019

On the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month, as the Lunar New Year drew nearer, the festive atmosphere in the palace grew increasingly intense. While all the palaces were busy preparing for the New Year's Eve banquet, Zhuixia Pavilion remained unusually quiet. Si Mianmian sat by the window, her fingertips lightly tracing the pages of an ancient book, her gaze fixed on the bare branches outside the window, covered with a thin layer of snow.

Over the past few days, the Empress Dowager had shown her favor, her elder brother, the Crown Prince, had tacitly approved of her approach, and even the elusive Prince Rong Jingyu had become interested in her. However, Si Mianmian knew very well that in this deep palace, the only one who could truly decide her life, death, honor, and disgrace was the person sitting high on the dragon throne—her father, the Emperor of the Yu Dynasty.

At the palace banquet a few days ago, she successfully caught her father's attention with a cup of "Fragrance Soup," but that was just the beginning. To truly establish herself in this cutthroat harem, she must thoroughly win over this cunning emperor.

Survival Handbook Rule 19: Winning Hearts and Minds is Paramount. The true strategy is not to please, but to become irreplaceable in the other person's heart.

Si Mianmian recalled the fleeting look of reminiscence and tenderness in her father's eyes when he drank the "Hidden Fragrance Soup" that day. She learned from the old nanny who served the Empress Dowager that the late Empress Xiaoyichun—her father's first empress—was most skilled at making exquisite medicinal cuisine and pastries. And the recipe for "Hidden Fragrance Soup" was one that Empress Xiaoyichun had personally improved when she was young.

"Qiuhe, go to the small kitchen and prepare." Si Mianmian stood up, her eyes shining with determination. "I want to prepare a New Year's gift for Father Emperor myself."

She was no longer satisfied with simple medicinal drinks; instead, she wanted to replicate some of the most famous desserts made by Empress Xiaoyichun: pine nut and goose fat rolls, steamed chestnut flour cake with osmanthus sugar, and an extremely intricate lotus leaf soup. These desserts were complex to make and required exquisite ingredients; without genuine study, it would be extremely difficult to imitate their charm.

Si Mianmian worked tirelessly in the kitchen for two whole days, doing everything herself. She remembered her mother mentioning that Empress Xiaoyichun had a habit of personally completing the final step of making pastries, as a sign of her sincerity. Si Mianmian strictly followed this tradition, striving to replicate even the kneading force and steaming time.

When the food box was finally presented to the Emperor, Si Mianmian knelt respectfully below and said softly, "The other day, while sorting through old things, I accidentally found a handwritten note left by my mother, which contained several recipes for making pastries. I am dull-witted and have tried to make them several times, but I have never been able to get the taste right. Today, I dare to offer them to Father Emperor. Although they are not even one ten-thousandth as good as Mother Empress's, they are my filial piety."

The emperor stared at the exquisite and familiar pastries in the food box, his expression momentarily dazed. He picked up a piece of pine nut and goose fat roll and put it in his mouth; the familiar taste almost made him feel as if he had returned to twenty years ago. He looked at his daughter kneeling below, truly observing her for the first time—this daughter he had almost never paid attention to, yet possessed such delicate thoughts and skillful hands.

"Get up," the emperor said, his voice unusually gentle. "You've shown your thoughtfulness."

As the year draws to a close, the court is far from peaceful. The war in the north is raging, and military funds are scarce; although the floods in the south have subsided, post-disaster reconstruction requires a large sum of money. The emperor has been frowning for days, and even at the New Year's Eve banquet, he showed little joy.

Si Mianmian indirectly learned through her elder brother, the Crown Prince, that the imperial court was troubled about how to raise this huge sum of money. Increasing taxes would worsen the burden on the people, while allocating funds from the imperial treasury might not be enough.

Just then, Si Mianmian did something bold. She compiled all the rewards, annual allowances, and even some of her birth mother Wen Pin's personal savings she had received over the years into a book and presented it to the emperor through the Crown Prince. At the end of the book was a line of neat handwriting: "Your subject is willing to do her utmost, however small, to express her heartfelt wishes. The soldiers on the northern frontier are fighting valiantly, and the people in the south are in need of aid. Although I live deep within the palace, I dare not forget the worries of the people."

This action, taken during the New Year festival when people vied to present rare treasures to please the emperor, seemed particularly abrupt, yet it was also incredibly sincere.

Even more surprisingly, Si Mianmian also attached a set of "Ten Disaster Relief Strategies," which detailed how to raise funds for post-disaster reconstruction without using the national treasury by encouraging wealthy merchants to donate official titles (nominal ones) and issuing "merit bonds." These strategies were novel, highly practical, and clearly exceeded the knowledge expected of a princess in the inner palace.

The Emperor sat in his study, holding the thin booklet, silent for a long time. He looked at the Crown Prince: "Is this what the Ninth Princess herself thought?"

The Crown Prince respectfully replied, "My Ninth Princess usually enjoys reading miscellaneous books, especially geography and folk customs. I have also discussed the floods in the south with her, but I did not expect her to be so interested."

A hint of admiration flashed in the emperor's eyes. He hadn't expected his seemingly delicate daughter to possess such insight and magnanimity. Even more remarkable was her ability to express herself appropriately at the right time, without being ostentatious, yet hitting the nail on the head.

On New Year's Eve, the royal family gathered for a banquet. After several rounds of drinks, the atmosphere became lively, and several favored princes and princesses presented their carefully prepared New Year's gifts, each vying for attention with their exquisite designs, creating a vibrant and extraordinary scene.

When it was Si Mianmian's turn, she simply stood up and presented a seemingly ordinary sachet: "Your subject is clumsy and can only embroider a sachet to present to Father Emperor. It is not filled with spices, but with plum blossoms, pine needles and cypress leaves that I collected in the Imperial Garden, all of which were washed and dried by the fresh snow this winter. I hope that when Father Emperor hears this, he will recall the leisurely stroll in the garden in winter."

