Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 4

Jiang Zhier had another dream.
She had never feared the dark as a child; her fear came later, born from her surroundings.
After her parents died in a car accident, she was taken in by her uncle and aunt.
At first, she didn’t feel mistreated. Her aunt even enrolled her in painting and piano lessons.
Although her aunt could be partial and harsh at times, Jiang Zhier told herself it was human nature—something to be understood.
It wasn’t until she accidentally overheard a conversation between her uncle and aunt that she realized the truth.
The painting lessons were meant to capitalize on her identity as “the daughter of the late, talented painter Shu Yu,” grooming her into the next moneymaking tool for the Jiangshi Expo Company.
As for the piano lessons—they were simply because the arts were fashionable among the wealthy, and musical accomplishment would help her marry well.
By then, Jiang Zhier had already excelled in both Chinese painting and piano. Her teachers often marveled at how quickly she learned.
From that point on, she began deliberately restraining herself. Her Chinese paintings lost their vitality and distinct spirit, becoming mere imitations.
Her work no longer carried her own style.
As for piano, she quietly transferred the money she earned to pay for drum lessons next door—a small but defiant act for the powerless girl she was.
She didn’t want to use her mother’s name to pursue art for profit, nor did she want to play an instrument just to meet others’ expectations.
Even if she didn’t dare to confess her decision to her uncle and aunt, the truth didn’t stay hidden for long.
One day, Jiang Chen accidentally found a drumstick in her bag.
It was made of hickory wood, beautifully crafted, with a strip of vegetable-tanned leather wrapped around the handle and an English brand name engraved on it.
Jiang Chen didn’t even know it was for a drum set—he simply had a habit of taking whatever belonged to Jiang Zhier.
“Give it back to me.”
Jiang Zhier rarely disobeyed, so Jiang Chen treated the object like treasure, hugging it to his chest and refusing to let go.
After several rounds of struggling, their noise drew Tang Peiwen’s attention.
Jiang Zhier lunged to grab it. Jiang Chen’s hand slipped, and they both lost their balance and fell.
She landed on the sofa. Jiang Chen hit the edge of the coffee table.
Tang Peiwen arrived just in time to see the scene.
The impact was heavy.
With a scream, Tang Peiwen rushed down the stairs. While shouting for the driver to prepare the car, she dragged Jiang Zhier over in anger and locked her directly in the basement.
Grandmother wasn’t home that day.
Jiang Zhier only remembered the darkness—thick, suffocating darkness. Something inside had broken down; a strange smell lingered, and faint rustling noises echoed around her.
Perhaps it was a rat.
Perhaps it was only her imagination, warped by fear.
She knelt at the door, crying and pounding with her fists, begging to be let out.
She was only ten years old then, and every trace of resilience and pride dissolved into terror.
But her uncle and aunt had already taken Jiang Chen to the hospital, and the housekeeper didn’t dare open the door.
They didn’t return until ten o’clock that night.
When her aunt finally came back and coaxed Jiang Chen to sleep, she opened the basement door.
By then, Jiang Zhier’s voice was hoarse from crying. She had a fever from the fright and collapsed by the doorway, unable to speak.
Jiang Chen had just received two stitches, and her aunt—still furious—looked down coldly and asked,
“Jiang Zhier, do you know what you did wrong?”
She was terrified.
She no longer dared to resist.
The rebellion of a child is easily crushed—surrendered under the weight of authority.
She cried and nodded again and again.
“What did you do wrong?”
Through sobs, she choked out,
“I shouldn’t have bullied my brother… and I shouldn’t have neglected my painting and piano lessons.”
…
The fear from that day was still vivid in her mind—so vivid that when she awoke, it took her a long time to return to herself.
Before the fear faded, the warm orange light of the nightlight gently filled the room, soft as a feather, steady enough to hold her sinking heart.
It soothed the wounds left by her tears.
—
The next day.
When Jiang Zhier came downstairs, the driver was already waiting.
It wasn’t the same one who had picked her up at the Jiang residence that night, but a stranger.
As soon as he saw her, he said, “Good morning, Miss Jiang. My name is Li. I’m the driver Mr. Cheng assigned to take you to school and handle your daily errands.”
Jiang Zhier blinked. “You’re just here to pick me up?”
“Yes,” the driver said, handing her a business card. “If you need anything in the future, just let me know in advance and I’ll have a car ready.”
When kindness comes so suddenly, it’s hard to accept.
She treasured it—deeply—but she wasn’t used to it.
Experience had taught her that whenever something exceeded expectations, it usually came with a price.
Jiang Zhier attended a local private high school.
Luxury cars were a common sight at the school gate, but this Aston Martin—worth tens of millions—was enough to turn heads.
