My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 143

Chapter: 285

Jasmin, her shyness melting away under the warmth of the fire and the camaraderie, spoke of her mother, of her hopes that the money from her new position would finally be enough to see her well, her voice thick with a quiet, fierce love. Tisha, her usual bright cheerfulness softening into a more thoughtful candor, spoke of growing up in the chaos of the merchant district, of learning to read people, to navigate the complex social currents of the city, not as a science, but as a means of survival.

Lloyd, in turn, found himself speaking not as the Arch Duke’s heir, not as the Major General, but just… as Lloyd. He spoke of his own (heavily edited) past, of his feeling of being an outsider, of his desire to build something new, something of his own. He spoke of his vision for Aura, not just as a business, but as a standard of quality, of innovation.

And they listened. Not with the deference due a lord, but with the engaged interest of friends, of partners. They were a strange, eclectic mix: a reincarnated noble with a secret past, a razor-sharp merchant’s daughter, a charismatic tavern wench, a shy butcher girl, a meticulous alchemist, an explosive innovator, a pragmatic logistics expert, and two diligent, hardworking maids. They had nothing in common, on the surface. But they were united by this strange, fragrant enterprise, by a shared purpose, by a loyalty not just to the gold they were earning, but to the vision they were building together.

He looked at their faces, illuminated by the firelight, bright with laughter, with shared stories, with the easy camaraderie of a team that had weathered challenges and achieved something remarkable together. He saw not just employees, but allies. Not just subordinates, but… friends.

A profound, almost painful, realization settled over him. He had spent so much of his lives alone. The first Lloyd, isolated by his own inadequacy. KM Evan, the Major General, respected but distant, his closest relationships defined by professional collaboration, his heart guarded after the loss of his first wife. And this new Lloyd, a man hiding a universe of secrets, navigating a world of political intrigue and supernatural threats.

But here, in this dusty, repurposed mill, surrounded by the smell of roasting boar and curing soap, amidst this strange, wonderful, motley crew… he didn’t feel alone.

He realized, with a jolt that was more profound than any bloodline awakening, that he hadn't just built a factory. He hadn't just founded a business.

He had, quite by accident, built a family.

A fierce, protective warmth, stronger and more potent than any Void power, swelled in his chest. These people, his people, they were the true foundation of his empire. And he would protect them, all of them, from the gathering storms, from the ghosts of his past, with everything he had. The soap, the System Coins, the power… it wasn't just for him anymore. It was for them.

He raised his mug, the firelight gleaming in his eyes. “To Aura,” he said, his voice quiet but ringing with a new, deeper conviction. “And to the family that builds it.”

A chorus of cheers answered him, echoing off the high, dusty rafters of the old mill, a sound of shared triumph, of found family, of a future that, for the first time, felt not just survivable, but truly, wonderfully, bright.

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The celebratory feast had forged a new, stronger bond within the AURA team. The atmosphere in the manufactory was no longer just productive; it was joyful. The shared victory, the sense of camaraderie, had supercharged their efforts. And the results were tangible. The first, exclusive batch of the new “Silken Bar”—a name Mei Jing had immediately seized upon and approved—was ready.

They were masterpieces. Cured to perfection in Lyra’s humidity-controlled lofts, the bars were a luminous, pearlescent white, their texture impossibly smooth, the stamped ‘FF’ monogram sharp and elegant. The subtle, complex scent of rosemary and sweet almond was intoxicating. And the lather, as Lloyd confirmed with a satisfied grin during a final quality control test, was nothing short of divine. It was a product that didn't just meet the standard of luxury; it redefined it.

“This,” Mei Jing declared, holding one of the finished bars as if it were a flawless diamond, her dark eyes gleaming with avaricious delight, “is not a soap. This is a weapon of mass social destruction. The women of the court fought over the first version. This… this will cause riots.”

“Then let us be strategic about how we deploy our new weapon,” Lloyd replied, a predatory smile matching her own. “It’s time for the second wave.”

Chapter: 286

The strategy was a mirror of their first, wildly successful launch, but with a clever, calculated twist. This time, the elegant, indigo-inked invitations were not addressed to the noblewomen of the capital, but to their husbands.

