Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 24

Jiang Zhier had never heard Cheng Jingwei speak in such a tone before.
Even during the internal strife within the company, he had always maintained a calm façade of composure and control.
Maintaining propriety and restraint had been ingrained in them since childhood; concealing emotions was a lifelong discipline. Yet at this moment, Jiang Zhier could faintly sense a trace of suppressed anger beneath his composed expression.
But the “beast” he was questioning was clearly himself.
Jiang Zhier turned her face away, muttering, “Didn’t you just say it’s normal for someone my age to have a crush?”
“If you liked a normal guy, I wouldn’t have mentioned it,” Cheng Jingwei replied.
Jiang Zhier stared at him, momentarily stunned.
Her heart was pounding wildly, almost painfully.
She was terrified of being found out—yet equally afraid he hadn’t realized at all.
Cheng Jingwei leaned closer, and Jiang Zhier felt herself sinking into his deep amber eyes, her breath catching in her throat.
“But that beast hurt you so much,” Cheng Jingwei said. “You shouldn’t give him any more chances.”
The man, dressed in a tailored suit, with sharp, refined features, spoke in the calm tone of an elder offering advice. His cold, decisive manner—untouched by worldly desires—only deepened the sense of taboo and transgression twisting in Jiang Zhier’s chest.
And yet, she couldn’t help but defend him.
“It wasn’t him who hurt me—it was me. I chose to like him.”
Her voice grew softer and softer, her head bowing lower.
“If he had any sense,” Cheng Jingwei said evenly, “he wouldn’t have given you any signals.”
“…What?”
“He shouldn’t have given you flowers.”
Jiang Zhier froze, her eyelashes trembling as she stared blankly at him.
That flower…
That flower, don’t you remember?
It was the one you gave me.
The one I’ve always cherished—it’s never been anyone else. It’s you. Only you.
But Jiang Zhier didn’t say it.
Of course. Of course.
Cheng Jingwei remained perfectly composed. He clearly didn’t realize that the flower mentioned in the diary was the very one he had once given her.
After all, it was just an ordinary red rose. It had taken ten days to dry into a delicate keepsake. Naturally, he wouldn’t recognize it—or perhaps he had long forgotten.
He’d simply bought it from a frail old woman selling flowers by the roadside, out of kindness, and, not knowing what to do with it, had casually handed it to her.
He had so many things to worry about—how could he remember something so trivial?
It was her fault for placing so much meaning in that single rose.
It wasn’t Cheng Jingwei’s fault.
And yet, Jiang Zhier still felt unbearably sad—achingly, helplessly sad.
She wished Cheng Jingwei would just get angry with her—
rebuke her for being foolish, scold her for her absurdity—
anything to bring this hopeless affection to an end.
Her hand, resting under the table, trembled uncontrollably.
The bl00d seemed to drain from her body; each heartbeat felt heavy and dull, tearing faintly at her skin.
She lowered her head, disheveled and trembling, and a tear slipped down unexpectedly.
She tried to suppress her sobs, sniffing back the sound, but it was useless—hot tears fell one after another, unstoppable.
Cheng Jingwei hadn’t expected Jiang Zhier to cry so bitterly.
He considered himself naturally reserved; in nearly thirty years of life, he had never met anyone he truly liked.
So he couldn’t imagine that such a young, naïve emotion could cut this deep.
He had only mentioned it lightly, half-jokingly, intending to comfort her—
to tell her that the person she liked wasn’t worth her affection.
But the sight before him was beyond anything he’d imagined.
Jiang Zhier wasn’t the kind of girl who cried easily.
If she could hold back, she would never cry in front of others—let alone lose control like this.
Cheng Jingwei stood, moved to her side, and gently placed a hand on her back.
“Second Uncle…” Jiang Zhier bent over, covering her eyes with both hands. Her voice broke. “But I really, really like him… I can’t give him up.”
Cheng Jingwei pulled her lightly into his arms.
His movements were gentle; Jiang Zhier didn’t truly lean on him.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “When Er’er grows up a little more, she’ll understand—the world is big, and no one is worth making you this sad. Er’er will have other people she likes in the future.”
Jiang Zhier lifted her tear-streaked face, gazing up at him through shimmering eyes.
As if trying to confirm something, she stubbornly insisted, her voice shaking,
“But I only like him.”
Sixteen-year-old Jiang Zhier was certain—she would only ever like Cheng Jingwei.
She would never meet another man like him.
