Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 1

It was a rainy winter, the sky dim and gray.

The sudden downpour had people hurrying through the streets, their reflections shimmering on the wet pavement.

Jiang Zhi’er sat alone by the entrance of a hotel lobby. The revolving door drew in gusts of cold wind as she quietly looked up at the rain streaming down from the gray-tiled eaves.

Around her, however, there was no peace.

After her grandmother’s passing, her uncle had arranged a grand funeral.

Distinguished guests came from all over, dressed in somber black—offering gifts, words of condolence, and displays of sympathy.

But when the ceremony ended, and the rain trapped people inside the lobby, they simply exchanged business cards and polite smiles—discussing upcoming events, forging new connections.

The tears and mourning from just moments ago had already vanished.

Her uncle and aunt stood at the door, eyes still faintly red, thanking guests while inviting them to the company’s sixtieth-anniversary gala next month.

Outside, reporters gathered—not for the deceased, but for one anticipated guest.

Unfortunately, that man never appeared. Disappointed, the journalists settled for taking pictures of businessmen entering and leaving the funeral, their flashes half-hearted and perfunctory.

So noisy.

Jiang Zhi’er frowned slightly.

So many people—yet it seemed she was the only one truly grieving her grandmother.

Her grandmother had been old and ill for a long time; everyone said it was a “release,” a “blessing.”

But how could death ever be called a blessing?

At sixteen, Jiang Zhi’er couldn’t understand such words—or the smiling faces of adults who said them.

She turned away and glanced at a magazine rack nearby.

On the latest financial weekly, the cover headline blazed in bold, explosive letters:

“Breaking News! Financial Titan Cheng Huaixian in Critical Condition! Cheng Jingwei Appears at Airport! Power Struggle Within the Cheng Family Begins!”

It was no wonder the tabloids seized on the story—many were eyeing the massive Cheng Corporation, waiting for internal upheaval.

And the man the reporters outside had been waiting for—was Cheng Jingwei.

He appeared not only in print but also on the television screen above the lobby.

Under the flashing lights of countless cameras, a tall, slender man emerged from the VIP lane of an airport.

He wore a tailored dark gray suit. Someone beside him held an umbrella low, obscuring his face, yet his sharp jawline and aura alone conveyed nobility and unapproachable pride.

He walked straight ahead, ignoring the shouts and flashes, only briefly visible as the car door closed—

A pair of gold-rimmed glasses, a perfectly buttoned shirt, a silver tie pin gleaming under the light.

Veins traced his wrist, but he restrained every trace of strength with a plain silver watch—grace and power balanced in flawless control.

Even youth could not soften his innate authority.

Jiang Zhi’er had heard of him before—Cheng Huaixian’s younger son—but had never realized how young he was.

He had grown up abroad, graduated from MIT, and entered a top U.S. investment bank—rising quickly without using his family’s power. His financial acumen earned him the title of “genius investor.”

Her grandmother once said he was the most capable of all the Cheng heirs.

As Jiang Zhi’er quietly watched the screen, something suddenly struck the back of her head—a bag thrown at her.

She stumbled forward, turning around.

Her cousin Jiang Chen smirked, chin raised.

“Hey, Jiang Zhi’er, pick up my bag.”

She didn’t move.

Usually, she endured in silence—just as she had all those years living under her uncle’s roof since her parents’ death.

But today, Jiang Chen—who hadn’t shed a single tear for their grandmother—was laughing and making a scene even at her funeral.

Zhi’er bent down, picked up the bag, and threw it straight out the window. It landed in the muddy flowerbed with a sharp thud.

Jiang Chen’s eyes widened in shock.

“Are you crazy, Jiang Zhi’er!?”

The commotion drew everyone’s attention.

Her aunt, Tang Peiwen, rushed over and tugged Jiang Chen’s ear.

“What are you shouting for? Look where we are!”

Jiang Chen protested,

“It was her! She threw my bag! Grandma’s dead—why does she get to—”

“Enough!” his mother hissed, covering his mouth.

Then she turned toward Zhi’er, frowning even deeper.

“Zhi’er, you too. You’re the older cousin—how can you behave like this? Do you want Grandma to rest in peace seeing you two fight?”

At the mention of her grandmother, Jiang Zhi’er fell silent.

After a moment, she lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Auntie.”

Once again, she gave in.

Jiang Chen snorted smugly, triumphant.

Zhi’er ignored him and turned away.

Her aunt watched her leave, muttering under her breath.

“Not sweet-tongued at all—no wonder no one likes her.”

Then she turned to her son.

“Does your ear still hurt?”

He pouted,

“Mom, you were so mean just now. Anyway, Grandma’s gone—why should Jiang Zhi’er still live with us?”

His mother patted his head gently,

“Hush. Don’t say things like that here.”

When she was a child, a car accident took both of Jiang Zhi’er’s parents.

Her grandmother, grief-stricken and frail, could not raise her, so her uncle Jiang Guilai took her in.

She never lacked food or shelter—but always lived as an outsider, enduring her cousin’s bullying and her relatives’ favoritism.

Now, with her grandmother gone, she truly had no one left.

She didn’t go back inside.

Standing under the rain, her slim shoulders and neck seemed as delicate as a lotus in the wind—fragile yet resilient.

The cold wind worsened the pain in her stomach, and she crouched down, clutching her abdomen.

People came and went. No one noticed.

The funeral had long turned into a social gathering.

Everyone knew she was alone now—too insignificant to matter.

Across the window, her cousin Jiang Chen was surrounded by a group of wealthy young guests.

He deliberately turned the window latch open wide so she could hear their mocking voices.