The Arch Duke, Roy Ferrum, and Lord Lloyd Ferrum request the pleasure of your company at a private exhibition. For the discerning gentleman who appreciates the finer points of strength, refinement, and a decisive advantage.

The wording was deliberately masculine, subtly competitive. The venue was not a sun-drenched solarium, but the stark, impressive grandeur of the Ferrum Estate’s primary training hall—a place of steel, sweat, and martial prowess.

The curiosity, this time, was even more intense. The husbands had all endured weeks of their wives’ ecstatic pronouncements about the "liquid silk" and their insufferably smug displays of the oak-and-steel dispensers. They were a captive, and deeply resentful, audience. Now, an exclusive event, just for them? An event that hinted at ‘strength’ and ‘advantage’? They were intrigued. And, more importantly, they could not afford to be seen as less influential, less in-the-know, than their wives. They had to attend.

The fifty most powerful men in the capital—Dukes, Marquesses, Guild Masters, and high-ranking military commanders—arrived at the training hall. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to the ladies’ event. It was thick with the scent of oiled leather, expensive wine, and simmering masculine ego.

Mei Jing, dressed in a severe but stunningly elegant black silk tunic that marked her as a figure of authority, did not greet them with flattery. She greeted them with a challenge.

In the center of the hall, two of the Ducal Guard’s most formidable weapons masters were engaged in a fierce, spectacular sparring match, their blades ringing, sparks flying. The assembled lords watched, nodding appreciatively at the display of skill and strength.

When the match concluded, Mei Jing stepped forward. “My lords,” she began, her voice crisp, commanding. “You have just witnessed a display of Ferrum strength. Of power. Of precision.” She paused, letting her gaze sweep over their powerful, expectant faces. “But what is the true measure of a man of your stature? It is not merely the strength of his sword arm, but the refinement of his life. The quality of his choices.”

She gestured towards a long table, where, on individual stands of dark, polished ironwood, rested fifty of the new Silken Bars, each in its own stark, minimalist black wooden box, lined not with silk, but with deep grey velvet.

“Your esteemed ladies,” Mei Jing continued, her voice a smooth, silken weapon, “have already discovered the secret of Aura. They have experienced a new standard of personal luxury. But that,” she smiled, a slow, almost pitying smile, “was a product designed for their delicate sensibilities. For you, my lords, we have crafted something… different.”

She picked up one of the black boxes. “This is not merely a cleansing agent. This is an affirmation of power. The AURA Silken Bar. Forged from the finest ingredients, cured through a proprietary process that ensures unparalleled hardness and longevity. Its lather is not merely rich; it is commanding. Its scent,” she brought the bar close to her nose, “is not merely pleasant; it is the clean, sharp, invigorating scent of rosemary and almond—a scent of focus, of clarity, of a mind unburdened by the mundane.”

She looked directly at the assembled men, her gaze sharp, challenging. “Your wives possess the elixir. A beautiful, fleeting luxury. But you, my lords… you can possess the foundation. The substance. The Silken Bar. A symbol not just of refinement, but of enduring strength. A private luxury that speaks more powerfully of your status than any jewel or title.”

The pitch was perfect. It didn't appeal to vanity, but to ego. To strength. To the idea that this was a masculine product, superior in its ‘substance’ to the ‘fleeting elixir’ of their wives.

The demonstration was simple, brutal, effective. She had a brawny, grimy-looking stable hand, fresh from mucking out the gryphon pens, brought into the hall. He washed his hands with a standard lye block, scrubbing furiously, leaving his skin red, raw, and still faintly stained. Then, he washed his other hand with the Silken Bar. The rich, creamy lather effortlessly stripped away the grime, leaving his skin clean, smooth, and smelling faintly of success. The visual contrast was undeniable.

The result was a foregone conclusion. The men, their skepticism melted away by a combination of peer pressure, spousal envy, and a genuinely superior product, were hooked. The initial, exclusive run of the Silken Bar sold out before the event even concluded, the pre-orders for future batches instantly dwarfing their initial projections.