Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 23

“Jiang Zhier, tell me—what’s the answer to this question?”
During math class, the teacher tapped the blackboard and called on her to answer.
Jiang Zhier hadn’t yet shaken off her daze. It wasn’t until Shao Xu gently poked her back with the tip of her pen that she came back to herself, hurriedly stood up, and only to realize she didn’t even know which question was being discussed.
The teacher had called on her only because she seemed distracted. But since Jiang Zhier was usually well-behaved and had good grades, the teacher couldn’t bring herself to scold her. She simply asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.” The girl lowered her head. After a long pause, she added softly, “I’m sorry.”
“Sit down. The finals are coming soon—everyone, pay attention in class,” the math teacher said, calling on another student to answer instead.
Shao Xu nudged Jiang Zhier’s back again and slipped her a note.
What’s wrong with you lately? Why do you keep spacing out?
Jiang Zhier didn’t know how to answer.
She couldn’t put her feelings into words, much less explain them to anyone.
All she could do was pour them onto paper, where no one would ever see.
But even there, she didn’t dare write “Cheng Jingwei.” Instead, she wrote the three characters in a grid and covered them one by one. His name had too many strokes—soon it was completely blotted out, unreadable.
When the results of the last mock exam before finals were released, Jiang Zhier’s ranking had dropped by nearly eighty places.
She had spaced out repeatedly during the test, unable to rein in her drifting thoughts.
She had never done this poorly before.
But even now, her mind was filled with Cheng Jingwei. She knew it was wrong—her grades were her own responsibility—but she couldn’t stop thinking of him. She couldn’t even measure up to his level, not academically, not in any way.
Later, she secretly searched for information about Shen Mihai. There was plenty online, along with many photos—an only child born into privilege, poised and confident, having taken part in major international projects. Every photo exuded grace and accomplishment, and her résumé was dazzling.
If Cheng Jingwei were to marry, his wife should indeed be a woman like that.
At the time, Jiang Zhier couldn’t have imagined that one day she herself would become a project leader abroad, with a résumé just as impressive.
But for now, the comparison only deepened her sense of cowardice and inferiority.
That evening, during the last self-study period, Jiang Zhier left the classroom alone.
The campus was unusually noisy, but she didn’t pay attention. She walked quietly toward the deserted playground, found a secluded patch of grass, sat down, then lay back. The gentle sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering soft shadows across her face.
She lifted an arm to shield her eyes, trying to suppress the tide of emotions rising within her when no one was around.
If Cheng Jingwei really was going to get married, she would have to forget him—forget the feelings she had once held so tightly.
But these feelings, which had lasted only a few months, were far more intense than she had ever imagined—
and far harder to bear than any long, rainy season.
Suddenly, a male voice called out, “Er’er?”
She looked up, her eyes still red, and saw a tall figure standing against the sunlight—Cheng Jiayao.
“What are you doing here?”
“Who bullied you?”
They spoke almost in unison.
Jiang Zhier froze, caught off guard. Cheng Jiayao pointed to his eyes, and she quickly turned away, wiping them in a panic.
“You cried?!” he blurted.
“…No.”
Of course, she had. She definitely had.
To Cheng Jiayao, Jiang Zhier was gentle and soft-spoken, but never the type to cry easily.
The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed; he didn’t know what to say.
Afraid he’d press further, Jiang Zhier quickly asked, “Why are you at school today?”
Cheng Jiayao had already graduated after finishing his college entrance exams.
Since Cheng Gan went abroad, he’d more or less understood the real reason behind it. Naturally, he couldn’t hang around Cheng Jingwei as casually as before, and as a result, he hadn’t appeared before Jiang Zhier in a while.
“Graduation ceremony,” he said.
“Oh…” Jiang Zhier blinked. “How did your exams go?”
Cheng Jiayao smiled. “You’re only asking now—half a month later?”
“…”
He shrugged. “So-so.”
Even with a month of last-minute effort, it hadn’t made much difference.
“So, are you going abroad?”
“No. I’ll pick a school here first, then take business management courses on my own later.”
Jiang Zhier nodded.
After all, as a descendant of the Cheng Zhen Group, as long as he didn’t go astray, no one worried about his future.
