Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 2

As he finished speaking, an eerie, subtle silence fell around them — even the sound of the reporters’ cameras came to a halt.

Jiang Zhier had always shunned the spotlight.
But at this moment, it seemed as if the whole world was waiting for her answer — to agree or to refuse.

Even though she didn’t understand why the man before her had said such a thing, she really didn’t want to stay there any longer.

“Okay,” she replied softly.

When she stood up, the man gently supported her arm, then quickly let go. Silently, he tilted the black straight-bone umbrella toward her, shielding her from the biting winter rain.

When they reached the car, Jiang Guilai hesitated before asking in confusion, “Mr. Cheng, what are you doing?”

“Before the old lady passed away, she called me from across the ocean and asked me to take care of the only granddaughter she couldn’t bear to leave behind.”

The old man was dying, yet he hadn’t thought to entrust his granddaughter to his eldest son. Instead, he reached out to an outsider — someone with no bl00d ties at all. It spoke volumes about how harsh this uncle had been in daily life.

Jiang Guilai’s face twisted into a wry smile as he said politely, “The child is still young. Why trouble yourself, Mr. Cheng?”

“Since I’ve agreed,” Cheng Jingwei replied, “I’ll do my best to let the old lady rest easy in the afterlife.”

With that, he leaned over and opened the car door for Jiang Zhier.

As he approached, Jiang Zhier caught a faint, clean scent from him — a blend of pine needles and sandalwood steeped in mist.

The Rolls-Royce merged into the congested evening traffic.
The man spoke softly to his assistant in the front seat. “Make sure to handle the reporters’ coverage. Don’t let the old lady’s funeral overshadow the main event.”

Sitting beside him, Jiang Zhier lowered her head and absentmindedly fiddled with her fingers.

After he hung up, she asked quietly, “Do you know my grandmother?”

“Yes.”
The man turned slightly toward her. Seeing raindrops sliding down her hair and her red, frozen hands, he took off his suit jacket and laid it across her lap, then silently turned up the heater.

The rich, woody scent of his jacket deepened, bringing with it a quiet sense of peace.

“…Thank you.”

The man’s calm, overly polite manner left her feeling strangely uneasy.

“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Jiang Zhier.”
“Jiang Zhier…” he repeated softly. “I’ve only ever heard your grandmother call you Er’er.”

Er’er.

Jiang Zhier’s tear glands, numbed by the long, exhausting funeral, suddenly stirred. She turned sharply to look out the window, eyes widening as she fought desperately to hold back the tears and bitterness.

Her head was turned away from him,
but Cheng Jingwei could still see her clearly through the reflection in the car window.

The bright red lights from the congested road washed over her profile, deepening the color at the corners of her eyes. Her teeth bit down on her plump, rosy lower lip.

She tried so hard to hide her tears — and yet that very effort made them stand out even more.
They became a rare glimpse of sincerity and raw emotion on this rainy night.

Cheng Jingwei offered no comfort, nor did he interrupt.
The sixteen-year-old girl clearly didn’t want anyone to see her cry — so he pretended not to notice.

After a while, Jiang Zhier wiped her eyes and turned back, her voice still trembling.
“Mr. Cheng, please just drop me off by the roadside. Thank you.”

She addressed him awkwardly as “Mr. Cheng,” not “Second Uncle.”
She had no intention of clinging to him or seeking his favor.

Cheng Jingwei raised an eyebrow, realizing her misunderstanding. Patiently, he explained, “When I said I’d take you away, I didn’t just mean from the hotel. If you’re willing, I’ll take responsibility for your upbringing. You don’t have to go back to your uncle’s house — or be bullied by your cousin.”

In just a few minutes, Cheng Jingwei had understood the girl’s situation — and the reason the old lady had called him.

Jiang Zhier froze, confused.
“Why?”

“I told you,” he said casually. “Because I owe your grandmother a debt of gratitude.”

Jiang Zhier fell silent.

She had no real attachment to her uncle’s home, yet everything was happening so suddenly.

Cheng Jingwei didn’t press her for an answer. He simply said, “As long as you’re willing, Er’er.”

At that, Jiang Zhier suddenly looked up, meeting his deep, steady gaze.

It was their first meeting, yet she didn’t feel any strangeness — nor did she doubt his intentions.
Perhaps it was because he had known her grandmother, or perhaps because he carried himself with a quiet nobility and gentleness.

As she met his eyes, her heart began to beat inexplicably faster.

At that moment, a cell phone rang.

The assistant in the passenger seat handed it to him.
“Mr. Cheng, it’s a merger and acquisition call from SAC International.”

Cheng Jingwei didn’t answer right away — he was waiting for the girl’s response.

A twenty-seven-year-old man and a sixteen-year-old girl sat side by side — one in an impeccably tailored suit, the other in a puffy down jacket. Their brows were calm and composed, yet both pairs of eyes were rimmed with red.

Every passing second felt thick and heavy, weighed down by the vast distance between them.

Jiang Zhier couldn’t speak.
His presence was simply too overwhelming.

After a moment, Cheng Jingwei said quietly, “Go to the Jiang residence.”

He didn’t press her further.

Then, answering the call, he spoke a low “Hallo” in German — his voice deep and steady, his pronunciation clear and elegant.

He had lived and worked abroad for many years and was fluent in multiple languages. At that moment, his composed brilliance only seemed to widen the gulf of age and experience between them.

The Rolls-Royce turned onto the overpass, speeding through the torrential rain.

Half an hour later, it came to a smooth stop at the entrance of the Jiang residence.

Cheng Jingwei handed her the umbrella. “Don’t get wet.”

“Thank you.”

Before she got out, he passed her a business card. “If you need anything, contact me.”

Jiang Zhier turned the doorknob. The shoes lined neatly in the hallway told her that her uncle and aunt had already returned.

