Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 7

When she entered the house, Cheng Jingwei was already home.
He was wearing loungewear, seated at the island in the western kitchen. His freshly washed hair hung slightly over his forehead, softening the chill of his usual expression.
In front of him were a laptop and a few documents; his left hand held a cup of coffee. Hearing the sound of the door, he looked up.
“You’re back.”
“Yes, Second Uncle.”
Jiang Zhier replied softly, changing her shoes at the entrance. Raindrops slid from the tips of her hair onto the floor, making faint clicking sounds.
She quickly bent down to wipe them away.
Before she could reach for a tissue, Aunt Chu came over with a rag.
“Er’er, leave it there, I’ll take care of it.”
“Why didn’t you bring an umbrella when it’s raining so hard outside?” Cheng Jingwei asked.
“Brother Jiayao didn’t have one in the car,” Jiang Zhier replied. “It’s fine—it was only a few steps.”
It was rare for the little girl to go out and play, and getting caught in the rain had its own kind of fun, so Cheng Jingwei didn’t press further.
“Did you have fun?”
Jiang Zhier’s eyes brightened as she smiled. “Yes.”
Then she carefully took the suit from her arms—holding it as if it were something fragile, afraid that if she gripped too loosely it might get wet, and if too tightly, it might wrinkle.
“Uncle,” she said, handing it to him, “this is the suit you lent me that day to keep out the rain. I asked Brother Jiayao to take care of it. Do you think it’s still wearable?”
Cheng Jingwei didn’t bother to inspect it. He took it casually and draped it over the back of a chair.
“I’d almost forgotten about it,” he said nonchalantly.
Perhaps a young girl’s heartbeat always comes with a trace of tenderness and sorrow.
Jiang Zhier knew that a man like Cheng Jingwei would never care about a handmade couture suit. Yet her gaze still lingered on the jacket hanging over the chair.
The age difference showed in every detail.
The suit she had handled so carefully, cherishing it as if it were something precious, was to him merely another garment in his wardrobe—just as her pure and earnest heart must seem to him: childish, naïve, and not worth taking seriously.
Cheng Jingwei patted her head. “Go take a hot shower. Don’t catch a cold.”
“Okay.”
Just as she reached her bedroom door, his voice called out again.
“Er’er.”
“What is it?”
He glanced at his phone. “Are you free the day after tomorrow?”
She thought for a moment. It was the weekend. “Yes.”
He took a sip of coffee. “Then come with me.”
The invitation had come from the Nancy Chamber of Commerce, which had invited local entrepreneurs and wealthy families. As one of the city’s leading enterprises, Chengzhen Group was naturally among the guests.
In past years, Cheng Huaixian had attended; this would be Cheng Jingwei’s first appearance since returning to China—a perfect occasion to build connections.
This year’s banquet was to be held aboard a cruise ship, themed Sailing Beyond.
—
The cruise ship was dazzling. It gleamed like snow under the afternoon sun, six decks above the water and two below, moored among a fleet of smaller vessels in the azure harbor.
The weather was clear, the sea shimmering under a gentle breeze.
As Jiang Zhier stepped aboard, she couldn’t help but marvel. Inside were luxury cabins, an expansive deck, entertainment lounges, and a grand banquet hall alive with music. Attendants in uniform glided through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne as a symphony orchestra played on stage.
Cheng Jingwei was immediately surrounded. Toasts, greetings, and compliments came from all directions. Though the youngest among them, his presence carried an effortless authority—his composure as cool as his tailored black suit.
Cheng Jiayao was there as well, watching a chef skillfully carve a 300-kilogram bluefin tuna. He picked up a slice of otoro sashimi—rich, tender, and meltingly soft—and, spotting Jiang Zhier looking for her uncle, he grinned.
“Don’t bother looking,” he said. “Once our Second Uncle shows up, it’s like a sheep walking into a tiger’s den—he won’t escape easily.”
“…”
Jiang Zhier silently thought that his Chinese grades must have been terrible.
