Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 25

Cheng Jingwei didn’t know which dessert brands girls liked.
Although his birthday banquets were always organized by others—lavish, extravagant events filled with celebrities and multi-tiered cakes crafted by top pastry chefs—Cheng Jingwei himself didn’t like sweets. He had never even eaten his own birthday cake.
The day before, he ran into Xu Yin in the elevator and casually asked which cake shop she would recommend.
Recently, the group had been working closely with Jingshen International Capital, and there was a three-way meeting and dinner scheduled that evening. Xu Yin raised an eyebrow. “Is it for Miss Shen? I know a good French patisserie.”
Cheng Jingwei denied it lightly, then smiled. “Tomorrow’s Er’er’s birthday.”
“Then order from Black Swan,” Xu Yin suggested. “Their cakes are beautiful and delicious—perfect for a girl her age. When’s the party? Tomorrow afternoon? I can order it for you.”
“Send me the shop’s number. I’ll handle it myself.”
Xu Yin hesitated for a moment before replying, “Alright.”
The next evening, Cheng Jingwei left work on time.
He could have had the cake delivered, but since Jiang Zhier was having dinner with her classmates, he wasn’t in a rush. So, he went to pick it up himself.
He rarely drove during rush hour. Usually, his driver took the wheel while he worked in the back seat. It had been a long time since he’d navigated such congested streets on his own.
Heading west, the blinding sunset made him squint.
While waiting at a red light, he received a message from Shen Mihai asking if he was free for dinner.
Cheng Jingwei declined.
Setting his phone aside, he glanced at the cake on the passenger seat, checking that it hadn’t been damaged.
He hadn’t told Aunt Chu that Jiang Zhier wouldn’t be home for dinner—or that he would be coming back early.
So, when he entered the house, Aunt Chu was still sitting on the sofa watching TV. Normally relaxed around Er’er, she immediately straightened up at the sight of him, fumbling for the remote control.
Cheng Jingwei, carrying the cake, changed his shoes and said mildly, “It’s fine. Leave it.”
“Mr. Cheng, why are you back so early today? Er’er hasn’t come home yet.”
“She’s not coming back for dinner.”
Aunt Chu made a soft sound of surprise, glancing toward the table already set with dishes specially made for Jiang Zhier’s taste. “Then what would you like to eat, Mr. Cheng? Chinese or Western? I can prepare something right away.”
“No need,” Cheng Jingwei replied.
He handed the cake to Aunt Chu. “Put this in the refrigerator.”
He seldom came home in time for dinner. Usually, he ate a simple meal at the company cafeteria, attended business dinners, or simply skipped meals when work piled up.
On the rare days he did return to eat with Jiang Zhier, Aunt Chu would naturally prepare a table full of dishes to his liking.
Tonight, however, the table was filled with simple, home-style food—ordinary dishes without elaborate plating or calculated nutrition, yet full of warmth and life.
And at the front sat a plate of desserts.
Noticing his gaze, Aunt Chu smiled. “These are taro and glutinous rice cakes, and taro and osmanthus glutinous rice balls.”
“She likes these?” Cheng Jingwei asked.
“Er’er once told me that when her grandmother was alive, they would make taro cakes together using the taro from their own yard,” Aunt Chu said. “I happened to see some early-ripened red taro today and thought I’d try making them for her.”
“Then keep them for her. She can have them when she gets back.”
“It’s fine, I made plenty. There’s still some in the steamer,” Aunt Chu said cheerfully. “Why don’t you try one, Mr. Cheng? Er’er’s afraid of gaining weight, so I used less sugar and dusted them with skim milk powder instead.”
Cheng Jingwei picked one up and chuckled. “She’s afraid of gaining weight?”
With barely any flesh on her, she could be blown away by a strong breeze.
Aunt Chu laughed. “Young girls at that age—they all care about appearances.”
The glutinous rice cake was pleasantly soft, with a rich milky aroma. The taro filling was smooth, almost melting on the tongue—delicious, though still a bit too sweet for Cheng Jingwei’s taste.
He made himself a cup of coffee to balance out the sweetness.
Although he had told Aunt Chu she could keep watching TV, she had already changed the channel—from a family drama to a financial news station.
