Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 5

From the moment Cheng Jingwei appeared, the atmosphere in the office changed completely.
Tang Peiwen’s arrogance instantly crumbled. Jiang Chen looked at his parents with dissatisfaction and unwillingness, secretly curling his lips. The principal hurried forward with a strained smile.
“Mr. Cheng! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
Jiang Zhi’er couldn’t take her eyes off him.
At first, she hadn’t felt particularly wronged. Even when everyone bullied or targeted her, she could remain calm — neither humble nor arrogant.
But the instant Cheng Jingwei appeared, her nose stung. She lowered her head in embarrassment, holding back her tears, unwilling to cry in front of him, not in a moment like this.
Cheng Jingwei’s hand rested gently on the back of her head.
His palm was broad, his knuckles defined, the faint blue veins hinting at quiet strength.
It felt as though her back was being supported too.
So, this, she thought, was what people meant by having a backer.
The man remained unmoved by the principal’s flattering words. He simply watched as the principal poured him tea, then said in a calm tone,
“If I hadn’t come today, I wouldn’t have known how you run your school, Principal Li.”
The principal forced a dry laugh. “There must be some misunderstanding. We just wanted to ask Zhi’er what happened, but she wouldn’t speak, so we had no choice.”
Cheng Jingwei’s expression remained cool.
“Principal Li, Mr. Jiang, Mrs. Jiang—after such a big commotion, no wonder my child was frightened.”
My child.
My family.
Jiang Zhi’er’s eyelashes trembled.
Cheng Jingwei let out a chuckle, but the smile never reached his eyes.
“Besides, aren’t the school’s surveillance cameras supposed to be used for situations like this?”
The principal nodded repeatedly. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, quickly ordering someone to retrieve the footage.
Trying to ease the tension, Jiang Guilai lit a cigarette and offered it to Cheng Jingwei.
“Mr. Cheng, you know how it is — distance makes the heart grow fonder. These two kids grew up together, so some conflict is inevitable. It’s our fault as adults for not handling it better.”
Cheng Jingwei immediately understood the implication — that Jiang Zhi’er had been raised under their roof. Even if her uncle and aunt hadn’t done well by her, they still expected understanding and respect in return.
But Cheng Jingwei didn’t take the cigarette.
He had always been courteous and composed — a trait shaped by elite upbringing — yet beneath that gentleness lay an innate arrogance born from power.
“It seems Mrs. Jiang was wise to entrust Er’er to me,” he said evenly, “to ease the relationship between the two children. Mr. Jiang, don’t worry — if the facts show Er’er is at fault, I will not cover for her.”
Jiang Guilai and Tang Peiwen froze.
Everyone in the room knew who was truly at fault.
Moments later, the surveillance footage played.
As Cheng Jingwei watched the basketball strike Jiang Zhi’er’s head, his expression turned completely cold.
His hand was still resting on the back of her head, his fingers gently rubbing.
“Are you hurt?”
Jiang Zhi’er shook her head and whispered, “No, it’s nothing.”
Jiang Guilai quickly slapped his son on the head, his expression darkening.
“You little brat! Why don’t you apologize to your sister?”
Jiang Chen’s face twisted in defiance.
“She hit me back! Why should I apologize?”
Cheng Jingwei tilted his chin slightly, his eyes narrowing.
Though still young, the aura that came from his family background and ability carried a quiet, intimidating weight.
He didn’t raise his voice or show anger. He simply spoke in a calm, unhurried tone that pushed others into submission.
Tang Peiwen also sensed the change and quickly urged, “Hurry up!”
Jiang Chen reluctantly muttered, “I’m sorry,” without even glancing at Jiang Zhi’er.
It was the first time Jiang Zhi’er had ever received an apology from him.
Jiang Guilai followed up with a forced smile, apologizing repeatedly.
Mr. Cheng’s health had declined severely, and it was uncertain whether he would survive the year. If Cheng Jingwei successfully took over Chengzhen Group, he would become the very person the Jiang family could least afford to offend.
Before Cheng Jingwei could respond, his phone rang.
He lowered his gaze and said softly, “I know. I’ll be right there.”
Jiang Zhi’er tugged gently at his sleeve. “Forget it,” she murmured.
He was busy — he shouldn’t have to waste his time on her, not over something so trivial.
The man looked down at her. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“No, really, I’m fine.”
He silently patted her shoulder, ignoring Jiang Guilai, and turned to the principal. His posture was composed as ever.
“Principal Li, this isn’t the first time Er’er has been bullied by him. She can handle it, but I can’t. Let’s deal with it according to school policy.”
Then he looked back at Jiang Guilai and gave a polite nod.
“President Jiang, just now your wife mentioned that this was the last lesson you, as elders, would give Er’er. If so, allow me, as her guardian, to give you mine.”