Everything on the cruise was new to her. On the deck, she watched the freshly caught fish and shrimp—many she had never seen before.
Noticing her curiosity, one of the crew members smiled and began introducing the various species—crabs, snails, and colorful fish of every kind.
As she crouched by the net, she heard a voice behind her.
“Er’er, you’re here too?”
She turned and saw her uncle, Jiang Guilai.
Beside him stood a middle-aged man, perhaps in his forties.
Noticing her gaze, Jiang Guilai introduced them. “Er’er, this is Mr. Shi.”
The man nodded, speaking in heavily accented Mandarin. “Hello, Er’er.”
Jiang Zhier froze.
Mr. Shi—from Hong Kong.
She suddenly remembered that night after the funeral, when she’d overheard her uncle and aunt whispering about him.
‘Although he’s married,’ they’d said, ‘fortunately, he has no children. If he’s truly interested in Zhier, he might be a good match.’
The thought made her stomach twist. She said nothing and turned away coldly.
The air grew tense.
Mr. Shi, however, remained genial. “What’s wrong? Feeling unwell? Don’t stay too long on deck—you’ll get dizzy staring at the sea.”
Jiang Guilai chuckled. “We don’t see the sea often here in Nancy. Unlike Mr. Shi, we’re not used to these long voyages.”
“Let’s go inside,” Mr. Shi said lightly. “Dinner will be served soon.”
Still feeling uneasy—and a little dizzy—Jiang Zhier followed them into the lavishly decorated cabin.
Inside, chefs worked in a flurry, preparing dishes from the day’s catch.
Mr. Shi uncorked a bottle of red wine, poured a glass, and handed it to her.
“Er’er, try this—Madeira. They call it the wine of immortality.”
“I don’t drink,” she replied softly.
Mr. Shi smiled at her uncle. “Mr. Jiang has certainly raised her well—so proper and well-behaved.”
The word well-behaved made her frown.
She had always hated that word—just as she had hated her aunt’s insistence that learning piano would make her “easier to marry.”
Her mind drifted briefly. Your life can be a playground, not a grid, Cheng Jingwei had once told her.
Where was he now? she wondered.
Mr. Shi continued, swirling the wine in his glass. “Since we’re on a cruise, we might as well enjoy a taste of Madeira. A girl should broaden her horizons—become more graceful, more charming, like this red wine.”
He smiled. “Do you know why it’s called the wine of immortality?”
“Why?” she asked absently.
“It’s from the Madeira Islands,” he explained. “The barrels are stored in warm, high places during sea voyages. Good Madeira can age for hundreds of years—it’s sweet, fragrant, and rich.”
He extended the glass toward her again. “Go on, try it. You’ll like it.”
Jiang Guilai added, “Er’er, it’s fine to have just a sip. It’s a rare occasion.”
Before she could reply, a pale, slender hand suddenly reached out and took the glass from Mr. Shi’s fingers.
The voice that followed was deep and steady.
“Mr. Shi, must you trouble a child?”
Cheng Jingwei stood beside her.
Mr. Shi blinked in surprise. He often traveled to Nancy but hadn’t heard anything about Cheng Jingwei “raising” a girl. Why was he interfering in such a trivial matter?
“Mr. Cheng, you’re too serious,” he said quickly. “I was only explaining the origin of Madeira wine.”
“You’re very knowledgeable,” Cheng Jingwei replied smoothly, “but perhaps you forgot its alcohol content.”
He rested a hand lightly on Jiang Zhier’s shoulder, drawing her close. “My child has never drunk before—and we’re at sea. If she were to fall ill after drinking Mr. Shi’s wine, someone might think you had ulterior motives.”
His smile was polite, but his eyes were sharp, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
Everyone in business circles knew Mr. Shi’s reputation. Cheng Jingwei knew exactly what kind of man he was.
Mr. Shi’s expression faltered.
My child? He thought. Since when did the Jiang girl become a Cheng?
Had he known that, he would never have pushed.
He glanced irritably at Jiang Guilai, who quickly forced a laugh.
