My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode-170

Chapter : 339

Here, the world was luminous. Faria abandoned her earthy palette, embracing instead a range of colors that seemed to be spun from light itself. She used a technique Lloyd had never seen, layering thin, almost translucent glazes of pearlescent white, rose madder, and the palest cerulean blue to create a skin tone that didn't just look smooth; it seemed to glow with a soft, internal light. It was the skin of a goddess, yes, but a real, tangible, achievable goddess.

The woman’s posture was a mirror image of her former self, a study in liberated, sensual grace. Her shoulders were relaxed, her spine curved not in weariness but in a gentle, languid arch of pleasure. Her head was tilted back slightly, her eyes closed, her lips parted in a small, secret smile of pure, unadulterated, sensory bliss. It was an expression of such intimate, quiet joy that it felt almost voyeuristic to look at, a private moment of self-care and renewal made public.

Her hair, now, was a cascade of vibrant, living darkness, each strand rendered with individual, meticulous care, catching the light with a soft, healthy sheen. And the lather… the lather was a masterpiece in itself. It was not just white paint; it was a sculpture of light and texture. Faria had mixed a small amount of finely ground alabaster dust and, Lloyd suspected, a trace of some proprietary alchemical binder from her own stores, into her white pigment, giving the lather a subtle, captivating shimmer. She had built it up in thick, impasto strokes, creating a rich, creamy, three-dimensional texture that looked so real, so decadent, you could almost feel its silken softness, almost smell the clean, sharp scent of rosemary that it promised.

The light on the ‘after’ side was a living, breathing character in the painting. It was warm, golden, slanting down from an unseen window, catching the highlights on the woman’s radiant skin, sparkling on the individual droplets of water that clung to her shoulders like tiny, perfect diamonds. It glinted off the polished oak and gleaming bronze of the AURA dispenser that sat, like a sacred object, a symbol of this new, enlightened reality, on the edge of a smooth, marble basin.

It was more than just a painting. It was a narrative. A powerful, emotional, deeply human story of transformation, told without a single word. It was the shift from a world of grey necessity to a world of vibrant, luxurious possibility. It was the promise that this small, simple act of cleansing could be an act of renewal, of self-care, of magic.

As she worked, Faria found herself pouring an unexpected, almost unnerving, depth of her own feeling into the canvas. She thought of her mother, of the long, weary years of her illness, of the hope for renewal, for restoration, that was now tied to the strange, dark flower Lloyd had retrieved. She channeled that desperate, fragile hope into the radiant skin of the ‘after’ woman, into the serene joy on her face. It was the health, the vitality, she so desperately wished to see restored in her own mother.

She thought of her brother, Elian, of his vibrant spirit trapped in a body slowly being consumed by a cruel, unjust curse. She poured her fierce, protective love for him, her rage at the Altamiras, into the subtle strength of the woman’s posture, into the quiet, confident set of her shoulders. It was a silent act of defiance against the dark forces that had tried to break her family.

And she thought of Lloyd. The paradox. The drab duckling who had revealed himself to be a strange, terrifying, brilliant eagle. She thought of his quiet confidence, his unexpected humor, his mind that seemed to see the world in a different, sharper, more logical light. She poured her own confusion, her grudging admiration, her burgeoning, and deeply perplexing, respect for him into the very light of the painting, into the subtle complexities of the woman’s expression, the hint of a secret, knowing smile that was both serene and deeply intelligent.

Lloyd watched, mesmerized, as she painted. He saw the story they had designed taking shape, but it was being imbued with a depth, a soul, he had never anticipated. This wasn't just a clever marketing tool anymore. It wasn't just a persuasive diagram. Faria was transforming it, elevating it into something… more. Something that resonated on a deeper, more emotional level.

He realized, with a jolt, that he had been wrong. Art wasn’t just about conveying a message. It was about evoking a feeling. And the feeling Faria was painting… the feeling of hope, of renewal, of quiet, personal triumph… it was more powerful, more persuasive, than any logical argument he could ever have constructed.

Chapter : 340

When she finally, finally, set down her brush, her face flushed, her eyes shining with a mixture of profound exhaustion and triumphant, creative fire, the painting was complete. They stood before it in silence for a long, long moment, the air in the pavilion thick with the scent of oil paint and the almost palpable aura of the artwork itself.

It was breathtaking. The contrast was not just visual; it was emotional. It was the difference between a life endured and a life embraced. It was the visual embodiment of the AURA promise. It was, Lloyd thought with a sense of profound, almost reverent, awe, a masterpiece. Not just a masterpiece of their combined vision, but a true work of art, powerful, moving, and beautiful in its own right.

“Well, Ferrum,” Faria said finally, her voice a low, tired, but deeply satisfied whisper. She looked at the canvas, then back at him, a small, weary, but genuine smile on her face. “There is your… ‘advertisement’.” She paused, her amethyst eyes holding a new, shared light. “Do you think it will be… persuasive enough?”

Lloyd could only nod, for a moment, speechless. He had asked for a tool. And she had given him a soul.

The Elixir Manufactory was silent. The usual rhythmic groan of the water wheel, the clanking of Borin’s stirring mechanism, the cheerful chatter of Martha and Pia—all had been stilled. The entire team, the strange, eclectic family that had been forged in the fires of saponification and rosemary distillation, was gathered on the main floor, their faces a mixture of nervous anticipation and profound curiosity. Lloyd had summoned them all, from Mei Jing and the alchemists down to the laborers who had cleared the mill race, telling them only that he and Lady Faria had something of great importance to show them, something that represented the very heart of their enterprise.

He and Faria stood before them, on either side of a large, sturdy easel that had been brought from the garden pavilion. Draped over the easel, concealing their creation from view, was a large, simple sheet of deep blue velvet. The air in the cavernous mill was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with lye concentrations or curing times. It was the electric, almost sacred, silence of an unveiling.

“Thank you all for coming,” Lloyd began, his voice calm, but resonating with an undercurrent of deep, personal pride. He looked at the faces before him—at Jasmin, her usual forewoman’s seriousness softened by a look of wide-eyed wonder; at Tisha, her bright, charismatic smile tinged with professional curiosity; at Mei Jing, her arms crossed, her dark eyes sharp, analytical, waiting to assess this new, unorthodox marketing tool. He saw Alaric, nervously polishing his spectacles; Borin, practically vibrating with an energy that suggested he was hoping the painting might explode; and Lyra, her expression one of cool, pragmatic skepticism, ready to judge the work on its practical merits alone.

“Over the past few weeks,” Lloyd continued, “Lady Faria and I have been engaged in a… special project. A new way to tell the story of what we have all built here together. A way to communicate the promise of AURA, not with words, but with… something more.” He glanced at Faria, a silent acknowledgment of their shared creation, of the strange, intense journey they had just completed. She met his gaze and gave a small, almost imperceptible, nod, her own face pale with a mixture of artistic anxiety and quiet, confident pride.

“We believe we have created not just a tool for our business,” Lloyd said, his voice dropping slightly, imbued with a genuine sincerity, “but a true work of art. A testament to the power of transformation, which is, at its heart, the very soul of our enterprise.” He took a deep breath. “And we wanted you, our core team, our partners, our family, to be the first to see it.”

He nodded to Faria. Together, they each took a corner of the velvet cloth. The silence in the mill was now absolute, broken only by the faint, distant cooing of the pigeons in the rafters. With a smooth, synchronized motion, they pulled the cloth away.

The painting was revealed.

For a long, profound moment, there was only silence. A deep, stunned, comprehensive silence. The team stared, their individual expressions a frozen tableau of shock and dawning, almost disbelieving, awe.