Sophia sank into the chair cushioned with wool pads, holding an exquisite openwork hand warmer in her arms.
Although the interior decoration of the shop could already be called a visual miracle of this era, when her gaze shifted to the porters and female workers sweating profusely from their busy work, that sense of harmonious high-class luxury was instantly severed.
Those workers wore coarse linen clothes that had turned dusty grey from long-term wear. Some of their cotton-padded jackets were patched so repeatedly that dried reed flowers or yellowed, messy cotton were exposed from inside.
Although their movements were diligent, in front of this jade-like Cement floor and the expensive oak shelves, they appeared so out of place.
"Willow."
Sophia's fingertips tapped lightly on the armrest, her clear and cold voice ringing out in the empty shop.
"This servant is here."
Willow immediately trotted to Sophia's side, bowing slightly, her pale purple eyes looking at Sophia docilely.
"Look at these people."
Sophia's gaze lingered for a moment on a few porters who nearly knocked over a cargo shelf due to nervousness, her brows furrowing slightly.
"This shop is the face of Mason to the outside world, and it will expand externally later. If the shop assistants here dress like a group of refugees who just escaped from the wasteland, then what This Queen is selling is not shampoo, but impoverished charity."
Sophia paused, her tone leaving no room for doubt:
"Go, contact the tailors in the city. Custom-make a set of uniform clothes for all the shop assistants and craftsmen here, including the soldiers patrolling at the door.
In the future, whether it is a Mason shop or a Black Rose shop opened in other countries, they must all wear uniform uniforms. The style must be tidy and capable, the cutting must be sharp; there cannot be the slightest bit of sloppiness."
Willow was stunned for a moment upon hearing this, then a light of understanding shone in her eyes, but she explained in a low voice with some difficulty:
"Your Majesty's vision is naturally excellent. It's just... currently, our Mason does not have the stock of expensive silk like Leighton. If we produce on a large scale, I'm afraid we can only use the newly produced rough wool material or bleached linen. As for leather and expensive animal skins, I fear we can only prioritize the leading Lords..."
"No matter."
Sophia waved her hand. She naturally knew that in this era without synthetic fibers, expecting everyone to wear suits and leather shoes was unrealistic.
"Just use the sturdiest black-grey wool material for the coat, and bleached linen for the inner wear. The color must be pure; we don't want those messy dyes. On the chest position, that Black Rose must be embroidered with red thread."
In Sophia's view, the significance of a uniform did not lie in how expensive the material was, but in the psychological suggestion brought about by that sense of order.
Moreover, for these subjects, having a new set of clothes was already a huge joyous event. Regardless of the fabric, they would like and cherish it very much.
Victor, who was standing to the side holding a ledger, nearly snapped the quill in his hand due to excitement upon hearing this conversation.
Divine Miracles! This is absolutely a Divine Miracle of the art of ruling!
Her Majesty is not just custom-making clothes; she is conducting a cross-era baptism for Mason's class pride!
When these humble commoners put on uniform uniforms bearing the Black Rose logo, they will no longer be a scattered labor force, but will become Your Majesty's Civilization Guards.
This method of achieving ideological unity through visual unity is simply more effective than any harsh laws!
Your Majesty is personally kneading together Mason's backbone, letting them know that as long as they are loyal to the Black Rose, even in a suit of linen, they can wear a dignity that surpasses nobles!
"This servant understands."
Willow's nimble eyes had already sketched out a rough draft in her mind.
"This servant will take people to handle it right away. We will definitely make these people look as if they walked out of Your Majesty's painting on the opening day; we absolutely will not lose face for the Black Rose."
Sophia watched Willow's figure leaving like the wind to make preparations, then turned her head to instruct Delilah:
"Delilah, that black outfit of yours is very good. In the future, the security forces here should also follow that standard."
However, the soldiers patrolling normally inside the city still had to wear armor; otherwise, if they encountered danger, it would be too easy to be ambushed.
