Feverish Spring Night - Chapter 8

In the evening, the cruise ship began to dock.
It grew dark faster than usual in winter, and by the time they stopped, night had already fallen.
There was a fireworks show on the coast that night, and the place was crowded. Cheng Jingwei asked the driver to park farther away, so they had to walk a short distance before reaching the car.
“Are you tired?” Cheng Jingwei asked.
“Not tired.”
How could she be tired—walking along the coastal highway beside Cheng Jingwei?
Their sleeves brushed against each other now and then as they walked through the biting cold wind, past rows of evergreen cedars on both sides of the road. The air was filled with the deep, tranquil scent of pine.
At some point that day, the little girl’s mood had brightened noticeably—she was even hopping along, light on her feet.
Cheng Jingwei lowered his gaze to look at the girl beside him.
From his angle, he could see her long, distinct lashes, her bright, sparkling eyes carrying a lingering smile. Her dimples were deep, her beauty clear and luminous as glass.
Cheng Jingwei didn’t know why, but he found himself smiling too.
At first, he had only agreed to look after Jiang Zhier at Old Madam Jiang’s request. He wasn’t a man known for compassion or warmth; his attentiveness came from habit, not affection.
But over time, he found it wasn’t unpleasant. He had lived his whole life amid schemes and calculation—it was rare to be around someone so innocent. Being with Jiang Zhier gave him a sense of ease he had almost forgotten.
As they passed a pedestrian street, Jiang Zhier’s gaze lingered.
The fireworks began overhead, and street vendors appeared as if summoned by the noise.
Not far away, an old woman stood with a basket of roses. Her hair was completely white, and her thin, worn clothes fluttered in the cold wind. She coughed harshly now and then, as though her frail body might give out at any moment, yet she still walked unsteadily, trying to sell her flowers.
Noticing Jiang Zhier had stopped, Cheng Jingwei asked, “What’s wrong?”
She pointed ahead. “Uncle, can I buy you a flower?”
“Of course.”
They walked over together, and the old lady immediately smiled. “Little sister, let your brother buy you a bouquet.”
Brother.
Jiang Zhier’s brows twitched slightly.
Cheng Jingwei didn’t correct her. His tone remained calm and polite. “Please wrap them up for me.”
“How many would you like?”
“Wrap them all.”
She had only said she wanted to buy one flower, but Cheng Jingwei insisted on buying them all.
It was cold and damp with dew, and if the old woman could sell everything sooner, she could go home early and escape the biting wind.
Encountering such a generous customer, the old lady hurriedly said, “Okay, please wait a moment.”
She bent down, set her basket on the ground, and tied the stems neatly with a ribbon, forming a small, lovely bow. “That’ll be 220 yuan. I’ll give it to you for 200.”
Cheng Jingwei took 300 yuan from his wallet and handed it to her. “Keep the change. I wish you good health.”
The old woman froze for a moment, holding the bouquet in stunned gratitude—she had never met such a kind and generous customer.
Cheng Jingwei gently tapped Jiang Zhier on the head. “Why aren’t you taking it?”
Jiang Zhier quickly accepted the flowers, holding them tightly in her arms.
The car was parked not far away. As they walked, the little girl lowered her head to sniff the roses. The smile that bloomed on her lips and eyes was impossible to hide.
“Second Uncle.”
“Hmm?”
“Can you give me this bouquet of roses?”
“It was meant for you from the start.”
Jiang Zhier’s smile deepened. She lowered her head, gently pressing her lips into the petals to conceal the curve of her smile.
After a pause, she whispered, “This is the first bouquet I’ve ever received.”
Cheng Jingwei lowered his gaze. Her nose and cheeks were red—probably from the cold.
He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. It was far too large; the shoulders and hem hung awkwardly on her small frame, like a child wearing adult clothes.
He brushed her hair back with a light touch and said softly, “Er’er, your life is still long. You’ll receive many more flowers in the future.”
In the following days, Cheng Jingwei remained busy. Cheng Huaixian was gravely ill in the hospital, and the old directors were watching closely. He moved constantly between the company and the hospital, often leaving early and returning late.
Meanwhile, the bouquet of roses from that snowy night sat by Jiang Zhier’s bedroom window.
She cared for it meticulously every day, but the stems had been cut—the flowers could not last. Eventually, they began to wilt.
Jiang Zhier searched online for ways to preserve flowers and discovered the method of drying them to make them last longer.
She bought clips and hung the roses upside down on the balcony to dry.
To conceal her feelings—and not dare let Cheng Jingwei find out—she would dry them before school and bring them back inside before he returned home.
Aunt Chu, puzzled, asked, “Er’er, why are you moving those flowers in and out every day?”
The girl blushed and stammered, “I read online… that this is the best way to dry them.”
Fortunately, Aunt Chu didn’t press further.
Jiang Zhier hurried back to her room with the flowers.
That night, Cheng Jingwei came home late.
Lying in bed, Jiang Zhier heard him enter. The nightlight cast a soft glow, illuminating the rose stems swaying gently by the window.
It felt like watching a dream.
Ten days later, the vibrant flowers had finally dried.
She hid them deep in her closet—like a secret lover.
She dared only to take one out and press it into her diary, writing carefully beside it:
“He—the flower he gave me.”
Jiang Zhier’s handwriting was beautiful, each stroke delicate and steady—just as her grandmother had once guided her hand, stroke by stroke.
That winter, Nancy welcomed her first snowfall.
The air grew colder, yet the campus remained lively. The playground had been cleared, and students chased one another across the last patches of white.