Cheng Jingwei took his coffee back to the dining table.
Only the living and dining rooms were lit; the rest of the spacious home was dark and silent. From the kitchen came the faint clinking of dishes, and from the television, a cold, mechanical voice reading the news.
That was the atmosphere of most of his twenty-eight years.
Yet tonight, something felt off—too quiet.
And these simple, home-cooked dishes filled with warmth—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat before something like this.
He suddenly thought of the past. Among the three brothers, Cheng Gan didn’t like sweets, but he and Cheng Yishi did. Still, their nutritionist had tightly controlled their sugar intake since childhood, making sweets a rare luxury.
When Cheng Yishi was in elementary school, he would secretly trade expensive things from home for candy at school and sneak them back to share with Cheng Jingwei.
Later, after everything that happened, Cheng Jingwei couldn’t even remember when he stopped liking sweets—when he started preferring the bitterness of coffee and alcohol instead.
Now, he recalled Jiang Zhier’s first time tasting hand-drip coffee.
Her brows had furrowed as she forced herself to swallow the bitter mouthful, her throat moving visibly before she stuck out her tongue in reflex.
She couldn’t understand why anyone liked something so bitter. But she believed that growing up meant learning to drink bitter coffee—so she held her breath and took another sip, as if swallowing her way into adulthood.
He didn’t know when it began, but deep down, Cheng Jingwei had stopped wanting her to grow up so quickly.
No matter the class or background, growing up only meant more worries, more bitterness, more things that numbed the heart—until people learned to accept coffee and liquor as part of life.
If he could, he wished she could live under his protection forever—safe, untroubled, and untouched by all that.
He sat alone in the large, empty living room, finishing the dinner that had been prepared for her.
Outside, it was already dark.
Jiang Zhier hadn’t sent him a single message all day.
Before, whenever she was delayed, she would always text him first.
Cheng Jingwei picked up his phone and sent her a message asking when she would be home.
Then, he took the cake from the refrigerator and snapped a photo—
and sent it to her.
He couldn’t quite explain why he did it; it wasn’t like his usual concise, businesslike communication style.
At that moment, the latest financial news began broadcasting on television. Cheng Jingwei turned his head when he heard his own name.
—According to sources, Cheng Jingwei and Shen Mihai were discussing marriage.
The report was accompanied by candid footage of the two dining together. Though the shots were supposedly spontaneous, they were clear enough.
Cheng Jingwei’s brow furrowed slightly.
It hadn’t been just the two of them that day—someone had stepped out to answer a call, someone else to use the restroom—yet the media had conveniently caught that one moment.
More importantly, Chengzhen Group spent a fortune every year maintaining its relationships with major media outlets. Such gossip wouldn’t have aired without the company being informed in advance.
His phone rang repeatedly—Xu Yin and Shen Mihai were both calling.
Cheng Jingwei answered Shen Mihai’s call.
He stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his broad shoulders and narrow waist outlined sharply against the city lights. Even at rest, he radiated the controlled power of a man standing on the edge of a storm.
“Miss Shen.”
Shen Mihai’s voice came, light and composed. “Have you eaten?”
“I thought Miss Shen was calling to explain something,” Cheng Jingwei replied evenly.
Shen Mihai laughed softly. He was as sharp as she’d expected—perhaps too sharp.
“Chengzhen Group is preparing to launch the North Economic Development Zone project, and Jingshen International is shifting its focus back to the domestic market,” she said. “I think this kind of news benefits both sides.”
“I don’t think manipulating short-term stock prices with marriage rumors is beneficial,” he replied coldly.
Shen Mihai smiled. “Awei, I never said this was just a rumor.”
Cheng Jingwei frowned, patience thinning. He loosened his tie and was about to speak when Shen Mihai continued, “I’m downstairs at your place. Give me ten minutes, and I’m confident I can change your mind.”
When Cheng Jingwei went downstairs, a message from Jiang Zhier appeared on his phone—
“Second Uncle, I’m staying at my classmate’s house tonight. I’m not going back.”
He paused.
The elevator doors opened. Only after a long beat did he step out and dial the driver assigned to Jiang Zhier.
“Where is she?” he asked.
