My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 40

Chapter : 79

Lloyd sighed, though not entirely surprised. "See? Too weak. The solution isn't dense enough, not strong enough, to support the egg's weight." He fished the egg out carefully with a slotted wooden spoon he'd brought, rinsing it in the pond. "If it were the right strength," he explained, holding up the clean egg, "the egg would float, with just a small portion – about the size of a silver coin – showing above the surface. If it floats too high, or completely on top, it means the lye is too strong, too concentrated."

Jasmin stared, fascinated. "An egg tells you all that?"

"It gives us a good indication," Lloyd confirmed. "Crude, perhaps, compared to the hydrometers I remember from… other studies," he caught himself quickly, "but effective enough for our purposes." He surveyed their setup. "So, our current lye is too weak. We need to concentrate it."

"How do we do that, my lord?" Jasmin asked eagerly, ready for the next step.

"Two primary methods," Lloyd explained, already moving towards the buckets. "First, we can simply pass this collected lye water back through the same ash bed again. Each pass allows the water to dissolve a little more of that hidden potency, gradually increasing the strength." He demonstrated, carefully pouring the weak lye from the collection bucket back into the top bucket filled with ash. "Slowly now, let it seep through again."

"The second method," he continued, pointing towards a clear patch of ground nearby where he'd gathered some dry stones, "is concentration through heat. If we carefully heat the lye solution, some of the water will evaporate, leaving the dissolved 'hidden fire' behind in a smaller volume, making it stronger. But," he cautioned, "this requires careful heat control. Boiling it too vigorously can cause dangerous sputtering, and we risk concentrating it too much, making it overly harsh."

He looked at Jasmin. "For now, let's focus on the first method. Re-filtering. It's slower, safer for our initial attempts."

Together, they began the laborious process. Carefully collecting the lye as it dripped through, then pouring it back over the ash beds, repeating the cycle. It was slow, repetitive work, requiring patience and careful handling of the increasingly potent liquid. Lloyd insisted Jasmin wear thick leather work gloves he'd procured from the stables, constantly reminding her to avoid any splashes on her skin.

Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, reaching its zenith before beginning its slow descent. The air grew warmer. Lloyd and Jasmin worked in companionable silence, broken only by his quiet instructions or her occasional, timid questions about the process. He found himself explaining the basic concepts simply, relating the 'hidden fire' (alkali) to its opposite, the sourness of vinegar (acid), talking about how they balanced each other. He avoided complex chemical terms, relying on analogies she could grasp.

Finally, after multiple passes, the lye solution dripping into the collection buckets looked subtly different – perhaps clearer, though still brownish, carrying a slightly sharper, cleaner scent.

"Alright," Lloyd declared, wiping sweat from his brow. "Let's test it again."

He took the bucket of re-filtered lye, swirled it gently, and once more, carefully lowered the raw chicken egg into the liquid.

This time, the egg didn't sink. It bobbed, hesitated, then settled, floating stably within the lye solution. A small, distinct circle of the eggshell, roughly the size of a standard silver coin, remained visible above the surface of the brownish liquid.

Jasmin gasped softly, leaning closer, her eyes wide with wonder. "It… it floats! Just like you said, my lord!"

A slow smile of deep satisfaction spread across Lloyd’s face. It worked. The crude, ancient method, guided by his remembered knowledge, had yielded the desired result. "Perfect," he breathed, relief washing over him. "Just the right strength. Not too weak, not too strong. Ready for the next stage."

He carefully removed the floating egg, admiring the successful result for another moment. They had done it. They had created usable, correctly concentrated lye from simple wood ash and water.

"So now, my lord?" Jasmin asked, her voice filled with anticipation, glancing towards the jars of rendered tallow stored back in the kitchens. "Now we… we mix them?"

"Now," Lloyd confirmed, the excitement building within him again, chasing away the fatigue, "the real transformation begins. Now, Jasmin, we make soap." He looked towards the setting sun, calculating the remaining daylight. Time was precious. The soap empire wouldn't build itself.

