The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 168: You asked why she was happy!

Luca stirred slowly. The mixture shimmered and started to emit a subtle humming sound.

"Slower. It’s a soap, not a stew," Isabella instructed, watching the viscosity carefully. "There we go... now add the Crushed Glowroot Gel. Scrape it all out. Don’t waste a single drop, that thing takes days to bleed gel."

Luca did as instructed, the bright teal substance sinking into the mixture like a dancing ghost. The scent shifted in the air—minty and warm.

"Now... the Essence of Skydew Lotus," Isabella said, uncorking a tightly sealed horn vial.

She leaned over the cauldron, her movements precise, and let six careful drops fall into the mixture—one after the other. Each drop hissed faintly on contact, spreading a pale shimmer through the blend.

Normally, two or three drops would’ve been enough for a small batch. But Isabella was making enough to supply the entire village, and anything less wouldn’t hold the scent or cleansing properties. Still, she refused to add even a drop more.

"Only six," she muttered, more to herself than to Luca. "Any more than that and the soap starts whispering about sky spirits and cloud gods. The last thing I need is old Marga running around claiming her bathwater gave her visions."

Luca raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing.

"Next, sprinkle Salt of the Star Cavern—gently. While you chant."

"Chant what?"

"Doesn’t matter," Isabella shrugged. "Just wave your hands and pretend you’re casting a spell so I feel better about how expensive that damn salt was."

Luca smirked and began murmuring nonsense in a dramatic tone while sprinkling the salt like fairy dust. The mixture shimmered brighter. Bubbles rose like pearls and vanished with soft pops.

Isabella inspected it, then nodded. "Breath of Sylph Mist—add it now."

She handed him a silk-wrapped pouch. As he untied it, a cool breeze escaped. He dumped the mist in, and the cauldron let out a soft, satisfied hiss.

"Simmer for fifteen minutes. Don’t touch it," Isabella said, tapping the base of the cauldron twice. "I’ve already stabilized the heat. Unless you want the whole thing to explode, hands off."

As they waited, Isabella picked up the small obsidian flask Bubu had given her and turned it over in her hands. It was beautiful—black and smooth, almost too elegant for something like soap. But it was small. Too small.

She sighed. "I’ll just put some of the batch inside this one. The rest goes in the big clay pots."

Luca looked over her shoulder. "Why not just use all the obsidian flasks?"

"Because I only have one," she said flatly.

And to Isabella unless Bubu suddenly dropped a dozen more from the sky, this one was reserved for something special.

Once the simmering was done, Isabella strained the liquid through a large Dewleaf filter, its wide green surface catching the thick pulp and debris. The final product was smooth, shimmering, and light blue—perfect.

One by one, Laca filled the clay pots—massive ones, each enough to supply ten households for a week.

Luca wiped sweat from his forehead. "That’s a lot of soap."

"I’m not doing this every day," Isabella muttered, now corking the obsidian flask and setting it carefully aside.

She straightened, popped her back, and turned toward the hut. "Now..."

She looked around and spotted Ophelia returning with her hair still damp and bouncing with every step.

"Ophelia! Go fetch me some men—strong ones."

"Okay!" Ophelia beamed, spinning on her heel with a little hop before skipping off. Her hair bounced behind her like it had a life of its own, catching the sunlight and practically sparkling. If happiness were a person, it would be Ophelia right then, with gleaming eyes, and not a single brain cell spared for dignity.

Isabella watched her go, lips twitching. "Why is she so happy?"

Luca crossed his arms, already half amused. "I think it’s because of her new crush."

At that, Isabella’s smile soured.

Her shoulders tensed. "...The one from the visitors?"

Luca nodded with a sly little shrug. "Yup. The tall one with the good jaw and the bad attitude."

Isabella’s eyes narrowed like someone had just fed her lemon peel. The mention of those so-called visitors made her stomach shift. She still hadn’t gotten proper word on who they were, where they came from, or why the hell they were even in her village to begin with.

Some claimed they were sons of powerful chieftains. Others whispered they were elite warriors from distant mountain or cities.

She hadn’t cared enough to verify.

Well—she had cared, but she’d also been elbow-deep in molten soap resin and too much uncompleted tasks at hand, and frankly, she could only give one damn at a time.

She had caught a glimpse of two of them earlier. Sharp jawlines, expensive-looking fur coats, the whole brooding-and-mysterious package. They looked powerful.

Not powerful enough to bother impressing.

So she didn’t.

She had better things to do than pretend to be impressed by strangers who smelled like dried blood and sandalwood. If they were important, they’d wait. And if they weren’t—well, then they wouldn’t matter.

"Or maybe it’s the soap," Luca added suddenly, breaking through her spiral of judgment.

Isabella slowly turned to face him.

She gave him a look. A flat, slow blink and a lift of one brow that radiated: Are you for real right now?

Her face didn’t move, but somehow Luca felt like he owed her rent.

"What?" Luca lifted his hands. "You asked why she was happy!"

"Tsk." That was all Isabella gave him. But the judgment in her eyes could’ve curdled milk. It was the kind of look that said "you absolute walnut" without actually using the words.

The silence stretched just long enough to become awkward. Luca scratched his neck, lips twitching like he wanted to laugh but was too scared to try it.

And then, finally, the sound of rapid footsteps broke the tension.

Ophelia returned—breathless, flushed, and triumphant—with four men trailing behind her like obedient pack mules.

They were tall. Muscled. Sweaty. Two of them were shirtless. One was eating something. One was already regretting being here.

"Here they are!" Ophelia declared, gesturing like she’d summoned warriors from the heavens instead of half-drunk villagers from the communal well.