She hadn’t expected to run into Jiang Chen the moment she stepped out of the car.
Jiang Chen had assumed that Cheng Jiayao had upgraded his family’s nanny car.
He thought it was fitting for the young master of the Cheng family to use an Aston Martin even for daily transport.
But instead, he saw the person he despised most—his sister.
“Jiang Zhier,” he called.
She didn’t answer, walking quickly inside with her schoolbag.
Jiang Chen caught up and followed her. “You’re so full of yourself now, huh? You even dare to ignore me. What kind of spell did you cast on Cheng Jingwei to make him tell our parents not to interfere with your affairs?”
Jiang Zhier frowned slightly.
So, it was indeed Cheng Jingwei who had stopped her uncle and aunt from visiting over the weekend.
“He’s more than ten years older than you. Do you even know what people are saying? You have no shame—it’s disgusting. Don’t tell anyone we’re related. I’m embarrassed.”
She had never claimed they were.
In truth, she didn’t want to know him at all.
Jiang Chen kept rambling. “My parents spent so much money raising you and paying your tuition, you ungrateful brat.”
Jiang Zhier finally stopped.
It was almost absurd.
She was a girl with a strong sense of morality.
Even the money her uncle and aunt had spent on her was just an investment—one they expected to profit from someday.
“I’ll pay it back,” she said.
“What, with Cheng Jingwei’s money? You don’t mind dirty money, but I do!”
“When I grow up and earn my own, I’ll repay my uncle for every cent he’s spent on me.”
“Tsk. You?” Jiang Chen sneered, shoving her shoulder. “No matter what you say, you’re still an ungrateful brat—ungrateful, ungrateful!”
Jiang Zhier stumbled back from the push.
Then, a hand suddenly swung across, knocking Jiang Chen’s arm aside.
Cheng Jiayao frowned, his expression filled with impatience. “Go home if you’re having a tantrum. Why are you picking on a girl?”
With that surname, Cheng Jiayao was someone everyone—students, teachers, even parents—tried to please.
Jiang Chen was no exception, but when it came to Jiang Zhier, he couldn’t stand to back down.
“This is my sister,” he said stiffly.
Mom always said Zhier was the older sister—she should give in to her younger brother.
So, of course, it was fine for him to bully her.
Cheng Jiayao, three years older and a head taller, kept his hands in his pockets and raised a brow. His gaze dropped slightly as he said something that left Jiang Chen speechless:
“Oh? She’s my sister now.”
Jiang Zhier: “…”
Jiang Chen had thought Cheng Jiayao would hate this uninvited guest who’d intruded into their home.
He hadn’t expected him to accept her so easily.
Fuming, Jiang Chen could only swallow his anger and retreat in embarrassment.
They were about to be late.
Jiang Zhier was hurrying toward the school gate when Cheng Jiayao caught her by the collar and held up two fingers.
“Remember—you owe me another favor.”
“Fine,” she said, exasperated. “How am I supposed to repay you this time?”
“You’ll find out when the time comes.” Cheng Jiayao winked. “When the moment’s right, I’ll give you a signal. Then you can help me put in a few good words with my second uncle.”
“…When exactly is that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“…”
Cheng Jiayao’s personality really didn’t seem to have anything in common with Cheng Jingwei’s.
School days didn’t turn out the way Jiang Zhier had feared.
There were no wild rumors or gossip about her and Cheng Jingwei—at least, not on the surface.
Maybe it was because of Cheng Jiayao.
Maybe it was because of Cheng Jingwei himself.
But recently, Jiang Chen had been bothering her more and more.
He used to wish she would disappear every year on his birthday, but now that she was gone, he still found ways to make her life difficult.
That evening, during PE class,
Jiang Zhier was walking around the track with her friend Shao Xu, chatting about a new dessert shop near the school, when a basketball suddenly came flying and struck the back of her head.
The impact nearly knocked her off her feet.
She turned around—Jiang Chen stood under the hoop, smirking.
Shao Xu couldn’t take it anymore. He’d been at it for a week—throwing balls, hurling insults—and no one dared stop him.
He was so spoiled that he truly believed himself untouchable, a little prince above rules and decency.
If it hadn’t been for his parents and grandmother, Er’er would never have had to put up with his bullying for so long.
Shao Xu was just about to curse him out when Jiang Zhier bent down, picked up the basketball, and suddenly hurled it back.
Jiang Chen didn’t expect her to fight back. The ball hit him squarely in the face.
He froze for a moment—then yelped as bl00d dripped from his nose.
“Jiang Zhier! How dare you hit me! Are you looking for death?!”
His voice cracked sharply in anger, raw from adolescence. He clutched his bleeding nose and charged at her, hand raised.
Even the gentlest person has limits.
