, developed through years of painstaking research into the hidden properties of natural oils and botanicals, a process that transforms the mundane into the magnificent.”

She picked up one of the dispensers, holding it aloft. “It is a liquid silk, formulated to be impossibly gentle, yet remarkably effective. And it is housed in a vessel worthy of its contents. A dispenser of polished oak and fine-forged metal, designed for a single, perfect, hygienic application. A ritual, not just a routine.”

The women were leaning forward now, their earlier smugness replaced by genuine, focused intrigue. The story, the promise, the sheer, undeniable elegance of the bottle… it was a potent combination.

“Today,” Mei Jing announced, “you will be the first in the entire Duchy, outside of the immediate Ferrum household, to experience this revolution. We have prepared washbasins of silver, ewers of cool, scented water, and towels of the softest linen.” She gestured towards a series of private, silk-draped alcoves that had been set up at the far end of the solarium.

The initial reaction was hesitation. These were high-born ladies, unaccustomed to such… public displays of personal hygiene, however luxurious. But then, the Duchess Milody, who had been seated amongst them, rose gracefully. With a small, knowing smile towards Mei Jing, she was the first to approach an alcove, her own dispenser in hand.

That broke the dam. If it was good enough for the Duchess, it was good enough for them. One by one, then in small, gossiping groups, the women proceeded to the alcoves. The solarium filled with soft, delighted gasps, with exclamations of surprise.

“The lather! It’s like whipped cream!”

“My hands… they feel… velvety!”

“And the scent! So clean! Not cloying at all!”

They emerged from the alcoves, transformed. Their earlier polite curiosity had been replaced by genuine, almost feverish, excitement. They gathered in small groups, comparing their newly softened hands, sniffing their wrists appreciatively, their voices buzzing with the thrill of a shared, exclusive discovery.

Mei Jing let the excitement build for a few moments, then clapped her hands softly for attention.

“My ladies,” she said, her smile warm, genuine. “The dispenser you hold, and the elixir within, are yours to take with you. A gift, from House Ferrum. A welcome into the exclusive circle of those who understand true refinement.”

A wave of delighted applause went through the room.

“However,” Mei Jing added, her voice regaining a hint of its earlier professional crispness, “I must caution you. The process for creating this elixir is complex, the ingredients rare. Our current production is… extremely limited. This initial offering is all that is currently available. It may be many months before more can be produced.”

The lie was delivered with a flawless, almost sorrowful, sincerity. The illusion of scarcity. The final, crucial, turn of the screw.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The delight of receiving a precious gift was now overlaid with the fierce, competitive urgency of possessing a rare, finite resource. The fifty women clutched their Aura dispensers not just as gifts, but as trophies. As proof of their inclusion. As weapons in the endless, subtle social wars of the capital.

The seeds of desire, of envy, of aspiration, had not just been planted. They had been watered, fertilized, and were already beginning to sprout with a ferocious, unstoppable energy. The whisper of Aura was about to become a roar.

—

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The day after the “Private Unveiling of AURA,” the carefully orchestrated social explosion detonated with a force that surpassed even Mei Jing’s most optimistic projections. The capital’s high society, a delicate ecosystem built on whispers, gestures, and the constant, ruthless assessment of status, was set ablaze.