"This subject obeys the decree."
Delilah cupped her fists, her eyes revealing a firmness from being recognized.
Sophia adjusted her sitting posture under the blanket, looking at the window lattice being cleaned in the distance.
After all, only by dressing a bit better will the employees have sufficient drive. When selling goods, they will have more confidence to shout out those outrageous prices.
Since we are taking the luxury route, what is being packaged is not just the commodities; even these human background boards must be packaged by me to look a bit more high-class.
She seemed to already foresee the immense psychological impact that rows of Mason people wearing capable black-grey uniforms with red roses embroidered on their chests would bring to those neighboring country Lords who had never seen the world during the opening ceremony three days later.
*
Late at night, the Black Rose flagship store was still brightly lit.
The tailors were using the bright palace lamps to let their fingertips shuttle swiftly through the black-grey wool materials.
Irene was squatting behind the counter, holding a small wrench in her hand, sweating profusely as she adjusted the opening and closing angle of the display rack.
Sophia still sat on that soft chair, a thick blanket covering her legs. Her eyes were slightly drooping, looking as if she were pondering the Empire's grand plans, but in reality, she was fighting against intense drowsiness.
Just at this moment, when it was so quiet that only the friction of needles and threads and the tapping of wooden boards could be heard, an extremely discordant sound came from Sophia's abdomen.
Grrrr—
In the empty and quiet shop, this cry of hunger appeared exceptionally clear.
The wrench in Irene's hand paused abruptly. Her keen ears twitched like a startled little rabbit, and then with a whoosh, she drilled out from behind the counter, her azure eyes staring straight at Sophia.
"Your Majesty!"
Irene slapped her forehead, her face full of annoyance.
"I am truly too stupid! I only cared about fiddling with these cold shelves and actually forgot that Your Majesty ate dinner early; you must have consumed everything by now!"
Sophia gathered the blanket expressionlessly, her eyes remaining clear and cold, only a touch of extremely faint crimson emerged at the roots of her ears.
"It wasn't This Queen's stomach that was growling."
"Could it be my stomach then~? If this echo rings a few more times, Irene's heart is going to break!"
Irene gave a hey-hey laugh, completely not giving the Queen an out. She turned her head to look at Willow, who was organizing the fabric, her eyes sparkling.
"Sister Willow! I remember there is still some fresh milk and eggs left in the grain transport carriage, and that small jar of refined white sugar Your Majesty bestowed upon me earlier. Let's make something good for Your Majesty to eat!"
Willow put down the work in her hands, tilting her head with some confusion:
"There are fresh milk and eggs, but... what do you want to make? Make a salty thick soup?"
"No, no, no! It's that kind of tender, sweet thing that melts as soon as you sip it!"
Irene gestured excitedly; that was the magical dessert named Pudding in the depths of her memory.
Irene leaned into Willow's ear, as if entrusting some military secret:
"First, beat the eggs. Don't use too much force; we can't have too many bubbles! Then pour the milk into the pot, add those precious white sugars, and heat slightly until the white sugar completely disappears into the white waves..."
In the temporary small kitchen behind the flagship store, Willow seriously executed every one of Irene's instructions.
Her slender fingers held wooden chopsticks, filtering the egg liquid three times to ensure there were no impurities.
"Irene, are you saying we have to pour the hot milk slowly into the egg liquid? What if we accidentally scald the egg liquid into cooked eggs?"
"So you have to drip it in slowly, bit by bit!"
Irene stared nervously from the side, looking alive as if staring at some high-precision alchemy experiment.
"The movements must be gentle, just like Your Majesty stroking my head."
When saying this sentence, Irene felt for some reason that a sharp gaze was staring at her. She raised her head to look outside, but aside from His Majesty and Delilah, there was no one else out there!
It must be her overthinking it.
The two poured the mixed milky white liquid into small ceramic bowls, covered them with washed linen cloth, and placed them into the steamer.