But the man before her couldn’t hear the conviction in her trembling voice.
He only saw childish infatuation, smiled faintly, and with the calm patience of an elder, patted her head.
“Little girl, be patient. When you’re three years older, you’ll understand—feelings are never fixed.”
Jiang Zhier turned her gaze away.
She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and swallowed the rising ache.
“Mmm.”
She forced a small, defeated sound.
She surrendered—raising the white flag of her purest, most sincere love.
Three years…
But I can’t wait three years.
Three years from now, you might already be married—with children.
If I could wait until then, I’d tell you—my heart hasn’t changed.
But by then, it would all be too late.
Jiang Zhier swallowed down the bitterness of her unrequited love and fell silent.
Cheng Jingwei paid the bill and escorted her back to the car.
They didn’t speak again. Jiang Zhier leaned against the window, closed her eyes, and let the warm summer breeze tousle her hair.
In the days that followed, she forced herself to stay focused, pushing through the final sprint toward her exams.
Every night, she turned off her bedroom light before Cheng Jingwei returned home. Every morning, she arrived at school half an hour early for morning reading.
The final exams soon came.
Jiang Zhier wasn’t sure how she did, but this method of tuning out—not listening, not looking—worked surprisingly well. She could finally focus, and she finished every question she knew how to answer.
The second day of summer vacation was Jiang Zhier’s birthday.
The night before, Cheng Jingwei had asked if she wanted to go anywhere or if there was anything she wanted.
In the past, she would have been thrilled—overjoyed to spend the day alone with him.
But this time, she had made up her mind to let go.
So, she lied and said the school was holding a review session for the final exams.
“What about tonight?” Cheng Jingwei asked.
“I… I already made plans to go out with my classmates.”
It was natural for a young girl to want to celebrate with friends, so Cheng Jingwei didn’t press further.
On Saturday, to avoid suspicion, Jiang Zhier set her alarm for the usual time and left home punctually.
With nowhere to go and no interest in doing anything, she simply wandered the streets aimlessly.
Her legs grew numb from walking when a voice suddenly called out—
“Zhier!”
She stopped, looking around, but saw no one. Then came another shout—she looked up and spotted Cheng Jiayao waving from a window above.
“Wait for me!” he said before disappearing inside.
Moments later, he came running out of the building, a cigarette between his fingers. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing… just wandering around.”
“Wandering alone in this heat?” Cheng Jiayao looked skeptical.
“…”
Jiang Zhier didn’t explain, only took a few steps back, and noticed the KTV sign above him.
“A bunch of us had a graduation dinner,” Cheng Jiayao explained. “We came here after because we were bored.”
“Oh.”
“Have you eaten?”
Jiang Zhier wanted to nod—but her stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. Without a word, Cheng Jiayao said, “Come on, I’ll take you to eat.”
“Weren’t you just at your graduation dinner?” she asked blankly. “It’s fine, I can find something myself.”
“I’ve been wanting to slip away anyway. Perfect timing.”
Knowing she couldn’t talk him out of it—and too tired to argue—Jiang Zhier followed him down the street.
At the restaurant, while waiting for food, Cheng Jiayao poured tea into her cup and asked casually, “Why are you alone? Where’s your second uncle?”
At the mention of “second uncle,” Jiang Zhier’s fingers stiffened.
She thought of the question he’d asked her days ago on the playground—Was the person you liked your second uncle?
Jiang Zhier fiddled with her fingertips, lowered her head, and whispered, “Today’s my birthday. He asked me where I wanted to go… but I’ve decided to stop liking him, so I lied and said I had extra classes today.”
“Today’s your birthday?” Cheng Jiayao blinked.
“Mm.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Without hesitation, Cheng Jiayao pulled out his phone and ordered a cake for delivery. “Make sure it doesn’t have mango filling,” he added quickly.
“There’s no need, really,” Jiang Zhier protested. “You don’t have to.”
“How can you not have cake on your birthday?” he said, ignoring her and hanging up. “It’ll be here soon.”
“There are only two of us—we’ll never finish it. It’s wasteful.”
“It’s your birthday. So, what if it’s wasted?”
“…”
His friend was quick; the cake arrived in less than twenty minutes.
The moment he saw Jiang Zhier, he started teasing Cheng Jiayao relentlessly—until he was promptly kicked and shoved out of the way.
“Don’t listen to his nonsense,” Cheng Jiayao muttered, rubbing his head in embarrassment.