“She’s pitiful—so young, and already an orphan. Total bad luck.”
“Guess she’ll have to cozy up to you now, Jiang Chen. You could throw her out any time you like.”

Jiang Chen scoffed, “Who cares if she fawns over me? I wish she’d just get lost as far away

as possible.” “She’ll be miserable then, with no home to return to.

” “But she’s really pretty, so she could be a connection.” He let out a strange, sharp laugh.

Jiang Chen didn’t know what was going on.

He knew Jiang Zhier was beautiful; everyone had praised her since she was a child, but even then, he frowned in disdain. “What kind of taste do you have? You think that’s even beautiful?”

Unexpectedly, his words were met with widespread disapproval.

Standing beneath the eaves, the young woman was beautiful and innocent. Slanting raindrops fell on her raven-feathered black lashes, and her clear, deer-like eyes shone with a silent, yet powerful stubbornness. This gave her gentleness a vividness that would leave a mark on anyone.

Everyone acknowledged her beauty.

But this solitary beauty only brought more unbridled ridicule and slander. Though still underage, the young men were already well versed in the objectification of women in this social circle.

I don’t know who asked the first question—

“Who do you think she would go to if she was kicked out by the Jiang family?”

The young men were excited and listed several names, making it quite lively.

When they couldn’t agree, they voted by raising their hands

. In the end, the name “Cheng Jiayao” came out on top with a huge vote.

Cheng Jiayao—the only son of Cheng Huaishan’s eldest son, the only grandson of the Cheng family, and the nephew of Cheng Jingwei, who had just appeared on TV. He was a well-known playboy among the younger generation in Nancy City, and he never had the same girl with the same woman.

Outside, the rain was getting heavier.

Jiang Zhier stood under the eaves of the house, where the rain was pouring down. Amidst the malice and insults of the crowd, not even an eyelash fluttered.

At this moment, a dazzling bright headlight swept across. Jiang Zhier raised his hand to shield his eyes, unable to open them. All he could hear was the sudden high-frequency sound of shutters around him.

The flashes connected in a continuous stream, forcibly turning the dim evening into daylight.

Everyone was talking about it, filled with whispers of surprise: “Cheng Jingwei is here!”

Jiang Zhier gradually adapted to the glaring light, and through the gaps between her fingers she saw the shadowy crowd of people pushing forward, as well as the tall man in the middle of the crowd.

Against the light, she couldn’t see clearly.

She saw him holding up a black straight-bone umbrella, walking straight towards her through the crowd.

Jiang Zhier didn’t see his features clearly until he stood in front of her, and she looked up, only then could she see his eyebrows.

His outline was deep and sharp, and the raindrops fell on his forehead and shoulders, but it couldn’t hide his dignity and decorum.

The surroundings became quiet.

Then, Cheng Jingwei half-knelt on one knee, pinched her slender wrist, and stuffed the envelope containing the condolence gift into her palm.

“My name is Cheng Jingwei.” The man’s voice was very charming.

Jiang Zhier raised her eyes, but didn’t speak.

His fingertips were wet with rain water, which rolled down her palm, wet and hot.

Seeing she didn’t react, the man explained, “You may not know me, but I’m Cheng Jiayao’s second uncle. You’re of the same generation, so you can call me that.”

She pursed her lips and said politely, “Second Uncle.”

His aunt and uncle finally reacted, smiling broadly as if honored by his presence. “Mr. Cheng must have had a long journey back home. We didn’t expect you’d come to the funeral on your first day. We’re truly honored.”

“I’ve received favors from the old lady before, so it’s only proper etiquette and courtesy to come and see you off. We hope you’ll accept my condolences.”

The man’s voice remained gentle.

His aunt and uncle’s smiles froze at the reminder—they didn’t need to express their condolences at this moment.

With the media in front of them, if they were photographed, it would probably cause a big fuss.

They quickly suppressed their expressions, pretending to lower their eyes, gently stroking their eyelids, and sighing.

Cheng Jingwei looked away calmly.

Inside the window, a group of teenagers were whispering and discussing.

Naturally, they had never met Cheng Jingwei before, and over the cacophony of shutter clicks, they couldn’t hear his introduction to Jiang Zhier.

But anyone could tell from the look on his face that he was a rare and influential figure.

But—

“How could Jiang Zhier know someone like that?”

“No way, she’d already found a new husband so quickly?”

“What new husband? That’s impossible, and the man must be over ten years older than her.”

“How is that impossible? Your stepmother is over twenty years younger than your father.”

“Hey—! Why are you bringing this up with me!”

Cheng Jingwei raised his eyes, peering through the window frame.

His gaze wasn’t stern or serious, but the aura he’d cultivated since childhood in the wealthy family was intimidating enough, a commanding presence without even anger. Even their parents wouldn’t dare act recklessly in his presence, let alone these children.

The usually indulgent playboys fell silent at this glance, their hearts pounding.

Tang Peiwen quickly whispered, “Chenchen, call Second Uncle!”

Everyone then realized who they were: the most capable young master of the Chengzhen Group, gifted, well-connected, and capable, the center of the recent storm of public opinion.

That glance seemed even more substantial.

The young men wilted, each calling out, “Second Uncle.”

Cheng Jingwei didn’t respond, only lowering his gaze once again to look at Jiang Zhier.

The girl was so thin, with cold, pale, delicate skin. The corners of her eyes and the tip of her nose were red from the cold. Her clear, deer-like eyes and the pale, delicate features of a young woman from the south of the Yangtze River were the most striking. On that rainy night, her gaze seemed tinged with moisture, yet within the dampness, a vibrant fire ignited. She stood out

from the surroundings.

Cheng Jingwei’s voice, neither loud nor soft, resounded through the humid world.

“If you’d like, I can take you away.”