For reasons he couldn’t articulate, the girl’s sudden distance and self-reliance left him uneasy, as if something precious were slipping quietly away.
But the driver’s reply caught him off guard—he hadn’t seen Jiang Zhier all day.
“She said the school was holding a review session for the final exams,” the driver added.
Yet she hadn’t gone to school at all.
At first, he’d wondered why a school would hold review sessions during summer vacation—but since the message came from Jiang Zhier, he hadn’t questioned it further.
The night was deep, stars faint.
By the fountain, a shell-pink Bugatti gleamed faintly under the lights. Shen Mihai noticed him approaching and stepped out of the car.
“Awei.”
Beside her sat a neatly dressed woman with short hair and a refined air. Shen Mihai turned slightly toward her.
“Let me introduce you—Fang Song, my girlfriend.”
Cheng Jingwei raised an eyebrow.
Women like Shen Mihai often called their close female friends “girlfriends,” but the relationship between these two was clearly more than that.
He had lived abroad for years—nothing surprised him anymore—but he hadn’t expected this.
And suddenly, her confidence on the phone made perfect sense.
So did Xu Zhiyan’s strange insistence on matching them, paired with that cryptic “It’s a secret.”
He should have realized sooner.
Seeing his understanding, Shen Mihai laughed and rested her hand lightly on the car roof. “Don’t blame Zhiyan. I told him not to tell you yet.”
Cheng Jingwei’s expression remained unreadable.
“My father has an illegitimate son he’s never publicly acknowledged,” Shen Mihai said matter-of-factly. “Until I secure the inheritance, I can’t let him know about my relationship. Marrying you makes me the Shen family’s sole heir.”
She stomped her high heels playfully, her tone half-coquettish. “Awei, help me, please?”
To avoid her hand, Cheng Jingwei lowered his gaze, took out a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled slowly.
Amid the drifting smoke, his voice was calm. “I’m not a philanthropist.”
“I know you’re not,” Shen Mihai replied smoothly. “But I also know you’re a businessman who hates trouble.”
She stepped closer. “Jingshen Capital can help you expand overseas. I can be your wife—one who gives you freedom, not chains. You won’t find another woman who can offer that. And you are a very charming man.”
Her smile was curved, practiced, and flawless. “Most women would want to keep you under lock and key. I won’t. I won’t interfere in your personal life—or with your… women. Not that I think you’re that sort of man.”
Cheng Jingwei flicked the ash from his cigarette, face impassive.
“We can sign a prenuptial agreement. Separate assets, separate interests. After marriage, we can have two children—one surnamed Cheng, one Shen. To the public, our marriage will look happy and stable. Both Chengzhen Group and Jingshen Capital will flourish.”
He had to admit—her offer was perfectly calculated.
If he was destined to marry, destined to shoulder that duty, then perhaps Shen Mihai really was the ideal partner.
At their level, “happiness” was a luxury. Most marriages were alliances of power—carefully constructed facades. Even the illusion of contentment was hard to come by.
Meanwhile, Cheng Jiayao drove Jiang Zhier to Fengyao Hotel on Xijiang Road—far from Cheng Jingwei’s apartment in the east of the city.
Next to the hotel was a small convenience store. Jiang Zhier bought a few daily necessities, clearly planning to stay for a while.
“How long are you planning to stay here?” Cheng Jiayao asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Your second uncle might not find this place right away, but if he really wanted to, it wouldn’t take him long.”
“He’ll probably be busy,” Jiang Zhier said quietly.
Cheng Jiayao wasn’t sure what to believe. In their world, sudden marriages weren’t unusual. Unsure what to say, he simply led her upstairs.
The suite was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a quiet lake—peaceful and detached from the world.
Jiang Zhier boiled water in a new kettle, thinking about how she’d study alone this summer. Next year she’d take the college entrance exam, and maybe afterward she’d go to university in another city.
Just like Cheng Jingwei once said—she would meet more people, fall in love, and everything would be fine.
Cheng Jiayao helped her arrange the heavy bags.
When the water boiled again, Jiang Zhier asked, “Are you thirsty? I’ll pour you some.”
“No.”
She was earnest, treating him purely as a classmate and brother figure. But Cheng Jiayao, older and more self-aware, couldn’t ignore how strange this situation looked.
