Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 13
When Cheng Jingwei finally had a little free time, Jiang Zhi’er’s short winter vacation was also drawing to a close.
Just before the new semester began, Cheng Jingwei’s secretary came to her home.
At first, Jiang Zhi’er didn’t recognize her. The woman in front of her was dressed in a black velvet miniskirt, sheer black stockings, and ankle boots—stylish and striking. Jiang Zhi’er blinked in confusion until the woman smiled.
“Miss Jiang,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t you recognize me?”
Jiang Zhi’er recognized her voice.
In contrast to her professional appearance at work, today the woman looked much softer—earthy and elegant, yet radiantly confident.
“Sister Xu? What brings you here?”
“To take you shopping for some new clothes.”
“…Ah?”
Xu Yin playfully waved the card in her hand. “Mr. Cheng’s orders.”
It was something that should have been done before the New Year, but things had been too busy.
Jiang Zhi’er hesitated, embarrassed. “There’s no need, really. I have enough clothes.”
After spending a few days around her, Xu Yin already understood the girl’s reserved personality—and had grown quite fond of it. She simply slung an arm around Jiang Zhi’er’s shoulders and teased, “Come on. Thanks to your Second Uncle, I got a paid day off today!”
Jiang Zhi’er stumbled slightly into her embrace. A faint, expensive perfume surrounded her, warm and heady, making her cheeks burn.
The mall was Xu Yin’s territory; she knew every brand inside and out.
Having worked part-time as a model in college, she had a sharp eye for fashion and quickly picked out styles that suited Jiang Zhi’er perfectly. Within half an hour, they’d gathered quite a haul.
Then, Xu Yin led her into a lingerie boutique.
“Er’er, what size are you?”
Sixteen was an awkward age for such a question. Jiang Zhi’er blushed. “…A, I think?”
Xu Yin gave her a once-over. “And your underwear size?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve never measured.”
“Then how do you buy them?”
“Online,” Jiang Zhi’er muttered.
Tang Peiwen would never take her to such a store—she had a son and never considered a teenage girl’s growing needs. Jiang Zhi’er had always estimated her size herself and ordered online, too shy to ask in person.
“That won’t do,” Xu Yin said with mock seriousness. “You’re a young woman now—a proper fit is essential.”
She cheerfully pushed the girl toward the fitting area.
Jiang Zhi’er, mortified, allowed herself to be measured—secretly grateful that Cheng Jingwei wasn’t there.
The results: 32B.
“See?” Xu Yin smiled. “Your guess was way off. I didn’t expect you to have such a nice figure, Er’er.”
Jiang Zhi’er’s face turned crimson.
Xu Yin insisted she throw out all her ill-fitting pieces and choose six or seven new ones. Then she paid with Cheng Jingwei’s card.
As they left, Jiang Zhi’er couldn’t help wondering whether the purchase alert on his phone showed itemized details…
“How much did we spend?” she asked cautiously.
Xu Yin waved her off. “Don’t worry. With Mr. Cheng’s card, you could buy the whole mall, and it still wouldn’t max out.”
Jiang Zhi’er smiled weakly.
But afterward, she couldn’t help thinking about what she could give him in return.
That was the problem—Cheng Jingwei was the hardest person to shop for.
He had everything he needed, no hobbies, and no apparent interests to indulge.
By the time school started, she still hadn’t come up with a single idea.
When she asked her classmate Shao Xu, the girl offered a few suggestions—but all of them were things a teenage girl might give a crush, far too childish for her uncle.
Shao Xu asked slyly, “Who’s the gift for?”
“…”
Shao Xu leaned in. “Don’t tell me—it’s for the boy you like?”
Jiang Zhi’er hesitated, then softly said, “…Mm.”
“That’s easy,” Shao Xu grinned. “Just kiss him. If he accepts, congratulations—you’ve given him your heart. If he doesn’t, then there’s no need for a gift anyway.”
“…”
Kissing Cheng Jingwei? She couldn’t even think about it.
Later, Jiang Zhi’er spotted Cheng Jiayao passing by the classroom and hurried to call him over.
Once they were outside, she asked the same question.
Cheng Jiayao raised a brow. “Who’s it for?”
“Second Uncle.”
“Oh? A birthday gift?”
“His birthday’s soon?”
“March 11,” Cheng Jiayao said. “Day before Arbor Day.”
That made sense. A New Year’s gift now would be too late—but a birthday present, that would be perfect.