About two quarters of an hour later, a rich fragrance of milk and egg, never before seen in Mason and strong enough to make one's nose twitch, drifted into the hall through the crack in the kitchen door.
Those tailors sewing and the soldiers patrolling all secretly swallowed a mouthful of saliva without exception.
When Willow walked up to Sophia carrying that small porcelain bowl, Sophia, who was originally still maintaining her cold Queen persona, involuntarily let her eyes linger on that trembling, golden solid for three seconds.
"Your Majesty, please enjoy. This was Lord Irene's idea; this servant tried to make it. Miss Irene said this is called Pudding."
Willow knelt on one knee beside the chair, carefully blowing on the spoon.
Sophia took the spoon and pressed down lightly. That pale yellow pudding presented a shocking elasticity and delicate texture, simply not looking like a product of this era.
My heavens... it's pudding?
Sophia evidently hadn't expected that the delicacy Irene spoke of making for her was pudding. There were no refrigeration conditions like a fridge here, so these two simply took the finished product outside the room and used the natural cold air to solidify it for a bit.
Sophia elegantly contained a mouthful of pudding. The delicate texture melted instantly on the tip of her tongue; the pure milk fragrance intertwined with the clear sweetness of white sugar greatly soothed her exhausted nerves.
"The taste... is passable."
Sophia swallowed the dessert, looking at the full-faced expectation of Irene and the gentle waiting of Willow, her tone softening slightly.
"Irene, you do have talent in the application of ideas for this kind of food."
The people in the room stole glances at the thing in His Majesty's hand while working.
What is that? Yellow... even from a distance, it smells extremely sweet. It is something never seen before, unheard of.
That is probably some kind of new product. Unexpectedly, in just this short while, the Inventor Miss has invented a new product again!
Your Majesty is not eating food; she is eating Order! This thing named Pudding, although soft in texture, can maintain its form under the Queen's spoon. This symbolizes Your Majesty's perfect control over Mason's structure!
And the joining of hands between Miss Irene and Miss Willow implies that industrial wisdom and the art of living have achieved a Grand Unification before His Majesty! That trace of relief on Your Majesty's face is the first note of the Empire's prosperity!
Delilah stood in the shadows, looking at the appearance of Sophia eating the pudding in small bites, and the corners of her mouth unconsciously hooked up slightly.
She felt that compared to that clear and cold Monarch in the wind and snow, this Queen at this moment—being pampered by two girls late at night, with a spot of milk stain on her lips—made her want to guard her with her entire life even more.
"Since I am full, Irene, the progress on the uniforms cannot fall behind."
Sophia put down the empty porcelain bowl, her eyes recovering their sharpness.
"This Queen wants to see the spirit and energy of the Mason people on the opening day."
"Rest assured, Your Majesty! Having eaten this bite, Irene can work for another three days and three nights without sleeping!"
As Sophia put down the empty porcelain bowl, Irene also finished off her portion like a whirlwind sweeping away scattered clouds, even licking her lips with lingering intent.
On the counter of the small kitchen, there remained the last three porcelain bowls solidified perfectly in the natural cold air. That was the reward reserved for the three most hard-working ministers of the arm and backbone tonight.
"Sister Willow, Sister Delilah, and Old Victor, you guys hurry and taste it too!"
Irene waved her small hand carelessly.
"This is a very decent dessert. That fellow Daphne isn't here, so it's a bargain for you guys!"
Willow carefully cupped the porcelain bowl. She was one of the people who participated in making it and knew the ingredients of this thing clearer than anyone, but when she truly dug out a spoonful and sent it into her mouth, that sensory impact still made her slightly dazed.
The egg and milk liquid with zero graininess glides over the tip of the tongue, like the top-grade silk caressing the skin. The slight coolness after refrigeration suppresses the fishy smell of the egg, leaving only that extremely aggressive sweetness of white sugar, moistening all the way down the throat to the tip of the heart.
Is this the future Your Majesty wants to bring to Mason?
