Episode-159

Words : 1593 Updated : Sep 23rd, 2025

Chapter 156 of "My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!" opens presenting key developments: Chapter : 317 He looked at the Masters of the Washerman’s Guild, who were nodding in... Read on!

Chapter : 317 He looked at the Masters of the Washerman’s Guild, who were nodding in miserable agreement. One of them, an older man with gnarled, work-worn hands, spoke up, his voice thick with despair. “And us, my lord! The fine linens, the silks from the noble houses... that was our most profitable work. But now... the ladies are washing them themselves! With your soap! They say it is gentler, that it does not fade the dyes like our harsh lye scrubbing does. Our contracts... they are being canceled every day. We have men, families, who have served the guild for generations, who now have no work.” He looked up at Lloyd, his eyes filled not with malice, but with a profound, soul-deep weariness. “We did not act out of hatred for you, my lord. We acted out of terror. We saw our livelihoods, our traditions, our very way of life, turning to dust before our eyes. We saw you, with your miracles, your innovations, creating a future that had no place for us. We feared ruin! We feared starvation for our families! And in our fear... in our foolish, desperate fear... we lashed out. We did a monstrous thing. But we did it because we were terrified.” The confession, so raw, so human, so pathetic, hung heavy in the silent hall. It was not an excuse. It was an explanation. Lloyd listened, his expression somber, his heart heavy with the familiar, tragic echo of history. The steam engine incident. He had been right. This wasn't a problem to be solved with punishment. It was a problem to be solved with a new, better, more inclusive, idea. And he, the man who had created the problem, was the only one who could provide the solution. He turned back to his father, whose face was a mask of stunned, profound confusion. Roy had seen a simple act of treason. Lloyd had just shown him the desperate, terrified heart of an economic revolution. The game was far more complex than even the Arch Duke had realized. And his son, it seemed, was the only one who understood the new rules. The Grand Hall was a study in suspended disbelief. The raw, desperate confession of the kneeling men hung in the air, a pathetic and surprisingly poignant counterpoint to the earlier drama of political maneuvering and ducal wrath. Arch Duke Roy Ferrum stood frozen, his mind clearly struggling to process this unexpected, almost incomprehensible, shift in the narrative. He had prepared for a simple, brutal execution of political justice. He was now confronted with the messy, complex, and deeply inconvenient realities of economic displacement. His son, with a few quiet questions, had transformed a straightforward case of treason into a complex sociological problem. Lloyd, however, saw not a problem, but an opportunity. A magnificent, unprecedented opportunity. He looked at the eight broken men kneeling before him, their faces a mixture of terror, shame, and a dawning, confused hope. They were not just his enemies. They were his future. He took another step forward, placing himself between the kneeling men and his stunned father, a deliberate, symbolic act. He was no longer just the catalyst for their ruin; he was positioning himself as their potential savior. “You feared obsolescence,” Lloyd said, his voice quiet but ringing with a strange, new energy, a creator’s passion. “You feared a future that had no place for you.” He shook his head slowly. “You were wrong.” The men looked up, their eyes wide with confusion. Roy frowned, a dangerous, questioning glint entering his gaze. What was Lloyd doing? “You see my creation, the AURA elixir, as your competition,” Lloyd continued, his voice gaining strength, confidence. “You see it as the enemy that will drive you into ruin. And if that were the end of the story, you would be right to fear it.” He paused, letting the weight of their fear settle, then, with a slow, deliberate smile, he offered them a lifeline. “But what if... what if AURA is not your competition?