The embroidery on the sachet wasn't top-notch; the stitches were even a bit clumsy, clearly the work of a novice. But it was precisely this simplicity that made it stand out as exceptionally fresh and refined among a pile of expensive gifts.

The emperor took the sachet and gently sniffed it. It indeed had a cool, herbal scent, quite different from the ambergris and sandalwood he usually smelled. Looking at Si Mianmian's expectant yet apprehensive eyes, he suddenly asked, "I've heard you've been reading quite a few books lately?"

Si Mianmian replied obediently, "Your subject is dull-witted and only flipped through it casually. It is far inferior to that of my royal brothers and sisters."

"Then what do you seek by reading these books?" The emperor's gaze was sharp, as if trying to see into her heart.

Si Mianmian raised her head, her eyes clear as water: "Your subject studies not for fame or fortune, but only to one day be able to share the burdens of Father Emperor, like a cup of clear tea, which, though bland, can quench thirst."

These words were spoken frankly, without the slightest affectation. Everyone present fell silent, even the Seventh Princess, who had always been at odds with her, forgot to be sarcastic.

The emperor gazed at his daughter for a long time, then suddenly burst into laughter: "Excellent! What a wonderful 'like clear tea quenching thirst'! Among my daughters, you possess such a magnanimous spirit, truly rare!"

He immediately ordered: "The Ninth Princess shall be rewarded with a bushel of pearls from the East China Sea, ten bolts of brocade from Jiangnan, and the right to freely enter and leave the library."

The rewards were generous, but the most shocking was the last one—free access to the library, a privilege even some princes did not enjoy.

The real turning point came on the night of the Lantern Festival. The royal family went to the highest observation deck in the palace to admire the lanterns, but an unexpected incident occurred—a group of owls, startled by the fireworks, rushed towards the observation deck. The guards protecting the emperor were caught off guard and chaos ensued.

In the chaos, an arrow shot out from nowhere, aimed directly at the emperor! In a flash, Si Mianmian, who was closest to the emperor, rushed forward without thinking.

"Father, be careful!"

The arrow grazed her arm, leaving a bloody mark, and she stumbled into the emperor's arms. At that moment, her face showed no scheming, no pretense, only pure panic and worry: "Father... are you alright?"

The guards quickly brought the situation under control, and the imperial physician rushed over. The emperor, however, simply held his daughter who had shielded him from the arrow tightly, looking at her bleeding arm with an unprecedented shock and complexity in his eyes.

"Why?" His voice was low, with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor. "Aren't you afraid of dying?"

Si Mianmian's face was pale, but she forced a smile: "At that moment, I didn't have time to think about whether I was afraid or not... I only thought that I couldn't lose Father."

This statement is more powerful than any carefully crafted confession. Because it stems from instinct, from a daughter's most primal desire to protect her father.

This incident fundamentally changed the emperor's attitude towards Si Mianmian. He no longer regarded her merely as a clever, sensible, and promising daughter, but truly held her in his heart.

He began to summon her frequently, sometimes to discuss poetry and literature, and sometimes to inquire about her opinions on trivial matters of the court. Surprisingly, Si Mianmian always offered refreshing insights that were neither overstepping the bounds nor missing the point.

What pleased the emperor even more was that Si Mianmian always maintained that rare clarity and restraint. She was neither arrogant despite being favored nor haughty despite being rewarded, and she remained gentle and polite to palace servants of lower status. Even when the Seventh Princess, Si Yunshang, plotted against her out of jealousy, she chose the most dignified way to resolve the situation and preserve the dignity of the royal family.

One evening, the emperor was reviewing memorials in his study until late at night when he looked up and saw Si Mianmian sitting quietly not far away, reading by the dim light of a lamp, with a bowl of steaming white fungus soup beside her.

"It's so late, why aren't you back to rest?" the emperor asked.

Si Mianmian looked up, her smile gentle: "Father has not yet rested, how dare I go to bed first? Besides, I have recently been reading the Zizhi Tongjian and there are many things I don't understand. I will read it and ask Father when he has time."

The emperor looked at the faint dark circles under her eyes, and the softest part of his heart was touched. He remembered himself as a child, how he had stayed by the late emperor's side in the same way, just hoping for a little more attention. And now, his daughter was silently accompanying him in the same way.

"Come here." The emperor beckoned her to sit beside him and personally explained the difficult points in the book to her. In the candlelight, the shadows of the father and daughter overlapped, creating a warm and harmonious scene.

At that moment, the emperor understood that this daughter had completely entered his heart. It wasn't because she was particularly clever or capable, but because she understood his loneliness as an emperor and was willing to accompany him with the utmost sincerity, respecting him as a sovereign and loving him as a father.

The ultimate survival guide: The highest level of strategy is to make the other person not even realize they're being pursued. When you stop trying to please them and instead become an indispensable part of their life, you've truly won their heart.

A few days later, an imperial edict shocked the harem: Consort Wen was promoted to Imperial Concubine Wen and moved to the main residence of Yonghe Palace. Princess Si Mianmian was granted the title "Zhaochen," doubled her salary, and allowed to accompany the emperor in the imperial study at any time.

"Zhao" means brightness, and "Chen" means imperial residence. This title undoubtedly proclaimed the Ninth Princess's unique position in the Emperor's heart.

Si Mianmian knelt to receive the imperial edict, her face still bearing that gentle, unperturbed smile. Only she knew that her path to winning over her father had finally come to an end.

She has successfully reached the summit of her father's highest peak.

Standing atop the peak and gazing out, the scenery of this deep palace seems to have changed.