No longer throat-scratching Black Bread, nor cold salted meat, but this kind of... softness that makes one want to shed tears.
I thought I was just helping Irene fool around, but only after eating this bite did I understand that Your Majesty is borrowing Irene's hand to tell us: as long as we follow her footsteps closely, even in this cold winter late night, we can taste a flavor as warm as spring.
To be able to serve by the side of such a Monarch who brings beauty and sweetness to the human world, I would be willing even if my life were shortened by ten years.
Delilah stared at this trembling, seemingly somewhat fragile little thing before her eyes, her brows furrowing slightly.
Her pair of hands, accustomed to gripping heavy sword hilts and with knuckles covered in calluses, actually appeared somewhat cramped when picking up that slender silver spoon.
As if executing some secret mission, she precisely cut off a piece of pudding and sent it into her mouth.
The next second, her originally cold and upright posture stiffened imperceptibly.
That extreme smoothness is diametrically opposed to my past life. No smell of rust, no smell of sweat, only a kind of tranquility that makes me want to disarm and surrender.
Your Majesty's methods are indeed unfathomable.
Is she using this bowl of pudding to beat some sense into me? She saw through the tightness and slaughter in my heart, so she bestowed upon me such soft food. She is telling me that a true commander must not only have an iron-blooded side but must also know how to guard this hard-won peace and sweetness.
Protecting Your Majesty is protecting Mason's final bottom line of gentleness. This degree of sweetness is an entrustment heavier than military orders.
I, Delilah, will inevitably become Your Majesty's most solid armor. If anyone dares to destroy this tranquility, I will let them witness what true hell is.
Chancellor Victor behaved the most exaggeratedly.
He did not eat immediately but closed his eyes first, as if performing some solemn baptism.
When he finally swallowed a mouthful tremblingly, the wrinkles on his old face smoothed out due to this unprecedented gustatory experience.
The richness of eggs, the fullness of milk, the luxury of white sugar; three flavors intertwine perfectly within the oral cavity, forming a rhyme that can even be called holy.
Divine Revelation from the Heavens! This is no dessert; this is clearly the "Mason Social Contract" written by Your Majesty!
Although this pudding is composed of loose egg liquid and flowing milk, under Your Majesty's Order control, it actually formed a unity! Is this not precisely Your Majesty's strategy for governing the country?
Merging the scattered subjects and flowing materials into one, then supplementing it with prosperous commerce, finally forging it into a solid yet elastic foundation of the Empire!
What Your Majesty eats is pudding, but what she spits out is the civilizational flame that devours the old era! I must record this moment; the book title will be "On Pudding and the Rise of the Empire"!
Sophia sat on the chair, looking at the identical, mesmerized expressions of these three people after eating the pudding, and couldn't help but look down at her own empty bowl.
Are they really eating the same thing I ate?
Why does Victor look like he's about to write a five-thousand-word thesis on the spot?
She glanced at Victor, who was scratching his head frantically:
"Put away those strange thoughts in your brain. Tomorrow morning, I want to see the security plan for the opening day. And everyone else, focus on work."
"As you command! Your Majesty!"
Everyone spoke in unison, their voices filled with that kind of drive—perhaps even a bit hyperactive—supplemented by sugar.
*
Inside the Black Rose flagship store late at night, the sound of cutting fabric rang out briskly once again, accompanied by the milk fragrance that had not yet dissipated, marching steadily toward the opening day three days later.
Very soon, an embroiderer finished one piece and held it up for Sophia to see.
Originally, Sophia didn't have any expectations for the first version of the shop uniform, but when she set her gaze upon it, she was somewhat surprised.
Under the lights of the deep night, that elderly embroiderer rubbed her fingers, which were full of needle pricks, with some cramping. She took a deep breath and slowly shook open the first sample garment that had just been completed in her hands.
Sophia had already prepared herself to see a slightly neater linen robe; after all, in this era of low productivity, the aesthetics of commoners mostly stayed at the stage of being sturdy and hiding dirt.