“Done asking?” Cheng Jiayao tilted his head.
“Ah… yeah.”
“Then it’s my turn.” He crouched down to meet her gaze. “Why were you crying?”
“I wasn’t,” she murmured.
“If you won’t tell me, I’ll ask Second Uncle,” he said lightly, though something in his tone hinted he knew that name would make her react.
Sure enough, she fell silent.
Sitting on the soft grass, arms wrapped around her knees, her cheek resting against them, her whole profile glowed faintly in the sunlight. Her skin was fair, her expression delicate.
Cheng Jiayao resisted the urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
He stared at her quietly, lost in thought—until she suddenly asked,
“Jiayao, what would you do if the person you liked could never like you back?”
“You’re not implying I should give up on you, are you?”
“…”
She hadn’t meant that. After all, Cheng Jiayao’s girlfriends never lasted long.
“You still like me?”
“Yes.” He answered without hesitation.
For a moment, Jiang Zhier both admired and envied how easily he could say it.
“Then if I never like you, will you still like me?”
Cheng Jiayao shrugged. “Who can promise forever? No one knows the future. If you like someone, just like them. Why think so much? We’re still far from being adults.”
That was the difference between them.
They were still young. But Cheng Jingwei—the man she liked—was not. He was already an adult, standing tall in a world of his own.
Jiang Zhier rested her head on her knees, gazing up at the birds weaving through the leaves. “What if the person you like can’t wait for you to grow up? What if they’re already married—with children—before you ever do?”
“…”
Cheng Jiayao fell silent.
At first, he thought she was just trying to tell him to give up on her—she’d said something similar in the hospital.
But the more she spoke, the more wrong something felt.
Before he could ask, Jiang Zhier suddenly realized what she’d said—and panicked.
“I I-I’m going,” she blurted, jumping up to leave.
But Cheng Jiayao caught her wrist.
“Zhier, you—”
She turned back. He was staring at her intently, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed.
“Do you have someone you like?” he asked softly.
She froze.
He should have known. He’d heard her reject other boys before, saying she already liked someone.
But he had never imagined she’d keep that affection for so long.
“No, I just… saw it in a TV show. It’s just the plot,” Jiang Zhier stammered, offering the first excuse that came to mind.
Her heart raced. Without caring if it sounded believable, she pushed his hand away and started walking off.
Cheng Jiayao didn’t stop her.
He just stood there, then suddenly asked—
“The person you like… is it Second Uncle?”
Jiang Zhier froze on the spot.
It felt as if all the bl00d in her body had drained away, leaving her cold from head to toe.
His question had been so sudden, so casual—yet so certain.
She didn’t know how he’d guessed.
In truth, neither did Cheng Jiayao. The thought had simply surfaced, unbidden, as though it had long been waiting inside him.
Perhaps it was because of that memory—seeing Cheng Jingwei tend to Jiang Zhier at the hospital, gentle and protective.
And now, faced with her silence, with that startled, helpless look—he knew.
He was right.
The person Jiang Zhier liked was Cheng Jingwei.
Their Second Uncle.
“Er’er, you—”
“Brother Jiayao,” Jiang Zhier interrupted, her eyes red again. She looked at him through a shimmer of tears. “Don’t… don’t say anymore. Please.”
Her voice trembled as she lowered her head, as though she’d been caught doing something terribly wrong. “I won’t like him anymore. I know… he’s my Second Uncle.”
Just then, her phone rang.
It was Shao Xu.
Jiang Zhier answered and walked quickly away, almost running.
“Er’er, where are you?” Shao Xu asked anxiously.
She sniffed, catching her breath. “The playground. Why?”
“Come back quickly,” Shao Xu said after a pause, her tone uneasy. “The homeroom teacher… she’s already called your Second Uncle. He’s on his way.”
Jiang Zhier froze. “What?”
“Your diary…”
Jiang Zhier broke into a sprint, running as fast as she could toward the teaching building.
The wind outside picked up, scattering petals and leaves through the air.
Panting, Jiang Zhier ran across the courtyard. The gusts stung her eyes, blurring her vision with tears.
She wanted to beg the homeroom teacher—plead before Cheng Jingwei arrived, no matter what.
No matter what, he couldn’t see that diary.