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial tone that drew every person in the hall forward in their seats. “What if it is your partner?” A flicker of bewildered hope, so fragile it was almost painful, appeared on the face of Marcus, the lead Bathhouse owner. “P-partner, my lord?” he stammered. “Precisely,” Lloyd confirmed, his smile widening. He turned to the five Bathhouse owners. “Your establishments... they offer more than just a place to get clean. They offer relaxation. Community. A respite from the grime of the city. But your primary tool, the harsh lye soap, is now... obsolete. Your clients, the nobles, have found a superior alternative.” Chapter : 318 He gestured expansively. “So, do not fight the alternative. Embrace it. Offer it. Imagine, Master Marcus. A new, exclusive service at your bathhouses. The ‘AURA Royal Treatment’. For a premium price, your clients do not just bathe; they experience the pinnacle of luxury. They are cleansed with the very same elixir used by the Duchess, by the King himself. You would not just be offering a bath; you would be selling an experience of unparalleled refinement.” He leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the fire of a born salesman. “And I,” he declared, “will make it possible. I will sell you the AURA elixir. Not at the exorbitant prices the nobles are clamoring to pay. But at a discounted, wholesale rate. A partner’s rate. Allowing you to offer this luxury service, to attract more clients, to elevate the status of your own establishments, and still,” he finished with a flourish, “make a handsome profit on every single application.” The five Bathhouse owners stared at him, their minds reeling. From the brink of financial and social annihilation to... a partnership? An exclusive contract to offer the most sought-after luxury product in the city? It was an offer so unexpected, so generous, it defied comprehension. Lloyd then turned his attention to the three Masters of the Washerman’s Guild, whose faces held a similar look of dazed, incredulous hope. “And you, Guild Masters,” he said, his tone equally serious, equally promising. “Your craft is a vital one. The cleaning of fabrics, the maintenance of a household’s linens... it is a noble and necessary trade. But your tools, like the bathhouses’, are outdated. The harsh lye damages the very fabrics you are paid to preserve.” He paced before them, his mind already alive with the vision of his next product line. “I told my father I was developing a solution. And I am. A new creation. Powdered soap. ‘Radiance’, I will call it. A powerful, concentrated cleansing agent, specifically formulated for laundry. It will dissolve instantly, lift dirt with minimal scrubbing, and be far gentler on delicate dyes and fine silks than any lye block.” He stopped, meeting their hopeful, terrified gazes. “This product, when it is perfected, will revolutionize your trade. It will allow you to offer a superior service, to clean fabrics more effectively, more safely, than ever before. It will save your workers time, save their hands from the harsh lye, and save your clients’ expensive garments from damage.” He offered them the same brilliant, audacious proposition. “And you, the Masters of the Washerman’s Guild, will be my exclusive, primary distributors for this new product. You will have first access, at a preferential rate. You will be the ones to introduce this revolution to every noble household in the capital. You will not be the victims of my innovation; you will be its champions. Its partners.” The silence in the hall was absolute, broken only by the sound of a single, choked sob from the oldest Guild Master, a man whose face was a testament to a lifetime of hard, thankless labor. From ruin to revolution. From criminals to core distributors. From enemies to partners. The offer was so radical, so visionary, so utterly outside the bounds of their world’s understanding of crime and punishment, of commerce and competition, that it left everyone, from the kneeling conspirators to the Arch Duke on his throne, utterly, comprehensively, speechless. Lloyd let the implications of his offer settle. He had not just offered them a lifeline; he had offered them a seat at the table of the very future they had so desperately feared. He was not just selling soap; he was building a new economic ecosystem, one where innovation did not just destroy the old, but offered it a path to transform, to adapt, to thrive. He turned back to his father, whose face was a mask of profound, almost stunned, contemplation. Roy had seen a simple problem of treason, to be solved with a simple, brutal application of power. Lloyd had seen a complex problem of economic evolution, and had just proposed a solution of breathtaking, almost insane, ambition and generosity. “Father,” Lloyd said, his voice quiet but firm, a respectful challenge. “This is my proposal. This is my vision for the future of this enterprise, and for the future of those whose lives it impacts.” He looked at the eight kneeling men, who were now staring at him with an expression of such raw, tearful, incredulous gratitude it was almost painful to behold. “Their crime was born of fear. Let their punishment, then, not be ruin, but... opportunity. An opportunity to become a part of the very progress they sought to destroy.”

Episode-159

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