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Chapter : 80

The late afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the secluded clearing by the pond as Lloyd carefully decanted the last of the precious, correctly concentrated lye solution into a sturdy, stoppered ceramic jug. The air, usually peaceful and smelling of damp earth and willow leaves, now carried a faint, sharp, almost metallic tang – the signature scent of the potent alkali they had painstakingly extracted from simple wood ash. Jasmin stood beside him, wiping her brow with the back of a gloved hand, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of fatigue, lingering apprehension, and undeniable fascination. They had done it. They had created the 'burning water', the hidden fire.

"Alright, Jasmin," Lloyd declared, securing the stopper firmly in the jug. He handled it with deliberate care, reinforcing the respect this substance demanded. "Phase two complete. We have our alkali." He hefted the surprisingly heavy jug. "Now, for the main event. The transformation."

He looked around the tranquil pond setting. Ideal for the slow, messy process of lye extraction, but utterly unsuitable for the next stage. "We can't do the mixing here. We need controlled heat, shelter, and proximity to our primary ingredient." He nodded back towards the distant silhouette of the estate buildings. "Back towards the kitchens. But not in the kitchens."

The last thing he needed was Martha the Head Cook stumbling upon them boiling strange concoctions of fat and caustic liquids, asking pointed questions he couldn't easily answer. Discretion remained paramount.

"There's an old, disused smokehouse behind the east wing storage sheds," Lloyd mused aloud, accessing memories from his first life, recalling explorations driven by teenage boredom. "Solid stone construction, decent ventilation from the old chimney, a cold hearth we can adapt, and importantly, rarely visited." He looked at Jasmin. "Can you guide us there discreetly? Avoiding the main paths?"

Jasmin nodded immediately, her initial timidity resurfacing slightly at the prospect of navigating unseen, but overshadowed by her commitment. "Yes, my lord. I know the back ways, the service paths. We can reach the old smokehouse without drawing attention, especially now as the evening shift change begins." Her knowledge of the estate's underbelly, honed by years of navigating the servant world, was invaluable.

"Excellent." Lloyd handed her one of the lighter, empty buckets they'd used. "Carry this. We'll need it for rinsing later." He carefully lifted the heavy jug of lye solution himself, cradling it securely. "Lead the way, Agent J," he murmured with a hint of wry humor, using the nickname he’d mentally assigned her.

Jasmin blinked at the unfamiliar title but understood the implied trust. She nodded again, a flicker of determination in her eyes, and set off at a brisk pace, leading him away from the pond, down narrow, overgrown paths weaving between neglected shrubbery and the high outer walls of the kitchen gardens. Lloyd followed, matching her pace, the weight of the lye jug a tangible reminder of the potential – and the danger – he carried.

The old smokehouse stood exactly as Lloyd remembered: a squat, windowless structure of soot-stained stone, nestled behind overflowing woodpiles and forgotten gardening tools. A heavy wooden door, warped and weathered, hung slightly askew on rusted hinges. The air inside smelled faintly of decades-old woodsmoke, damp earth, and neglect. A thick layer of dust coated everything, undisturbed for years. Perfect.

"Right," Lloyd said, setting the lye jug down carefully on the dusty stone floor. "First, we need equipment."

Their next hour was a whirlwind of discreet scavenging and improvisation. Under Lloyd's direction, Jasmin slipped away and returned with items 'borrowed' from the kitchen's outer storage or less-used sections: a large, heavy-bottomed iron cauldron usually reserved for boiling laundry or rendering lard (thoroughly scrubbed clean under Lloyd's supervision using sand and water), two long, sturdy wooden paddles normally used for stirring vats of stew, several smaller earthenware bowls for measuring, and thick leather aprons to supplement their gloves. Lloyd himself located some relatively clean sacking to lay on the floor and procured flint and steel, along with a small bundle of dry kindling and larger logs from the nearby woodpile to build a controlled fire in the smokehouse's cold, stone hearth.

He also had Jasmin retrieve one of the large jars of rendered tallow she had prepared, lugging the heavy container back to their makeshift laboratory.

As Lloyd coaxed a small, steady fire to life in the hearth, carefully arranging the logs to provide consistent, moderate heat, he took a moment to brief Jasmin again, his tone serious.