Before she could turn around, they hurried out to meet her.

“Er’er? Why are you back?”

“Where’s Mr. Cheng? Did he send you home, or…?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly.

Tang Peiwen quickly opened the door and peeked outside, just in time to see the car disappearing down the street. She said angrily, “Oh, why didn’t you invite Mr. Cheng in for a seat?”

Her uncle pulled her aside. “Why did Mr. Cheng send you back? Did he say anything?”

“I wanted to come back on my own. He didn’t say anything.”
Seeing the two still full of questions, Jiang Zhier said, “Uncle, Aunt, I’m a little tired. I’ll go rest upstairs.”

Then she hurried up the stairs.

Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and let out a long sigh.

Only then did she notice the man’s suit jacket still draped over her shoulders — she had forgotten to return it.

Jiang Zhier clutched the business card tightly in her hand, silently deciding she would return it when she got the chance.

She took a hot bath, the steam making her drowsy.

For several days she had kept vigil beside her grandmother’s eternal lamp, dozing only briefly during the day. Exhausted, she fell asleep almost instantly.

Unexpectedly, she saw her grandmother again in her dream.

When she was little, her uncle and aunt had planned to take a family photo.

Jiang Chen had refused to let her join, and while she was fast asleep, he’d dug up a bottle of cement from a nearby construction site and poured it onto her hair.

By the time she woke up, the cement had hardened — thick, tangled clumps that couldn’t be undone.

Everyone knew who had done it,
but Jiang Chen refused to admit it.

Tang Peiwen had tried to smooth things over, saying she would take Er’er to get her hair cut that afternoon and have it treated.

But even if she did, it would have to be cut short — like a boy.

In the end, neither she nor her grandmother appeared in the family photo.

That day, the old lady washed her hair herself, then took out an antique comb, dipped it in vinegar, and spent hours patiently untangling it — strand by strand.

From then on, her grandmother would often comb her hair that way — a small ritual that brought quiet joy to them both.

The comb had finer teeth than ordinary ones. Grandma used to say it made her hair darker and smoother, and perhaps that was why her hair had always been so beautiful.

Then, the dream shifted.

A Chinese courtyard appeared before her, sunlight filtering through layers of fallen bamboo leaves, scattering dappled shadows across the ground.

Her grandmother sat beneath the pavilion and waved to her.
“Come, Er’er.”

At that moment, a man’s deep voice echoed faintly in her mind —
“I’ve only ever heard your grandmother call you Er’er.”

Startled, Jiang Zhier regained consciousness. It had only been a dream.

Grandma was gone.
She would never call her Er’er again.

Tears streamed down her face as she stepped closer to the old woman, letting her comb her hair one last time.
She didn’t dare cry out loud — afraid to disturb the imaginary grandmother before her, or perhaps even to wake herself.

She didn’t want to wake up.

But eventually she did, her pillow soaked with tears.

The room was pitch dark.

Having lived under someone else’s roof for so long, Jiang Zhier had grown used to a dull, restrained quietness. Or maybe she was simply too young to truly understand life and death — she still imagined that when she awoke, her grandmother’s voice would call out to her.

Until now.

All that numbness shattered, and her buried emotions surged up uncontrollably. She lay on the bed, choking on her sobs.

It was a long time before she got up to wash her face.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, the hallway light was still on.
It was already 11 p.m.

She opened her door slightly.

The second-floor hallway was dark, lit only by the glow from the living room below.

Her uncle and aunt were sitting on the sofa, deep in conversation.

Jiang Zhier was about to close the door when she suddenly heard her own name.

She froze.

“What do you mean by Mr. Cheng taking Zhier away? Is it really just because of your mother?”

“Don’t try to guess his motives. If you could, he wouldn’t be the man he is. It’s better to think about other possibilities.”

“Didn’t you say Mr. Shi from Zhenteng Group invited Zhier to a banquet?”

“Yes. Mr. Shi is married, but fortunately has no children. If he’s really interested in Zhier, he’d make a good candidate.”

“Besides, Mr. Shi’s mother was a pianist in the Capital Symphony Orchestra when she was young. At least the money we spent on Zhier’s piano lessons won’t go to waste.”

Jiang Guilai understood clearly.

The Jiang family’s fortune came from the grandfather. He had loved collecting antiques, coins, and famous calligraphy and paintings, and eventually founded Jiangshi Expo Company. His wife, a master calligrapher, had met him at an art exhibition. They later had two sons: the elder, Jiang Guilai, and the younger, Jiang Zhansheng.

Jiang Zhansheng had inherited his father’s interest in relics and later married Shu Yu, a painter of some renown. With their efforts, Jiangshi Expo prospered, and Shu Yu became a rising star in the art world.

Tragically, that success collapsed with their deaths in a car accident.
The company’s glory had been superficial — its foundation, a fragile illusion.

Something was needed to push it forward again.

Cheng Jingwei was beyond their reach, but Mr. Shi of Zhenteng Group was a realistic and profitable connection.

Jiang Zhier’s eyes widened; her fingers trembled.

Though she’d long been aware of her position in the household, she hadn’t expected her uncle and aunt to consider offering her to a divorced man.

Even Jiang Chen and his vile, malicious friends had only used her and Cheng Jiayao for amusement.

The sins of the adult world were always far more terrible.

Jiang Zhier clenched her fists, forcing herself to calm down.

She could never follow that path.
She was only sixteen — and she refused to be trapped here.

Her eyes, now red, drifted toward the business card on her bedside table.

Outside, the rain still fell, thunder rumbling in the distance.

At last, Jiang Zhier picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.

The ringing went on for a long time.

Just as she thought the call wouldn’t go through, a deep male voice answered on the other end.

“Hello. Who is this?”