“…Mm.”
He had ordered far too much food, and with the cake, two people couldn’t finish.
Jiang Zhier barely ate.
“Not hungry?”
“Mm.”
He could tell she was in low spirits.
Fortunately, years of being the Cheng family’s eldest young master had made him an expert at finding ways to have fun.
After a moment, Cheng Jiayao leaned forward and grinned.
“Want to do something exciting? The kind that makes you forget all your troubles?”
Jiang Zhier blinked. “What?”
Suddenly, a plan she had never once considered was added to her seventeenth birthday celebration—skydiving.
Normally, she would never have dared. Perhaps her low spirits had numbed her senses, giving her the illusion that she needed to break free, to start anew. She needed to push herself—to truly let go.
Jiang Zhier told herself that when she jumped from 2,800 meters, she would no longer like Cheng Jingwei.
That would be her seventeenth birthday gift to herself.
Cheng Jiayao sped toward the skydiving base by the sea in the neighboring city, flooring the accelerator. Once the sun set, skydiving would no longer be possible.
The sun blazed fiercely.
He handed her a pair of sunglasses from the glove box, but they were too large; her nose couldn’t hold them up, so she gave up trying.
The sunlight stung her eyes until she could barely open them. Tears welled up without her noticing, rolling silently down her cheeks. Jiang Zhier swallowed hard, letting out a barely audible sob.
Cheng Jiayao didn’t look at her, nor did he speak. He simply turned on the car radio and raised the volume to the maximum.
By chance, the host was talking about Faye Wong’s latest concert tour. Then, her song “Dark Surge” began to play.
At that moment, emotion swelled too deeply to contain.
*Let this smoke rise,
my body sink.
How I longed—how I longed—to be close to
your heart and eyes, your mouth
and ears. Yet
we were destined to be apart.
I couldn’t grasp it,
afraid of tragedy repeating itself.
In my destiny,
the more beautiful something is,
the less I can touch it…
There’s no reason for love to exist
without dark surges.
Even if I go again,
what’s the use of cherishing you?
Even if I hold you tight this time,
you might not be disappointed…
I have a premonition of everything—and then I can’t open my eyes
to see fate arrive. *
Jiang Zhier’s eyes blurred with tears as the song played. In that haze, she seemed to see Cheng Jingwei again—
standing at her grandmother’s funeral, shielding her from view, walking up to her, kneeling, and saying softly, “If you’re willing, I can take you away.”
She saw him drape his suit jacket over her rain-soaked shoulders; saw him quietly set up a nightlight by her bed; heard him tell her gently yet firmly that life didn’t have to be a rigid grid—that it could be a playground.
She didn’t need to fear mistakes.
She didn’t have to chase perfection.
She could relax, move forward, and become whoever she wanted to be.
She saw him buy all the flowers from an elderly vendor, worried about her thin clothing.
She saw the New Year’s envelope he’d left her, with the words: “Happy New Year, Er’er.”
She saw the painting he’d given her mother—a lotus, her favorite flower.
She saw him, again and again, supporting her.
So—how could she possibly let him go?
The music was so loud it nearly shattered her eardrums, drowning out the girl’s sobs completely.
Jiang Zhier reclined her seat, perched the oversized sunglasses on her face, and shaded her forehead with the back of her hand.
On this journey—meant to mark her decision to let go of Cheng Jingwei—she found herself once again swept away by emotion.
By sunset, Cheng Jiayao finally arrived at the seaside skydiving base.
He clearly wasn’t a beginner; he walked with confidence, even jogging ahead.
It wasn’t until Jiang Zhier saw the waiver handed to her by the staff that she realized how dangerous the sport truly was—something her family would never have allowed her to attempt, especially Cheng Jingwei.
And because she was still a minor, Cheng Jiayao had to sign an additional guardian’s consent form.
“Wait a second.” Jiang Zhier grabbed Cheng Jiayao’s wrist. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just… worried something might happen. Your parents will be worried too.”
“Then don’t tell them,” Cheng Jiayao said, pushing her gently forward. “Don’t worry. I’ve jumped twice already—it’s so much fun, and it really relieves stress.”
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Jiang Zhier looked at the helicopter parked on the lawn. Its rotors spun wildly, whipping up clouds of dust and grass.
She really did want to try it.
“Come on, just sign it,” Cheng Jiayao urged.
Jiang Zhier gripped the pen tightly, lowered her head, and signed her name in silence.