And Jiang Zhier had finally reached hers.
Her hand moved faster than his—
and struck harder.
Smack!
In full view of the entire playground, Jiang Chen’s face snapped to the side.
Jiang Zhier glared coldly. “Jiang Chen, Grandma’s gone. I don’t need to tolerate you anymore just to keep her at peace.”
“Are you crazy, Jiang Zhier?! How dare you hit me! Do you want to go back to the basement again?!”
The nightlight in her room had done more than ease her fear of the dark.
It had given her strength—and courage.
“I won’t let you bully me anymore.”
“You think you can do whatever you want just because you’ve got someone backing you?!”
Jiang Chen lunged again, trying to force her to her knees.
The commotion quickly drew a crowd.
In the chaos, Jiang Zhier took a kick to the stomach before several classmates pulled Jiang Chen away.
Moments later, the principal came running over.
Private high schools were full of powerful families—making conflict resolution the hardest part of the job.
Normally, this would’ve been easy to smooth over.
Even if Jiang Chen had started it, his bloody nose made him look like the victim.
And since they were siblings, a brief lecture would’ve sufficed.
However, the principal had heard of the tension between the Chengs and the Jiangs.
And Jiang Zhier—caught between them—was an uncertain factor.
No one knew what her relationship with Cheng Jingwei really was, or whether he’d intervene.
So, with no better option, the principal decided to call the parents and let them handle it.
Jiang Guilai and Tang Peiwen arrived quickly.
However, the contact number Jiang Zhier had provided at enrollment was her grandmother’s, not her aunt’s.
So the principal handed her the phone and asked her to contact her guardian.
He didn’t say it outright, but the meaning was clear—he wanted to see if she could reach Cheng Jingwei.
Jiang Zhier shook her head. “No one’s home.”
Tang Peiwen’s expression twisted when she saw the bl00d on Jiang Chen’s clothes.
Seeing that Zhier refused to call Cheng Jingwei, she lost all restraint and snapped,
“Apologize to your brother right now!”
Backed by his mother, Jiang Chen straightened, glaring down his nose at her.
“Jiang Zhier, don’t think you can just stand there in silence and get away with this! You’ve really changed—you even dared to hit your brother now!”
“He hit me first,” Jiang Zhier said quietly, then raised her head and looked straight at the woman. “He was the one who threw the ball at me. From the beginning—these past years—it’s always been him who bullied me. I’m not the one who should apologize. I’ll never apologize to him for the rest of my life.”
Tang Peiwen stared at her in shock.
For the first time, she realized she didn’t truly know this girl at all.
She had never been a weak, helpless kitten, meekly enduring everything.
Tang Peiwen opened her mouth to speak, but Jiang Guilai tugged at her sleeve.
It was disgraceful to make a scene in the principal’s office.
“Enough. Keep your voice down,” he muttered.
Then he turned to Jiang Zhier, his late brother’s daughter.
“Er’er, your uncle has raised you all these years. You must know he’s done his best for you. It’s normal for siblings to quarrel—what family doesn’t? But saying things like that really breaks your uncle’s heart. In the end, it’s our fault for not teaching you better.”
Jiang Zhier bit her lower lip.
Of all the things she hated most, it was this—this tone of false righteousness that always made her powerless.
Every time they said things like that, no matter what she explained or defended, she became the ungrateful one—the heartless child.
Tang Peiwen snorted. “Principal, this should be handled according to school rules. Consider it our last chance, as her elders, to teach her a lesson in morality.”
The principal hesitated, embarrassed.
After all, the Cheng family was powerful—far too powerful to offend.
But judging from the Jiangs’ reaction, perhaps those rumors that Cheng Jingwei favored Jiang Zhier were nothing but gossip.
Jiang Zhier stayed silent.
Her words meant nothing here. Nothing she said would change the outcome.
Across from her stood Jiang Guilai and his family.
The evening sunlight stretched their shadows long, completely enveloping her.
She stood straight, her head slightly bowed, clinging to the last shred of dignity in her silent defiance, pretending not to care about whatever punishment would follow.
At that moment,
the office door opened—
and sunlight spilled in.
A tall man stepped through the light.
He was supposed to be on a business trip.
His black overcoat framed his commanding figure, the fabric dusted with gold flecks of afternoon light.
The rim of his glasses softened his sharp features just barely, but couldn’t conceal the quiet force of authority that followed him.
Under the gaze of everyone present, Cheng Jingwei walked straight to Jiang Zhier, lifted a hand to brush her hair gently, and then turned to face the principal.
“Principal Li—”
He smiled, but the weight of his presence was enough to make the forty-something man shrink back.
“The school spirit here,” Cheng Jingwei said slowly, his voice calm yet sharp, “seems to get worse every year.”