If her second uncle found out, she’d be fine—but he’d be the one in trouble.
He scratched his head awkwardly. “Then I’ll head back.”
“Okay.”
She walked him to the door, thanking him earnestly. “Thank you so much for today, Brother Jiayao.”
He waved, smiling faintly. But before he could leave, his phone rang.
He glanced down—and froze.
“Second Uncle,” he mouthed silently.
Jiang Zhier stiffened.
Cheng Jiayao answered the call. “Second Uncle.”
“Did you see Er’er today?”
Years of experience helped him lie smoothly. “Er’er? No, why?”
“She said she’s celebrating her birthday with classmates, but I can’t reach her.” The faint metallic sound of a lighter clicked on at the other end. “Do you know any of her classmates?”
Jiang Zhier looked down—her phone had died.
He must have tried calling after reading her message.
She shook her head gently at Cheng Jiayao.
He swallowed, steadying his voice. “I don’t know them. I’m not in her grade, and I don’t have their contacts.”
There was a pause, then Cheng Jingwei hung up.
After he left, Jiang Zhier plugged in her phone. Two missed calls.
She hesitated about calling back—until another push notification appeared.
Breaking news: Cheng Jingwei and Shen Mihai are rumored to be engaged.
The marriage between the heirs of two top-tier conglomerates instantly went viral.
“This feels straight out of a novel!”
“So there are handsome CEOs like this in real life?”
“They’re a perfect match!”
“Can I still be reborn in time?”
Jiang Zhier quickly exited the app.
Yes—everyone could see how perfect they looked together.
Same background. Same age. Same world.
If it were her, everyone would probably find it strange and ridiculous.
Jiang Zhier pressed her lips tightly together.
She told herself not to shed another tear for Cheng Jingwei.
But a sour ache welled up in her nose, and she couldn’t hold it back. She could only close her eyes and ears, refusing to see or hear anything. She replied briefly to Cheng Jingwei’s message—just to let him know she was safe—then turned off her phone again.
This was the first time Jiang Zhier had spent the night outside since Cheng Jingwei had brought her home.
After receiving Jiang Zhier’s message confirming she was safe, Cheng Jingwei didn’t think much of it. He didn’t expect that she still wouldn’t come home for days.
Given Jiang Zhier’s personality, this was completely unlike her.
And for people of their social standing, the first reaction to such an abnormal situation wasn’t that the young girl was being emotional—it was concern for her personal safety.
That worry reached its peak when Xu Yin reported that Fang Hongzhi’s final verdict had been handed down.
“Where are Fang Hongzhi’s daughter and grandson now?”
“Still in China.”
Cheng Jingwei frowned. Fang Hongzhi’s daughter had long been spoiled and wouldn’t cause trouble—but those with shoes fear those without.
If she harbored malicious intentions, Jiang Zhier would be the most likely target.
He shouldn’t have let her stay out alone for so many days.
Not a single phone or video call during that time; text messages often came hours late. He hadn’t truly seen Jiang Zhier for days.
Cheng Jingwei dialed her number again, but there was still no answer.
Something was definitely wrong.
On the TV screen, a local emergency notice scrolled by: Red Typhoon Warning: “Shanshen” is approaching the city. Citizens are advised not to go out tonight unless necessary. Avoid wading through floodwaters to prevent accidents.
The storm warning deepened the gloom in his heart. Outside the French windows, dark clouds had gathered—an ominous, oppressive sky.
A sudden, indescribable fear surged within Cheng Jingwei. He hadn’t felt this way in years.
He was afraid that his negligence had put Jiang Zhier in danger.
“Send someone to keep an eye on Fang Feifei and her child,” Cheng Jingwei said, his voice hoarse and his brow furrowed. Grabbing his suit jacket, he strode out, ordering in a low voice, “Also—use all available resources to find Er’er.”
Xu Yin froze, stunned. “Er’er?!”
“I’m not sure if it’s connected to them,” Cheng Jingwei said, stopping at the office door. His Adam’s apple moved sharply. “But find Er’er as quickly as possible—by any means necessary, at any cost, regardless of the consequences.”