When the staff led them out to the lawn, the noise of the helicopter was deafening. The air currents whipped violently, tossing her clothes and hair until she tied her hair back into a ponytail.
“Let’s go,” Cheng Jiayao said.
They boarded the helicopter together.
As they sat down, Cheng Jiayao asked, “Are you nervous?”
Just then, Jiang Zhier’s phone vibrated.
The name Cheng Jingwei flashed across the screen. She looked at it for a second, then turned the screen off.
“Not nervous,” she said quietly.
Cheng Jiayao smiled. “You know, Er’er—you kind of look like a cold-blooded assassin right now.”
The skydiving instructor explained the safety precautions. As the helicopter rose higher and higher, the air grew colder, and Jiang Zhier finally began to feel a twinge of fear.
From above, she could see the entire stretch of turquoise coastline—the winding road, the trees lining the shore, the white foam of the surf. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Cheng Jiayao asked.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Er’er, look—the world is so big.”
Jiang Zhier paused, then pursed her lips.
Yes, the world was so big. She shouldn’t confine herself to one corner. That wasn’t the person she wanted to be.
The helicopter soon reached 2,500 meters. Amid the roaring wind, Cheng Jiayao lowered his goggles and—demonstrating first—jumped.
Sitting on the edge of the cabin with his instructor, he looked utterly at ease. Cheng Jiayao truly believed that skydiving let you experience the vastness of creation—and once you’d tried it, you’d be hooked.
This was the cake Cheng Jingwei had prepared for her.
Jiang Zhier’s fingertips trembled slightly.
At that moment, the car radio began playing Faye Wong’s “Dark Surge” again—on repeat.
Jiang Zhier reached out and switched the station.
Cheng Jiayao glanced at her.
The music cut off, replaced by a financial news channel, the anchor’s voice rigid and serious.
Jiang Zhier still stared at the text message on her phone, unable to reply for a long time. She didn’t want to give herself any more hope or possibilities, yet she couldn’t bring herself to defeat the turmoil inside.
Then, the voice on the radio continued—
Recently, Cheng Jingwei, head of Chengzhen Group, has been seen in close contact with Shen Mihai, the only daughter of Jingshen International Capital. The two companies signed a partnership agreement yesterday. According to insiders, Cheng Jingwei and Shen Mihai are reportedly discussing marriage. If the two families unite, it will further strengthen their cooperation—”
Before the broadcast could finish, Cheng Jiayao quickly switched it off.
Jiang Zhier quietly reopened her phone. The last line of the report echoed faintly in her mind:
“This is excellent news for shareholders; both companies’ stock prices are currently rising.”
Silence filled the car for several seconds.
Finally, Cheng Jiayao spoke. “Zhier…”
“Brother Jiayao,” Jiang Zhier interrupted softly, “did you already know about this?”
She was far calmer than he’d expected.
Cheng Jiayao shook his head. “It’s definitely fabricated. You know how the media are—they’ll turn any business cooperation with a woman into a marriage rumor.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Jiang Zhier said quietly. “Whether it’s true or not—it doesn’t matter.”
Anyway, it no longer had anything to do with her.
Marriage, or farce—either way, it was no longer her concern.
Lowering her head, Jiang Zhier finally replied to Cheng Jingwei’s message.
Second Uncle, I’m staying at a classmate’s house tonight. I won’t be coming back.
After sending it, she gripped her phone tightly and took a deep breath.
“Brother Jiayao.”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t want to live there for now. Do you know where I could rent a place?”
“Rent a place?” Cheng Jiayao looked surprised.
Jiang Zhier lowered her head and said softly, “I want to be alone. I don’t want to be his so-called burden anymore. I want to try being independent.”
“Second Uncle won’t agree.”
“Then don’t tell him.”
Cheng Jiayao was silent for a moment before replying, “You’re still a minor. If you don’t want him to know, renting a place isn’t possible.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Stay at a hotel—just not one owned by the group. I’ll contact a friend to arrange it for you. It should keep things quiet for a while.”
Jiang Zhier leaned back in her seat, watching the city lights flicker past the window. She gave a soft hum in response. “Thank you, Brother Jiayao.”
She told herself to have a little dignity.
Even if you like someone deeply, you must still have dignity.
But she still couldn’t understand—
Why does liking someone hurt so much?
And why, even though she had never truly been with Cheng Jingwei, did it already feel as if she had lost him a thousand times?