His tone cooled.
“In my case, there won’t be a second time. If it happens again, I won’t hesitate — even if it means disrupting the so-called harmony between the Cheng and Jiang families.”
With that, he led Jiang Zhi’er out of the principal’s office.
The early winter sky had already darkened. The air was thick with dust, the horizon veiled by a dull, suffocating haze.
Jiang Zhi’er walked behind him, her small hand held in his — that warmth was the only thing she could clearly feel.
She wanted to ask when he had returned. She wanted to thank him sincerely.
But when she thought of the nightlight, of his quiet protectiveness, she found herself unable to call him “Second Uncle.”
The man’s natural air of authority wasn’t just intimidating; it reminded her that the distance between them wasn’t merely one of age — it was a chasm that could never be crossed.
His broad shoulders and long strides made it hard for her to keep up, just as she knew that her growing feelings would only lead to heartache.
She searched her mind for words, but could think of no other way to address him, so she quietly called, “Second Uncle.”
He responded with a low “Hmm?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “And… thank you.”
No magnifying glass could have revealed the emotions hidden behind her simple words.
He only said softly, “You should have told me earlier. If Jiayao hadn’t called, I wouldn’t have known.”
Jiang Zhi’er blinked in surprise. “Cheng Jiayao?”
“Mm. You two get along well?”
Not really.
But Cheng Jiayao, despite being a young master too, was nothing like Jiang Chen.
“Not bad,” Jiang Zhi’er said, lowering her head. “He’s… a good person.”
If she were to continue living under the same roof as Cheng Jingwei, she thought, maintaining a good relationship with Cheng Jiayao was necessary.
Cheng Jingwei glanced sideways at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Then his phone rang again. There was an emergency shareholders’ meeting that evening. He had flown back early that morning and hadn’t expected a call from Cheng Jiayao as soon as he landed.
Without a word, he ended the call.
“There’s an urgent meeting at the company,” he said. “You can rest in my office for a while. After the meeting, I’ll take you to dinner.”
“Okay.”
The driver pulled into the company garage, and they took the private elevator straight to the top floor.
When the elevator doors opened, a woman in a white business suit stepped forward, handing documents to Cheng Jingwei.
“Mr. Cheng, this is the legal department’s opinion on the group’s equity distribution.”
She then turned toward Jiang Zhi’er with a gentle smile. “Ms. Jiang, please follow me.”
Jiang Zhi’er recognized her — she had seen her before.
At the corridor’s entrance, Cheng Jingwei entered the conference room, while the secretary led Jiang Zhi’er to his office.
“Ms. Jiang, please wait here for a bit,” the secretary said briskly. “Would you like something to drink? Tea, milk, or coffee?”
Jiang Zhi’er sat awkwardly on the sofa, glancing around the large office. Behind her was a sweeping, curved glass window stretching nearly ten meters wide.
“Anything’s fine,” she replied softly.
“Then I’ll get you a cup of warm milk. Coffee at night can cause insomnia. You’re not lactose intolerant, are you?”
“Thank you, sister.”
The secretary smiled. “You’re very polite, Ms. Jiang.”
Jiang Zhi’er watched as the woman walked out.
She was striking — elegant and capable, like a lead actress in a workplace drama. Her figure was slender and graceful; she wore black stilettos and moved with an effortless, confident rhythm. She took a call as she left, her voice low and efficient as she issued instructions.
She was beautiful, poised, and professional.
Jiang Zhi’er glanced down at herself. Her oversized school uniform still bore faint basketball marks on the sleeve.
She lacked that kind of grace. Someone like Cheng Jingwei, she thought, would naturally be drawn to women like her — not to a child who needed constant protection.
The secretary soon returned, placing hot milk, a small dessert, and fruit on the coffee table. She handed Jiang Zhi’er a damp handkerchief.
“Your clothes are a bit dirty. If you need anything else, just let me know.”
Her tone was courteous but warm.
Jiang Zhi’er suddenly realized she’d been comparing herself to the woman — and a faint wave of shame swept over her.
She shouldn’t have.
“Thank you, sister.”
“You’re welcome. It’s my job.”
After the secretary left, Jiang Zhi’er looked around the room.
Cheng Jingwei had been stationed overseas for years and rarely used this office. Its minimalist black-and-gray design exuded a crisp, professional air, yet the floor-to-ceiling windows kept it from feeling cold.
She took out her weekend homework and bent over the desk to write.
The meeting dragged on. By the time she looked up, her cake and milk were gone.
Out of courtesy, she decided to take the cups and plates out herself. But when she stepped into the corridor, she found it empty. She wandered a little, looking for the bathroom to wash the dishes — and then stopped.
Voices came from the nearby conference room.