However, when that set of clothes unfolded in the lamp shadow, Sophia's pale golden pupils actually dilated slightly involuntarily.
Presented before everyone's eyes was a set of extremely ingeniously structured three-piece uniforms.
The white inner lining did not adopt the loose folds common in this era but was ironed extremely flat. The standing collar design was upright and capable, revealing a kind of abstinence-like rigor.
The grey trousers were cut to fit the leg lines very well, no longer that kind of loose calf-binding style, but possessing a crispness similar to suit trousers.
The dark grey coat was the soul of the entire set of clothes.
The steady charcoal grey wool material suppressed the frivolity of the linen. The waistline was taken in extremely high, making the wearer, even if just an ordinary porter, appear as upright as a pine or cypress.
At the position of the heart on the left chest, that Black Rose, finely embroidered with dark red silk thread, faintly shimmered with a metal-like luster under the dim palace lamp, as if silently declaring sovereignty.
This was no longer simple workwear; this was simply a perfect combination of modern minimalism and medieval military style.
"Wah! This is it!"
Irene abruptly threw down the small wrench in her hand, jumping three feet high and pouncing directly in front of that set of clothes, her azure eyes full of little stars of worship.
"Your Majesty, look! This is the feeling I wanted in my brain! No, it's a hundred times sharper than I imagined!"
Irene turned her head, looking at that embroiderer like she was looking at a monster.
"Auntie Martha, I just roughly mentioned that it needs to be compact, upright, and have that crunching sense of power, and you actually really made it?"
The embroiderer Martha lowered her head somewhat shyly, smiling honestly:
"Although the drawings given by Your Majesty and Lord Irene were strange, I have worked as a tailor for a lifetime and always felt that what Your Majesty wanted was a kind of spirit and energy. Since it is working for the Black Rose, the needlework cannot be soft and weak."
Sophia extended her slender fingers, gently rubbing the collar of that dark grey coat.
It's actually... the feeling of shoulder pads?
She used multiple layers of linen stacked together to create a skeletal sense.
This aesthetic, even placed in the Milan Fashion Week of my past life, could probably be labeled with the hat of retro deconstructionism.
This Queen thought I hired a group of bottom-tier laborers, but unexpectedly, I dug up a group of artists buried by the times.
Sophia retracted her hand. Although her tone remained clear and cold, the approval in her eyes was no longer concealed.
"Not bad. This kind of tailoring can make even the humblest mud-legged person look like a decent Mason citizen. Martha, make all the remaining clothes according to this standard. For all the embroiderers who participated in the sewing, triple this month's remuneration."
Victor had already watched in a daze from the side, the quill in his hand dancing frantically, the paper pages creating rushing friction sounds.
Great Wisdom! Your Majesty's wisdom has already permeated into every single thread!
This kind of white represents pure loyalty, grey represents the tenacity of the Mason land, and that Black Rose is pressed against the heart.
Your Majesty is creating a kind of armor on the skin for the subjects. When they put on this set of clothes, they are not just working, but undergoing a professional cultivation.
This uniform visual effect will bring a soul-level dimension-reduction strike to those neighboring country nobles with gaudy clothes and chaotic aesthetics on the opening day—it is silently speaking: Mason's Order has already been armed to the cuff of every porter!
"Since the sample garment is done, then start mass production."
Sophia stood up, the black fox fur brushing past the chair back.
"Willow, stare at the progress. Delilah, you are responsible for ensuring that when these clothes are distributed to everyone's hands, their faces and hands must be washed as clean as this white collar."
"As you command! Your Majesty!"
Sophia's gaze fell upon Auntie Martha. She felt that this auntie's ideas and execution were both very good; she might as well keep her in the Palace to make clothes for her later.
Currently, Mason did not have a cotton industry yet. Wait until there was a cotton industry later, then they could produce even more clothing.
____
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