“So what do you suggest?”
“For someone like him—fine wine, rare teas, antiques, calligraphy, collectibles. You can’t go wrong.”
Jiang Zhi’er found them a little too impersonal, but at least appropriate. Much better than Shao Xu’s idea.
“How much would that cost?”
“No upper limit,” he replied with a grin.
Jiang Zhi’er imagined him asking for a multimillion-yuan race car and shuddered.
Still, she wanted to give the best gift she could afford.
“Do you know where I could make some money?”
“You’re asking me how to make money?” Cheng Jiayao laughed. “I’ll just spot you whatever you need.”
She shook her head quickly.
“Don’t be so polite. Second Uncle gave me a fat red envelope this year.”
She winced. Using Cheng Jingwei’s own money to buy his gift? That would be like borrowing flowers to offer Buddha.
“Fine,” he said. “What can you do? I’ll help you find something.”
“Anything’s fine… maybe washing dishes?”
He almost choked. “Are you trying to get me killed?”
She thought again. “I can play some instruments.”
“That’s more like it! What do you play?”
“Piano… and drums.”
“You play drums?” he asked, stunned.
“…A little.”
She had learned them secretly, out of rebellion.
“Perfect,” Cheng Jiayao said. “Wait for me after class—I’ll take you somewhere.”
That evening, she texted Aunt Chu that she’d eat out and followed him into the city’s bustling Yanjiang Street.
When they stepped into an elegantly decorated bar, Jiang Zhi’er froze.
She had never been to one before, and all her impressions of such places were bad.
“Relax,” Cheng Jiayao said. “This is my turf. No one will bother you.”
Inside, the lighting was soft, the jazz mellow, the atmosphere surprisingly refined.
The band’s drummer had broken his hand skateboarding, so they needed a temporary replacement.
Jiang Zhi’er sat at the drum kit, almost hidden behind it. Everyone doubted her—until the first note.
Then came a fierce, sharp rhythm, perfectly controlled, powerful, and precise. The crowd fell silent, then erupted in cheers.
“Er’er’s amazing!” Cheng Jiayao shouted.
The lead singer grinned. “Everyone, meet our new little drummer—uh—what’s your name?”
“Jiang Zhi’er,” she murmured.
“Jiang Zhi’er!” the crowd echoed, led by Cheng Jiayao.
Her face turned red; she wished she could sink into the floor.
From then on, Jiang Zhi’er went to the bar after school every day, taking a break from her physics lessons.
She always rushed home before Cheng Jingwei returned—until, inevitably, she was found out.
Someone had filmed her performance, posting it online. The video went viral.
Even though her face was half-hidden in the smoke and lights, Cheng Jingwei recognized her immediately.
He watched it twice, then called her.
“Hello, Uncle?” she answered breathlessly.
“Are you home?”
“Not yet… Are you?”
“No,” he said evenly. “I’ll be late tonight.”
She sighed with obvious relief.
“Where are you?”
“Cram school… with my physics teacher…”
“Alright,” he said slowly. “Then study hard.”
Later that night, after her performance ran late, the lead singer invited her for supper.
“You guys go ahead,” she said quickly. “I need to go home.”
“Just this once,” he coaxed. “Ayao can cover for you.”
But Cheng Jiayao’s eyes had drifted to the door—and froze.
He exhaled, voice low. “I heard my Second Uncle just left the company.”
“What?!” Jiang Zhi’er panicked and bolted toward the exit.
She had barely taken two steps when she saw him—Cheng Jingwei—walking in through the door.
Startled, she spun around and crashed right into Cheng Jiayao’s arms.
He nearly burned her with his cigarette.
“What—”
“Second Uncle,” she whispered urgently, “he’s here!”
Cheng Jiayao looked up and met Cheng Jingwei’s calm, unreadable gaze.
The older man approached, parting the crowd. “And who is this?”
“…My girlfriend,” Cheng Jiayao said instinctively, slipping an arm around her waist.
Cheng Jingwei’s eyes lingered on the gesture before he extended his hand.
“Hello,” he said smoothly. “I’m Cheng Jiayao’s Second Uncle—Cheng Jingwei.”
Under normal circumstances, he would never have bothered with such a polite introduction.
But Jiang Zhi’er could tell—he had seen everything clearly.
She lowered her head, cheeks burning, and whispered, barely audible:
“…Second Uncle.”