“Thank you, Mr. Cheng, for looking after Er’er these past few days. You’re very busy, and I wouldn’t want her to trouble you. Perhaps it’s time she came home to live.”
Cheng Jingwei’s voice remained calm. “Mr. Jiang and your wife are both occupied, and you have only one son. Since I made a promise to Mrs. Jiang, I’ll do my best to let her rest peacefully in the afterlife.”
With that, he led Jiang Zhier away.
“Where’s Cheng Jiayao?” he asked.
Jiang Zhier said she didn’t know.
“He was just called away by a friend.”
Cheng Jingwei frowned slightly. He shouldn’t have trusted Cheng Jiayao to look after Jiang Zhier. “Then stay with me. There are so many people here—some might inevitably be impolite.”
Jiang Zhier nodded and pressed her lips together.
Soon it was time for lunch, and the seats in the restaurant had been arranged.
Cheng Jingwei took his seat, and Jiang Zhier sat beside him.
The chefs were divided into two groups—Chinese and Western. The Western chefs stood in front of the guests, serving one-on-one: slicing sashimi, pan-frying, charcoal grilling, and so on. The Chinese dishes were served by waiters from the back kitchen.
Many of the foods were things Jiang Zhier had never seen before, and she didn’t even know how to eat them.
For example, the charcoal-grilled starfish in front of her.
She tapped the hard shell lightly with a ladle, unsure where to start.
Cheng Jingwei, in the middle of a conversation, caught sight of her. He put on gloves, took her portion from his plate, and carefully scooped out the yellow flesh bit by bit with a small golden spoon, filling a tray before placing it in front of her.
His movements were unhurried and natural. His slender, bony hands looked especially elegant as he peeled the meat.
“Try it,” he said softly. “You might not be used to it.”
Jiang Zhier tried to calm her heart, which was beating wildly in the lively room. “Thank you, Second Uncle.”
Her pulse numbed her nerves. She took a spoonful and tasted it—only to frown as a strong fishy smell rushed up her nose.
Cheng Jingwei chuckled. “I told you; you might not like it.”
Jiang Zhier quickly took a big sip of her drink to wash it down.
Cheng Jingwei handed her his portion of chawanmushi. “Here, this will soothe your throat.”
Because of that little incident, Jiang Zhier became extra cautious with unfamiliar dishes. Fortunately, most of them suited her taste—sweet, fragrant, and delicious.
At such gatherings, toasts and cigarette smoke were unavoidable. By the time she was full, the constant haze of smoke made her head ache.
She excused herself to Cheng Jingwei and went out to the deck for some fresh air.
She didn’t expect to run into the beautiful woman she had seen outside the French restaurant again. Cheng Jiayao had mentioned her name—Fan Meng.
Fan Meng leaned casually against the yacht’s railing, her black, seaweed-like curls tousled by the wind. When she turned and saw her, she smiled and raised a hand. “Hello, Er’er.”
Jiang Zhier felt the bitterness rise again in her chest.
But she only paused for a couple of seconds before smiling politely. “Hello, sister.”
She knew she shouldn’t covet what didn’t belong to her—it was improper and might even annoy Cheng Jingwei.
“Sister, my Second Uncle is inside,” she offered.
Fan Meng tilted her head. “Oh? Why tell me where your Second Uncle is?”
Jiang Zhier froze.
From her expression, Fan Meng immediately understood the girl’s misunderstanding. She smiled. “I’m not your Second Uncle’s girlfriend.”
Jiang Zhier blinked in surprise. “Ah—sorry, sister. You two just looked so good together, and you’re so beautiful.”
Fan Meng laughed out loud.
“Well,” she admitted with a shrug, “I did chase your Second Uncle. Unfortunately, he didn’t have your good taste.”
Jiang Zhier’s heart skipped a beat.
She raised her eyes to Fan Meng and asked softly, “Sister, does my Second Uncle have a girlfriend now?”
“No,” Fan Meng replied simply. “Not just a girlfriend—honestly, I even doubt he’s interested in women at all.”
“…”
“But he’s quite protective of you,” she added. “Not as cold as before.”
