Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 10

“Stop thief!” Cheng Jiayao was still shouting as he pulled Jiang Zhier’s hand away. Turning toward Cheng Jingwei, he cried pitifully, “Second Uncle, look! You’ve spoiled her so much that she dares to yell at me now!”
Cheng Jingwei glanced over, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes.
The moment his gaze met hers, Jiang Zhier’s face burned with embarrassment and anger.
Fortunately, Cheng Jingwei didn’t say anything. He simply patted her head. “Get in the car.”
The little girl hurried in.
Cheng Jiayao followed close behind, but as he reached for the door, Cheng Jingwei stopped him with one hand and shut it with the other.
“Don’t tease her,” he said mildly. “The little girl’s thin-skinned.”
Cheng Jiayao’s eyes widened. “Uncle, did you see who yelled at whom? You can’t be so biased!”
“I’m older than both of you,” the man replied calmly. “I can’t pretend not to see it.”
“I’m just worried she’ll get cheated on,” Cheng Jiayao muttered. “You know Er’er’s got a crush on someone. If it’s someone decent, fine—but what if she falls for a jerk?”
His expression turned oddly serious. “She’s my sister now, after all. I have to find out.”
Cheng Jingwei paused, the cigarette between his fingers.
He hadn’t cared about such things before. Even if she stumbled, he believed he could always give Jiang Zhier the strength to start over.
Yet, deep down, he thought the girl was still too naive to truly fall in love. The driver had told him that during his business trip, she’d been taking tutoring sessions with her physics teacher every day.
The spark at the tip of the cigarette quietly burned out, searing his fingertips.
In that moment, Cheng Jingwei stubbed it out casually—unaware he had just brushed against the sincerity of a young girl’s heart.
“Alright,” he said calmly, “if she doesn’t want to talk about it, don’t ask again.”
Cheng Jiayao pouted but eventually nodded under his uncle’s tone of authority.
“One more thing,” Cheng Jingwei added after a pause. “If it really seems like something unreliable, tell me.”
Cheng Jiayao thumped his chest, signaling agreement.
The car’s soundproofing was excellent. Jiang Zhier couldn’t make out what the two were saying outside. When she finally saw Cheng Jiayao walk away, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
Cheng Jingwei got in the car.
“Second Uncle, when did you come back?”
“Just got off the plane,” he said. The driver pulled away from the crowded school gate. “Final exams are over?”
“Mm-hm.”
“How did you do?”
“It should be pretty good,” she said softly. “My physics teacher helped me a lot.”
Cheng Jingwei’s lips curved slightly as he rubbed the little girl’s head.
Toward the end of the year, his company had become busier than ever. Jiang Zhier often went a whole day without seeing him. With Shao Xu traveling abroad with her parents, the house felt unusually quiet. She finished her winter homework early, efficiently, and alone.
Ever since Cheng Jingwei had tutored her in physics, Jiang Zhier’s interest in the subject had soared. She even attended extra classes during the break, taking advantage of her teacher’s free time.
As the Lunar New Year approached, the festive atmosphere in Nancheng grew stronger. Lights and decorations filled the streets, and the city buzzed with warmth.
On the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month, Cheng Jingwei finally finished his work and returned home that evening.
Aunt Chu had already prepared dinner.
Cheng Jingwei opened a bottle of red wine—a rare occasion for him to drink in Jiang Zhier’s presence.
His long, slender fingers turned the glass lightly, the crystal stem catching the light. Elegant and unhurried, his movements made the deep red liquid shimmer like nectar.
Jiang Zhier watched him, her gaze drifting from the man’s lips to the wine. Before she knew it, she blurted out, “Can I have a sip?”
Just like the bitter coffee she’d tried before—she wanted to see what it tasted like.
Cheng Jingwei looked at her, a little taken aback. “What?”
She pointed at his glass. “Can I have a sip?”
“Why do you want to drink it?” he asked.
Jiang Zhier hesitated, then answered honestly, “I want to see if I can get used to it.”
She had a strange thought—if she could learn to enjoy the taste of red wine and coffee, maybe the distance between her and Cheng Jingwei wouldn’t feel so vast.
After a pause, she added guiltily, “Actually, a lot of my classmates drink.”
“Including the boy you like?”
“Huh—what?” Jiang Zhier froze, her eyes widening in panic.
That expression alone was enough of an answer.
Cheng Jingwei recalled Cheng Jiayao’s teasing words after school and frowned slightly. “That boy usually drinks?”
…What boy?
Her heart thudded wildly. “I—I didn’t, I didn’t—” she stammered.
But in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to deny it completely.
There is someone I like.
I just like you.
Fortunately, Cheng Jingwei didn’t press the issue as bluntly as Cheng Jiayao. His tone was calm, steady. “I’m not telling you to avoid love or only focus on studying. I just want you to understand the difference between good and bad people. You’re still young, and sometimes it’s hard to see clearly enough to protect yourself.”
His voice carried the gentle authority of someone older, experienced.
Jiang Zhier lowered her head, quietly chewing on her rice.
“So,” he said after a moment, “this glass of wine can’t be yours yet. Wait until your eighteenth birthday—next summer, after the college entrance exam, right?”
She blinked. “How did you know?”
“You told me your bank card password, didn’t you?” His lips curved. “On that day, I’ll throw you a birthday party—and we’ll serve the best wine to celebrate.”
The girl nodded, but her eyes turned red. She quickly lowered her head so he wouldn’t notice.
Cheng Jingwei saw her mood shift but couldn’t quite grasp why.
Maybe it was just the difference in age—or in the way men and women thought.
He reached out, gently patting her head. “Spring Festival’s coming soon. Are you going back to the Jiang family?”