The blinds were half-closed, and through the narrow slits, she could see vague silhouettes.
An older man with graying hair was speaking in a hard tone.
“In any case, the Group still has Cheng Gan, the eldest son, in charge. It’s not your place to negotiate with us.”
Cheng Jingwei’s voice was calm but firm.
As Chen Huaixian’s eldest son, Cheng Gan had always been mediocre and weak. The senior board members hoped to let him take over, knowing they could easily force him aside later.
“The Group has always respected seniority,” Cheng Jingwei replied evenly. “Uncle Fang, you must be getting on in years — perhaps you’ve forgotten how you originally divided shares with my father. As for my brother and me, we’ll settle things between ourselves.”
Uncle Fang slammed a hand on the table.
“Cheng Jingwei! When your father and I founded this company, you were barely out of diapers! Who are you to lecture us?”
“Uncle Fang,” the younger man said smoothly, pouring a cup of tea and placing it in front of him, “you worry too much. As long as I’m here, no one in Chengzhen would dare to act recklessly toward you.”
He leaned closer, his tone soft yet cutting.
“Of course… as long as I’m here, your embezzlement of public funds will also never see the light of day.”
The older man’s eyes widened in disbelief, his hand trembling as he pointed at him, speechless with fury.
…
Jiang Zhi’er stood frozen in the corridor, having heard everything.
For the first time, she saw a completely different side of Cheng Jingwei — the one whispered about in rumors.
Sharp. Decisive. Ruthless. Powerful.
No wonder, with Cheng Huaixian’s health failing, the media’s attention had shifted entirely to his younger son.
“Ms. Jiang, what are you doing here?” the secretary whispered, rushing over and gently pulling her away.
“I was just looking for the bathroom to wash some dishes,” Jiang Zhi’er said quickly. “I must’ve wandered too far.”
“Give them to me,” the secretary said quietly, leaning close. “Come on — there’s not a single good old man in that room. Let’s not get caught in their mess.”
Jiang Zhi’er blinked, then smiled faintly.
Back in the office, she sat down again, recalling the scene.
So, this was the reality of his world — endless power struggles, hidden daggers, and the constant need to stand tall no matter who tried to pull you down.
Even Cheng Jingwei had seemed distant then — someone she could neither fully understand nor approach.
Moments later, the office door opened.
He stepped inside, his black coat draped over his arm.
“Sorry, things got complicated,” he said with a faint smile. “You must be hungry. What do you want for dinner?”
“Anything’s fine,” Jiang Zhi’er replied. “Your secretary already gave me some cake. I’m not that hungry.”
The man smiled, the edge in his eyes softening.
He no longer looked like the man who could corner someone with a single word.
Gathering his papers, he slipped on his coat.
“Let’s go, Er’er.”
Cheng Jingwei took her to a French-style restaurant.
A grand French manor stood just beyond the car. Walking along a winding path, they arrived at a century-old building nestled amid lush greenery. Its curved arches and stained-glass windows created a breathtaking scene—like stepping into a medieval painting.
“What would you like?”
Jiang Zhier glanced at the all-English menu, unaccustomed to such places. “Anything is fine.”
“Any dietary restrictions?”
She shook her head.
Cheng Jingwei ordered a few of the chef’s recommendations, two steaks, and added, “One rare, one medium-rare. Thank you.”
She put the menu away and looked up.
Across from her, the man noticed the young woman tilting her head back, her eyes—clear as black grapes—gazing at the glass ceiling above.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her eyes bright.
Cheng Jingwei had been to this restaurant many times since returning to China, but this was the first time he’d truly seen it—through her eyes.
His phone rang again.
He was so busy that he rarely had a moment of peace, and Jiang Zhier assumed it was another work call. But Cheng Jingwei answered and said, “Jiayao.”
She looked up.
The man traced the silver knife with the tip of his slender index finger and lowered his gaze. “At the Champs-Élysées Western Restaurant,” he said.
After hanging up, Jiang Zhier asked softly, “What’s wrong?”
“Jiayao said he has something to discuss with me.” He smiled casually. “It’s nothing important.”
After that, he called for the waiter and ordered a few more dishes.
When the waiter left, Jiang Zhier took a bank card from her schoolbag, pushed it forward with her fingertips, and slowly slid it across the table toward Cheng Jingwei.
The action was sudden—but she had thought about it for a long time.
She and Cheng Jingwei had no bl00d relation. He cared for her only because of her grandmother, and he shouldn’t have had to shoulder the cost of raising her.
Having lived under others’ care since childhood, she had learned it was hard to accept kindness without repayment. Only by returning something could she feel at ease.
Cheng Jingwei raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“Bank card. Password’s 960627.”
The man chuckled, his voice low and teasing. “Are you… supporting me?”