Jiang Zhier blinked. “What?”
“Some people said awful things about you before.”
Fan Meng didn’t elaborate, but Jiang Zhier already knew.
Those words had never reached Cheng Jingwei’s ears, yet someone had dared to mock her to her face.
“I once mentioned it to him by accident,” Fan Meng said, smiling. “He found out who it was and crushed their business without mercy. They say you should always leave a way out for others—but that was the first time I saw him refuse to.”
Jiang Zhier was stunned. He had never told her any of this.
Fan Meng shrugged. “Still, I’m afraid his return to China won’t be easy. The old men in the group can’t compete with him, so they’re trying to corner him politically.”
When Jiang Zhier returned to the cabin, a strange woman had taken her seat.
She froze.
The woman—dressed in a white silk gown that hugged her hips, a snow-white mink draped over her shoulders—leaned close to Cheng Jingwei, smiling as she held up a goblet.
“Mr. Cheng, I didn’t expect you’d honor us today. This toast is for you.”
All eyes turned to them.
Someone joked, “It’s always others who toast Miss Qin, but this is the first time she’s taken the initiative. Mr. Cheng is truly lucky.”
Cheng Jingwei didn’t move.
With perfect composure, Miss Qin leaned forward to take his glass. As she did, she brushed his arm lightly for balance, then withdrew as if nothing had happened.
She was the only daughter of the Chamber of Commerce chairman.
Cheng Jingwei didn’t reject her openly; he accepted the glass and took a polite sip.
Miss Qin was about to start a conversation when he glanced toward the cabin door, where Jiang Zhier stood frozen.
“Er’er, come here,” he said.
Almost mechanically, she walked back to his side in front of everyone.
“I didn’t eat much earlier,” Cheng Jingwei said evenly. “Eat more.”
It sounded like he was speaking to Jiang Zhier—but everyone knew it was directed at Miss Qin.
Her expression faltered. Quickly, she stood and offered her seat back to Jiang Zhier.
Jiang Zhier hadn’t expected Fan Meng’s words about someone trying to get close to Cheng Jingwei to come true so soon.
Her mind went blank.
She had fallen for someone she shouldn’t have. Everything and everyone around him were beyond her reach, as if the road ahead had already ended at a cliff.
Cheng Jingwei exchanged a few polite remarks with Miss Qin before subtly sending her away. His demeanor was flawless, his tone calm, his emotions unreadable—his restraint almost intimidating.
Jiang Zhier couldn’t understand such veiled social maneuvers. She only saw him, after Miss Qin left, pick up a towel and carefully wipe each finger, one by one, his movements deliberate and composed.
She watched him, her heart fluttering uncontrollably.
Cheng Jingwei seemed like a detached observer of the world—someone incapable of falling in love.
The young girl, new to love, understood nothing—but still felt a strange sense of relief.
She didn’t know the rules of adult love, nor what it meant to move forward cautiously, one step at a time.
She only wanted to prove something—to test his heart in her clumsy way.
If secretly learning the drums and running through the mountains with Cheng Jiayao on a rainy night had once been her boldest act, then what she did next—reaching out to cover the back of Cheng Jingwei’s hand—was even bolder.
Cheng Jingwei turned his head. “What’s wrong?”
Jiang Zhier’s heart pounded wildly. She turned her sour, aching love into courage.
Lowering her eyes, she whispered, “The wind was strong on the deck just now… my hands are a little cold.”
Cheng Jingwei said nothing. Slowly, he withdrew his hand.
Jiang Zhier’s heart sank.
But the next second, her hand was caught again.
He switched hands and held hers beneath the table. His left hand, freshly wiped with a towel, was cool; his right hand, warm.
Jiang Zhier’s eyelashes trembled.
She felt his broad palm envelop hers completely, his thumb gently stroking her skin, the cold metal of his watch pressing against her racing pulse.
Around them, the clamor of conversation continued.
In that place filled with open rivalries and hidden daggers, Cheng Jingwei quietly held her hand beneath the table—unseen by anyone.