He had rarely had a family in his life, yet he had come to regard Jiang Zhier as his only true family.
And now, she had become someone he couldn’t afford to lose.
Meanwhile, Jiang Zhier lay in her bed at the Fengyao Hotel, completely unaware of the panic and misunderstanding she had caused.
She had developed a high fever early that morning.
Maybe it was the relentless typhoon and torrential rain that made her catch a cold, or perhaps her poor sleep and diet over the past few days had weakened her immune system.
Now she was burning with fever, dizzy, and delirious.
Her phone lay on the bedside table, the ringtone faint and distant. She didn’t have the strength to reach for it.
So, she missed not only Cheng Jingwei’s call, but also Shao Xu’s. Cheng Jingwei’s capable “team” had already contacted her classmates to ask about her whereabouts—only to learn that she hadn’t been with them on her birthday at all.
The realization sent a chill through everyone.
If it really was connected to the Fang family—or any business rival—then after so long, no one could be sure that something irreversible hadn’t already happened.
At first, Jiang Zhier thought it was just an ordinary fever.
When she lived with her uncle, it wasn’t uncommon; if her grandmother wasn’t around, she’d simply stay in her room, sweating through the night until she felt better.
But this time, the fever came suddenly and violently. Her body was drenched in sweat, yet her temperature only climbed higher.
By dawn, she was frightened—it felt like her brain might burn up. Forcing herself out of bed, she decided to go to the hospital.
She didn’t realize that outside, the typhoon had turned the world into chaos. The wind howled, the rain lashed down, and even the pine trees near the entrance were bending under the storm.
The lobby manager spotted her. Recognizing her as the young lady staying in the penthouse suite arranged by the Liang family’s young master, he hurried over.
There was no need to ask questions—her flushed face and unsteady steps said everything.
“In this weather, there’s no way you’ll get a taxi,” the manager said. “I’ll arrange an emergency car from the hotel. Wait in the underground parking lot, so you don’t get soaked by the rain.”
Jiang Zhier thanked him hoarsely.
Outside, the storm raged. Trees toppled, debris flew, and the rain and fog turned the world pitch black. Even the streetlights seemed swallowed by the storm. The car crawled forward, wipers moving at full speed, but visibility was almost zero.
Thankfully, the hospital wasn’t far.
When she opened the car door, a blast of icy wind made her shiver violently. Her body was so weak that she nearly collapsed.
With her last ounce of strength, she stumbled into the emergency room. Her temperature was almost 40°C. The nurse frowned, scolding her gently for not coming sooner, before rushing to prepare an IV drip.
The hospital was eerily quiet that typhoon night, with only a few people in the infusion room.
Jiang Zhier sat alone in a corner, a thin blanket draped over her shoulders. The needle in her fragile, pale hand glinted under the fluorescent light.
Despite the humid air, she trembled uncontrollably.
As the clock ticked, she drifted into a fevered sleep.
She dreamed in fragments—disjointed sounds and images. Somewhere nearby, an ambulance stretcher rattled hurriedly down the hall.
In the midst of it all, she caught a faint, familiar scent—clean and crisp, like the woody fragrance of a white shirt dampened by wind and rain.
It made her frown slightly. A wave of emotion stung her nose.
She didn’t need to open her eyes to know who it was.
It was the man she had spent days trying to forget.
She didn’t know why Cheng Jingwei was there.
She didn’t dare open her eyes.
If she did, her tears would surely fall.
The infusion room smelled faintly of disinfectant, soon mingled with the subtle, cold scent of him.
Her fever hadn’t broken, and her mind was hazy. She vaguely heard Cheng Jingwei ask the nurse about her condition, then felt him walk over and gently place his hand on her forehead.
Startled by the sudden touch, she flinched.
He sighed softly and sat down beside her. He took her hand carefully into his palm, avoiding the needle, and covered it with his other hand.
Her skin was icy; the veins on the back of her hand stood out sharply.
He had rushed through the storm—his hair and clothes were drenched. Bowing his head, he cupped her small hands and breathed gently on them to warm them.
Jiang Zhier turned her face away, burying her mouth and nose in the blanket.
In the end, she couldn’t hold back her tears. They slid silently down her cheeks and disappeared into the soft fabric.