Always afraid of the cold, Jiang Zhier stayed in the classroom, frowning at the physics paper that had just been returned.
Final exams were approaching, and even the daily quizzes had become difficult for her to finish.
Jiang Zhier’s grades were uneven—she was near the top in every subject except physics, which was her Achilles’ heel.
Shao Xu, who sat in front of her, turned around and glanced at her paper. “Er’er, your physics hasn’t been good lately. Did the class supervisor talk to you?”
Jiang Zhier slumped onto her desk. “Yeah. He said if I don’t pass the finals, he’ll make a home visit.”
A home visit.
Wouldn’t that mean seeing Cheng Jingwei? The more she thought about it, the more anxious she became.
Later, she secretly searched Cheng Jingwei’s résumé online. He had graduated from MIT—one of the world’s top universities. How embarrassing would it be if he found out she couldn’t even pass physics?
Shao Xu said, “I don’t remember you ever failing before.”
It just happened that the recent lessons covered her weakest topic, and physics class was the one where her mind most often wandered.
It was true what they said—early love could ruin grades. She hadn’t even fallen in love yet, just quietly harbored feelings—and already, her concentration was gone.
Just as she was thinking that, Shao Xu suddenly blurted, “Wait—are you secretly in love?!”
Jiang Zhier froze, coughing violently in shock.
“No way! Er’er, you really are!” Shao Xu whispered excitedly.
“Shh!” Jiang Zhier covered her mouth quickly. Luckily, the hallway noise drowned them out.
Shao Xu leaned closer, whispering, “Don’t tell me it’s Cheng Jiayao!”
“Cheng Jiayao?” Jiang Zhier looked baffled and waved her hands quickly. “Of course not!”
“Come on, people have been talking! Someone said they saw Cheng Jiayao take you racing.”
“No, he and I only meet because of… my second uncle. We just happen to see each other sometimes.”
“Then who is it?” Shao Xu cupped her face dramatically. “Who’s lucky enough to have our fairy fall for him?”
“I really don’t—”
Shao Xu pouted. “We’re best friends! How could you hide it from me?”
“I…” Jiang Zhier sighed, defeated. “There is someone I like.”
“Who is it?!”
“…”
“Tell me! I’ll help you make a plan to win him over!”
Jiang Zhier groaned and dropped her forehead onto the table. “Forget it. I don’t even dare tell him.”
Shao Xu kept urging her to be brave and confess, but she had no idea what kind of man she had fallen for.
While Cheng Jingwei was fighting ruthless battles over interests and power, she was agonizing over a failing physics test.
How could there be a greater difference between them?
That evening, after dinner, Jiang Zhier sat at her desk again, reviewing her physics paper.
Cheng Jingwei had been busy lately, always returning home late.
She slumped over the table, flipping through her textbook and carefully correcting her mistakes.
Suddenly, she heard the door beep—the sound of the lock.
Startled, she looked up to see Cheng Jingwei entering earlier than usual. In a panic, she scrambled to gather the scattered papers and shoved them into her bag.
She didn’t even know why. Maybe she just didn’t want him to see her failing grade—to think less of her.
But the noise caught his attention.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Cheng Jingwei raised an eyebrow. Having seen Cheng Jiayao’s single-digit test papers before, he asked, “Did you have an exam recently?”
There was no hiding it now.
“…Yeah,” she murmured.
He picked up her bag and pulled out the crumpled physics paper—marked 58.
He had always been a gifted science student, consistently getting perfect scores. His top marks and competition awards had earned him a place at MIT.
But seeing her downcast face, he only said, “That’s not bad. Just two points away from passing.”
“…”
That didn’t sound comforting at all.
“I just have a weak spot in physics,” she muttered defensively. “I do well in all my other subjects. I even used to get eighty in physics.”
“What happened lately?”
You happened, Jiang Zhier thought silently.
But she couldn’t say that. After a pause, she mumbled, “I just fell a bit behind in lessons.”
Cheng Jingwei pulled out a chair and sat beside her. He went through her mistakes one by one—most were on electromagnetic induction, a notoriously tricky topic.
Then he tapped the final multiple-choice question with his pen. “This one still needs correcting.”
He took her pen and began sketching an E–t graph on scratch paper, jotting down the formula. His handwriting was a little careless, yet smooth and elegant.
Jiang Zhier wasn’t even looking at what he wrote anymore. Her gaze was fixed on the back of his hand, the veins standing out faintly beneath his skin.
He was holding her pen—didn’t that mean they had, in a way, held hands?
He said something, then asked, “Do you understand?”
She didn’t respond.
He tapped her forehead lightly with the pen. “Were you listening?”
Jiang Zhier folded her arms over her chest, trying to still her pounding heart. “Yeah.”
“Then what’s the answer to this question?”
“…”
He tapped her again, but continued explaining patiently—his reasoning clear, organized, and full of helpful tricks, far better than any teacher’s.
This time, she understood and filled in the answer: A.
An hour and a half later, he had gone through every mistake and re-taught her the key concepts of electromagnetic induction.
Finally, he opened her physics textbook, marking a few blank sections with a pencil. “Do all these again later. Most of them are basic questions—you should find them easy.”
“Okay.”
He flipped another page—and suddenly stopped.
A pink envelope had slipped out.
It was addressed to Jiang Zhier, clearly signed by a boy’s name, with a small rose drawn in the corner.
A love letter.
Cheng Jingwei picked it up between two long fingers and raised an eyebrow.
“Er’er.”
She was still taking notes without looking up. “Hmm?”
His voice was calm, but carried a hint of amusement. “Has your recent drop in grades been caused by a relationship?”