She froze for a second, then shook her head. “Grandma is gone. I don’t want to go back.”
“Alright.”
“I want to visit Grandma’s grave on New Year’s Day.”
“You should,” he said, “but you might run into your uncle’s family there. I’ll send someone to accompany you.”
She nodded. “Uncle, are you working during the holiday?”
“No.”
“Then you can finally rest.”
He shook his head. “Grandfather’s seriously ill. The hospital needs someone there at night. My eldest brother and I are taking turns.”
Jiang Zhier opened her mouth, not knowing what to say.
Cheng Jingwei stood, wine glass in hand, and walked slowly to the floor-to-ceiling window. As New Year’s Eve approached, lights flickered on across the city. On the giant screen outside the mall, colorful images flashed—prosperity and celebration everywhere.
He had been abroad for years, never home for the New Year. He had almost forgotten what the festival looked like here.
The man’s gaze lowered, his reflection framed in the glass—sharp, composed, unreadable.
People like him had been taught from childhood not to reveal emotion: not to show preference when eating, not to show joy or sadness in company. He used to scoff at that restraint, yet now it was second nature.
After a moment, he took a sip of wine and said quietly, “It’s lively.”
“Mm. On New Year’s Eve, there’ll be fireworks at People’s Square,” Jiang Zhier said softly. “They’re beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Yes. There’s one every year. You’ve never seen it?”
“I haven’t been home for the New Year in many years.”
Jiang Zhier looked at his back. She couldn’t even see his expression, just the sharp outline reflected in the window—but somehow, she could sense the emotion beneath his calm.
Cheng Jingwei seemed different tonight—quieter, gentler than usual.
Jiang Zhier stared at his back for a moment before speaking softly. “When Grandma was alive, every New Year’s Eve we’d decorate the house together. She had beautiful handwriting, so she would write a Spring Festival couplet herself and hang it on the door. Inside, we’d paste the red Fu— ‘good fortune’—and buy flowers. When the fireworks started, the entire sky would light up, and the red Fu would shimmer beautifully in the glow.”
Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, her voice carrying a rare liveliness.
But soon, her tone faded—no matter how bright those memories were, Grandma was gone.
Cheng Jingwei turned around. “How are you planning to spend New Year’s Eve this year?”
“Huh?”
He smiled faintly, patient and warm. “Would you help me decorate the house this year?”
“Of course.” She brightened, smiling. “Will you be home on New Year’s Eve?”
“Yes. My eldest brother is on duty that night, so I’ll come back later.”
From that day on, Jiang Zhier began looking forward to New Year’s Eve.
The night shifts were even more exhausting than regular overtime. Cheng Jingwei’s days and nights were often reversed—sleeping in the morning, waking up in the late afternoon.
Out of courtesy, Jiang Zhier once suggested going with him, saying she could keep him company and catch up on sleep later.
Cheng Jingwei only touched her head and said gently, “The flu’s spreading lately. Don’t go to the hospital. Be careful not to get sick.”
Finally, New Year’s Eve arrived.
Jiang Zhier woke up early, setting her alarm before heading out with Aunt Chu to buy decorations. Together they hung lights, pasted red banners, and transformed the once-muted, gray-toned house into a space warm with color and life.
She also bought sheets of rice paper, dipped her brush into ink, and wrote couplets stroke by stroke. Her handwriting was graceful and firm—everyone who saw it praised her.
Aunt Chu smiled. “Such beautiful handwriting.”
Jiang Zhier smiled back. “Grandma taught me since I was little.”
By the time she finished decorating, the house looked festive and bright. Jiang Zhier exhaled in relief just as Aunt Chu finished dinner. The older woman packed up soon after, heading home to spend the holiday with her family.
That night, Jiang Zhier sat alone at the dining table, watching the lights flicker beyond the window. The fireworks show hadn’t begun yet, but scattered bursts were already blooming in the sky.
She waited quietly. She knew Cheng Jingwei must still be busy at the hospital, so she didn’t call.
When the clock tower music began to play, hundreds of fireworks suddenly shot into the air, their crackling bursts lighting up the night as bright as day. Cascades of light fell from the sky like shooting stars—brilliant, fleeting, and breathtaking.
Jiang Zhier had been dozing off, but the sound startled her awake. She looked at the clock.
It was already ten o’clock.
Cheng Jingwei still hadn’t come back.
Didn’t he say he wasn’t on duty tonight?
Her phone lay before her. She picked it up, turned it over and over in her hands, but couldn’t bring herself to make the call.
Then suddenly—it rang.
—Cheng Jingwei.
Jiang Zhier quickly answered. “Hello, Second Uncle.”
Cheng Jingwei hadn’t expected her to pick up so fast. After a brief pause, his low voice came through. “You’re still awake?”
Waiting for you.
“No,” she said softly, “the fireworks outside were too loud. Did you see them?”
“I did.”
“That’s good.”
Cheng Jingwei’s tone gentled. “Er’er, Happy New Year. Go to bed early.”
His voice was low and soft, like a tender whisper brushing against her ear.
Jiang Zhier lowered her gaze, her heart trembling with a strange warmth. “Second Uncle.”
“Hmm?”
She hesitated, then gathered her courage. “I… I want to wait for you to come back. So, we can celebrate the New Year together.”
Before she could finish, a sudden burst of noise came from the other end—shouting, hurried footsteps, the sharp alarms of hospital machines. Chaos bled through the line, drowning her words as the New Year approached.
Someone called out breathlessly, “Mr. Cheng—!”
That night, on New Year’s Eve, Cheng Huaishan passed away.
He never saw the first dawn of the new year.