But when she burst through the office door, gasping for breath, the tall man sitting at the desk turned around.
It was already too late.
Cheng Jingwei’s expression was calm. He reached out, drew the trembling girl to his side, and asked quietly,
“You ran here?”
Jiang Zhier swallowed hard, unable to speak.
“Mr. Cheng, the main reason I called you here today is because of Er’er’s grades. Her performance has dropped drastically in the last few exams. Here are her rankings for the past three tests—please take a look.”
Cheng Jingwei took the report card. It wasn’t just one subject—every subject had slipped badly.
In truth, he didn’t particularly care about grades. People in their social class rarely did. What mattered to him was why the decline had happened.
“The college entrance exam is over. This year’s second-year students are essentially entering their final year, and that last year is critical. Er’er has the potential to enter a top university. As her homeroom teacher, I can’t help but worry that she might waste this most crucial stage.”
Cheng Jingwei didn’t necessarily agree, but the fact that the teacher had called him in person was enough to show her genuine concern.
He turned his head slightly to the girl beside him, who sat with her head bowed. His tone softened.
“What’s wrong lately? Did something happen?”
Jiang Zhier’s heart skipped a beat.
She glanced up at her homeroom teacher, her eyes glistening with unshed tears—silently pleading: Please, don’t tell him.
But the teacher didn’t understand.
Or perhaps she did, yet couldn’t imagine that the man the girl had written about so sincerely was the one standing right before them—an elder eleven years her senior.
She only knew that at this age, the thing that most easily swayed a girl’s focus was love—the tender, naive kind that bloomed in youth.
She believed she was doing Jiang Zhier a favor by nipping that love in the bud.
“Mr. Cheng,” the teacher said, “this is Er’er’s diary. I saw it fall from her desk during self-study just now. I skimmed through it—almost every page is about the person she likes.”
With that, she flipped through the pages. The words—once private confessions—flashed under the fluorescent light, every line a secret laid bare.
Presented before Cheng Jingwei, raw and unguarded.
Jiang Zhier instinctively reached out to snatch it back, but her limbs froze.
“This is such a crucial time for her studies,” the teacher said, her voice earnest. “If this affects her learning, she’ll regret it later.”
She turned the diary toward Jiang Zhier. “Zhier, tell me—who is the person you wrote about?”
If it were a boy in class, she would have her moved immediately.
Just then, a gust of wind swept through the open window, rustling the pages until they stopped—
On a page filled with delicate pencil sketches of roses. A real, dried rose was pressed into the corner—its color faded, its petals thinned from being pressed for too long, like a fragile specimen.
And in the center of the page, written carefully stroke by stroke, were the words: He gave me these flowers.
It was from that day long ago—after the fish banquet on the cruise ship, when they’d met the old woman selling roses by the beach. Out of kindness, Cheng Jingwei had bought the bouquet for her.
Jiang Zhier had secretly dried the flowers herself. To avoid him noticing, she would hang them out to dry on the balcony during the day and bring them in at night before he came home—repeating the process for ten days until they were perfectly preserved.
She had only dared to paste one small rose in her diary, hiding the rest deep in a drawer.
Now, those most private thoughts were laid bare.
Her heart pounded violently. She didn’t even have time to think—she just looked up at Cheng Jingwei.
The man’s gaze swept over the rose and the words beside it, his expression unreadable.
At that moment, Jiang Zhier felt like she couldn’t breathe—like she was awaiting judgment.
But Cheng Jingwei merely looked away.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on her head, ruffling her hair with calm composure. With his other hand, he closed the diary.
“Teacher,” he said with a faint smile, “it’s perfectly normal for a girl her age to have a crush. After all, that’s when love first begins to blossom.”
His tone was gentle but firm. “However, I believe every child—no matter how young—has the right to their own privacy and secrets. Even teachers and elders shouldn’t overstep that.”
The teacher was taken aback. She hadn’t expected that response and could only utter a startled “Ah.”
Just then, the bell rang.
The schoolyard outside was filled with noise and laughter.
Cheng Jingwei rose, taking Jiang Zhier’s hand. “Thank you for your concern, Teacher. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure to supervise her studies from now on.”
—
They left the office together.
