My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 45

Chapter : 89

He looked at Jasmin, whose face reflected a mixture of exhaustion and triumphant discovery. "Phase Two experiment… promising," he announced. "We have created a scented, soft soap. A precursor to true liquid soap. Refinements are needed – different oils, perhaps the 'soft fire' lye eventually – but this…" he gestured to the cooling pot, "proves the principle."

Jasmin beamed, fatigue forgotten. They were doing it. Creating things never seen before. Guided by the strange, brilliant alchemy of her Young Lord. The soap empire, liquid or solid, felt a tangible step closer.

—--

The cooling pot of creamy, rosemary-scented soft soap sat between them in the dusty smokehouse, radiating a gentle warmth and the clean, herbaceous fragrance that had finally overpowered the lingering smells of tallow and alkali. The air hummed with a sense of accomplishment, thick and satisfying after hours of focused labor. Lloyd surveyed it with a critical eye, the satisfaction of creation tempered by the pragmatism of needing to verify its function. Theory was theory; results were reality. Especially when a potential thousand Gold Coins and the future of his System upgrades rested on those results.

"Alright, Jasmin," he said, rolling up the sleeves of his practical tunic further, the movement crisp with anticipation. "Theory's done. Practice begins. The moment of truth. Does it actually… clean? Or did we just make scented lard paste?"

He scooped a small dollop of the still-warm, pudding-like soap onto his fingers. It felt smooth, unexpectedly silky, a world away from the gritty, harsh texture of the standard lye blocks used for everything from floors to faces in this Duchy. Feels promising, his internal engineer noted. Good emulsification, no obvious separation. He gestured towards the bucket of rinse water they'd kept nearby. "Water, if you please. Let's see if this miracle paste actually lathers."

Jasmin, her eyes bright with nervous excitement, dipped a clean rag into the bucket and squeezed a small amount of cool water onto Lloyd’s hands. He began rubbing his hands together vigorously, working the creamy paste against his skin.

Instantly, a luxurious transformation occurred. Not the weak, reluctant bubbling of poor soap, but a rich, dense, creamy lather bloomed between his palms. It wasn't the airy, almost empty foam of some Earth detergents he vaguely recalled, but something substantial, almost decadent, clinging to his skin like whipped cream. The clean, sharp scent of rosemary burst forth, invigorating and surprisingly potent, effectively masking any lingering fatty undertones.

"Whoa," Lloyd breathed, genuinely impressed himself. Better than expected. Much better. He continued washing, feeling the lather glide smoothly, effortlessly lifting the accumulated grime, soot, and ash from his hands. There was no hint of the abrasive scraping he associated with Riverian 'soap'. This felt… civilized.

"See, Jasmin?" he exclaimed, holding up his lathered hands. "Look at that! Proper foam! Not just greasy bubbles!"

Jasmin leaned closer, eyes wide. "It's… it's so thick, my lord! And white! Not greyish like the kitchen soap!"

"Exactly!" Lloyd rinsed his hands thoroughly in the bucket of clean water. The soap washed away cleanly, instantly, leaving absolutely no sticky residue, no clinging film. He flexed his fingers, assessing the feel of his skin. Clean. Definitely clean. But more than that… soft? Not tight, not stinging, not pleading for moisture. Just… comfortable. And carrying that faint, pleasant hint of rosemary.

Success, he thought, a wave of pure, unadulterated relief washing over him. It actually works. Maybe even better than I hoped for this first tallow-based a@attempt.

He held his hands out for Jasmin to inspect, turning them over. "Well? The verdict, Agent J? Passable?"

Jasmin leaned closer again, peering intently at his hands in the dim light filtering through the cracked door. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the clean skin, the absence of redness or irritation. "My lord! They… they are clean! Cleaner than I’ve ever seen hands after working with ash! And…" she hesitated, then, emboldened by their shared work, cautiously reached out, brushing a gloved fingertip against the back of his hand. Her gasp was audible. "...they feel smooth! Soft, even! Not rough or dry like after using the kitchen soap! It feels… wonderful!" She looked up at him, astonishment shining brightly on her face. "It… it works! Beautifully! It's like… like washing with silk!"