Back in the classroom, Jiang Zhier quietly packed her schoolbag while Cheng Jingwei waited in the corridor. A few parents passing by recognized him and stopped to exchange polite greetings.
Jiang Zhier kept her head down, shoving books into her bag. Her eyes stung, and she quickly pressed a palm against them, forcing back the tears.
When she finally stepped out, Cheng Jingwei walked over, said goodbye to the others, and gently took her heavy schoolbag from her shoulders.
He didn’t say anything.
Not until they were both seated in the car did he finally speak.
“When are your final exams?”
“Next Wednesday.”
“Soon.”
“Mm.” Jiang Zhier sniffed and murmured, “I’ll do my best on the exam.”
Cheng Jingwei reached over and lightly ruffled her hair. “I was just saying—summer vacation’s coming soon. Is there any country you’d like to travel to?”
Jiang Zhier froze.
She turned to him, her pupils dilating slightly, tears glimmering in her eyes. “You… you don’t want to ask me anything?”
You saw my diary.
You saw the flower I kept.
Shouldn’t you scold me for having feelings I shouldn’t have? For being ridiculous?
“What’s there to ask?” Cheng Jingwei raised an eyebrow. “I told you—it’s normal for someone your age to like someone. No need to make it such a big deal, like it’s some kind of catastrophe.”
Jiang Zhier’s heart thudded painfully.
His words were calm—too calm. She couldn’t tell what he really meant, or how much he had understood.
But sitting beside him like this—after he had seen everything—felt unbearable.
Like standing bare before judgment.
Cheng Jingwei reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of her head, thumb stroking lightly in reassurance.
“Let’s go eat first,” he said softly.
…
The driver steered the Rolls-Royce toward the dinner location.
Jiang Zhier sat silently, gazing out the window as dusk deepened and the streetlights flickered to life.
The restaurant served set meals. After they entered, Cheng Jingwei ordered two and added a juice for Jiang Zhier.
The place was quiet. They spoke little—only occasional questions from Cheng Jingwei about her daily life, or him handing her slices of meat.
Just when Jiang Zhier thought he wouldn’t bring up the diary again, he suddenly set down his knife and fork.
“Are you full?”
The girl nodded.
“Zhier,” Cheng Jingwei’s voice was deep and magnetic. “I didn’t think much of it before, and I didn’t force you to talk about it. But you shouldn’t let a man affect your mood like this.”
Jiang Zhier pressed her lips together.
She couldn’t help but think—then don’t do things that affect my mood.
She opened her mouth, about to speak, when her phone suddenly rang.
It was Xu Zhiyan, calling Cheng Jingwei to say that he had arranged a Texas Hold’em game with Louis and was inviting him to join.
Cheng Jingwei declined calmly. “I still have some things to take care of.”
Jiang Zhier’s fingers tightened around her fork.
“What could be more important than Louis?” Xu Zhiyan joked. “What, another traitor in your company? Louis won’t be in China for long.”
Cheng Jingwei glanced at Jiang Zhier, then smiled. “The little one at home has finally figured some things out. I’m just thinking about how to persuade her to turn back from her misguided ways.”
Xu Zhiyan paused. “…Zhier?”
“Yes.”
“Our little sister has someone she likes? Who is it?”
Cheng Jingwei traced the rim of his plate with a fingertip, his tone light. “She’s still working up the courage to tell him.”
Jiang Zhier: “…”
Cheng Jingwei didn’t continue the call; he hung up quickly and looked back at her.
Although he didn’t approve of the teacher reading her diary, he had inadvertently caught a few fragments of her writing.
That was why he decided to bring it up now.
He had seen Jiang Zhier’s pain—
and he had also seen the passages about “him,” the one who was apparently often with another girl.
Even worse, that “he” had given Jiang Zhier flowers.
So, this wasn’t just a one-sided crush.
That bastard had given her signals.
If it had been one-sided, it would have been fine. Feelings are personal—love or hate, no one else can interfere.
But this situation was clearly something else—someone deliberately tempting his girl.
That, Cheng Jingwei would never allow to continue.
“Tell me,” he said.
“…Huh?”
Leaning back in his chair, Cheng Jingwei lazily turned the plain silver strap of his watch and said in a low voice,
“Who is that beast in the diary?”