A broad grin of genuine triumph spread across Lloyd’s face, chasing away the fatigue. "Silk, eh? I like that. Functional, gentle, pleasant scent. Phase Two preliminary success confirmed!" He felt a surge of energy, the potential of this simple creation suddenly feeling vast. This wasn't just soap; it was a revolution in a pot.

Chapter : 90

He quickly insisted Jasmin try it herself, scooping another dollop onto her gloved hands, adding water. Her delighted gasp as she worked up the same rich lather, her exclamation of surprise at how easily it rinsed, leaving her thick leather gloves feeling somehow cleaner and more supple, echoed his own assessment. This was good. This was very good.

"Now," Lloyd said, his mind already leaping ahead, the successful test firing up his strategic processors. He gestured emphatically towards the pot of cooling, creamy goo. "We have the product! The golden goose… well, the beige tallow goose, for now. But presentation, Jasmin! Presentation is everything! We can't conquer the luxury market selling this magnificent concoction," he waved a hand dismissively, "by the ladleful out of a bucket like cheap stew! Nobles won't pay a premium for something scooped out of communal pot!"

He looked around the dusty smokehouse, his gaze snagging on the discarded earthenware jars, the rough wooden crates. "We need containers, Jasmin. Proper containers. Something that screams 'expensive', 'refined', 'you need this even if you don't know why yet'."

Jasmin, still marveling at her surprisingly clean and smooth-feeling (even through the glove) hand, looked thoughtful, trying to follow his rapid shift in focus. "Containers, my lord? Like… like the small earthenware jars the apothecary uses for salves? They seal tightly. Or perhaps… small wooden boxes? Carved ones? We could line them with waxed cloth?" Her suggestions were practical, based on the world she knew.

Lloyd shook his head immediately, pacing a small circle on the dusty floor, ideas firing rapidly. "Jars? Boxes? Too static, Jasmin! Think! You have to unscrew a lid, dip your fingers in, scoop it out. Messy! Unsanitary! Inelegant! Think of Lady Agatha trying to scoop this goo with her perfectly manicured nails! Disaster!" He shuddered dramatically. Need something clean, easy, idiot-proof. His mind flashed back again, an image crystal clear from eighty years on Earth. Supermarket aisles. Bathroom counters. Plastic bottles. With pumps.

"No," Lloyd murmured, stopping his pacing, a new kind of focused intensity entering his expression, the engineer taking over. "Not just a container. A dispenser. Something active. Something that delivers the product to the user, precisely, cleanly."

He walked over to the sturdy, discarded oak beam leaning against the smokehouse wall, running a hand over its rough, solid surface. The wood felt warm, alive beneath his touch. "Wood for the body," he declared, visualizing the design. "Strong, natural, beautiful when worked. It speaks of quality, of tradition, even as we introduce innovation."

He then held up his hand, fingers splayed slightly. The air around his palm shimmered almost imperceptibly, the faint hum of Void energy becoming almost audible in the quiet space. With focused will, drawing on the Ferrum power – the Steel and Fire, the essence of controlled creation and destruction – he began to shape the energy, not into aggressive wires this time, but into solid, gleaming metal, pulled seemingly from the very fabric of the Void itself.

Jasmin watched, utterly enchanted, forgetting the soap, forgetting her aching arms, forgetting everything but the quiet miracle unfolding before her eyes. She had seen glimpses of Ferrum power . This wasn't attack or defense; this was artistry. This was creation on a level she couldn't comprehend.

Slowly, meticulously, as if sculpting light itself, Lloyd formed the intricate components of the pump mechanism from pure, shining steel. The metal flowed under his mental command, solidifying into shapes of impossible precision. A narrow cylinder emerged first, its inner surface perfectly smooth, flawless. Then, a tightly fitting piston, designed to slide within the cylinder with zero friction. Next came the delicate, complex heart of the device: the one-way valve mechanisms. Tiny flaps of steel, engineered with microscopic tolerances, appeared at the base of the cylinder, designed to allow the thick soap mixture to be drawn upwards as the piston rose, but sealing shut instantly to prevent backflow. Another, similar valve formed near the top, connected to a gracefully curved nozzle, poised to open only under the pressure of the downward stroke, forcing a measured dose of the soap outwards.

Need a return mechanism, Lloyd’s internal engineer prompted. He focused again, weaving threads of steel into a delicate, perfectly coiled spring, calculating the tension needed to reliably return the pump head to its starting position after each use.