After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Returning home from the hospital, Pei Ji couldn’t shake the image of that suspicious white furball.
He was certain he hadn’t eaten any poisonous mushrooms, nor was he suffering from hysteria.
Yet the scene of the furball rushing toward him felt vividly real. As it approached, he’d felt an inexplicable joy, even an instinctive urge to scoop it up.
His genuine emotions couldn’t lie. Pei Ji began to doubt whether he had actually experienced this moment.
This was the first time since waking from the car accident that he questioned his supposed time-travel.
Time-travel could skip seven years of memories, while amnesia could temporarily erase them—both achieving virtually identical results.
Pei Ji couldn’t quite determine whether he had traveled seven years into the future or simply lost seven years of his memories.
After careful deliberation, he realized he couldn’t accept either scenario.
If it were time-travel, the heavens were playing a cruel joke, forcing him to clean up the messes of his future self. But if it were amnesia, then his current predicament was entirely his own making—from his career collapse and exit from the entertainment industry to his reputation as a kept man and a jerk. None of it could be blamed on anyone else.
As these thoughts swirled, Pei Ji suddenly let out a bitter laugh.
His life experiences were so extraordinary, they could fill the pages of history books.
Buzz—his phone on the table suddenly vibrated.
Pei Ji picked up his phone and saw a message from Qiao He.
Just as he was about to unlock it and open the chat, he noticed the message bubble displayed “Message withdrawn.”
Did he send it by mistake?
Just as Pei Ji was about to exit the app, the screen lit up with “Typing…”
Hesitating to send it, then retracting it immediately… What does Qiao He want?
Impatient, Pei Ji sent a message:
Pei Ji: Do you need something?
After a few seconds, Qiao He replied with a single “Mm.”
Pei Ji: Spit it out.
Qiao He: Um… Brother.
After sending those words, Qiao He went silent again.
Pei Ji frowned, puzzled. What could be so difficult to say?
Surely he’s not going to start lecturing me about the sham marriage again?
Qiao He: Brother, would you be free to come to the company?
Pei Ji: Which company? When?
Perhaps sensing Pei Ji wasn’t going to refuse, Qiao He’s messages came faster now.
Qiao He: Huanyu Media.
Pei Ji froze. If I remember correctly, Qiao He was vehemently cursing Huanyu Media as a “dog company” when we met last time.
Pei Ji: Why are you asking me to go there?
Qiao He: General Xu wants to see you.
General Xu?
Pei Ji actually knew a General Xu—the one who’d tried to force himself on him before the car accident, only to end up screaming in agony.
The General Xu that Pei Ji knew worked at Minghua Entertainment, but the General Xu who wanted to meet with him now was at Huanyu Media. He couldn’t be sure if they were the same person.
If it was the General Xu who had tried to coerce him into a sexual relationship, Pei Ji genuinely didn’t want to go. Just thinking about that man’s face made him sick.
But seeing Qiao He’s troubled expression, Pei Ji suspected that General Xu must have threatened him. Otherwise, given Qiao He’s fiery temper, he would have pointed his finger and cursed the man out long ago. How could he possibly agree to this?
He threatened you? What will happen to you if I refuse to see him? Pei Ji typed.
The only response was silence.
Seeing this, Pei Ji understood. His issues with General Xu shouldn’t involve anyone else, especially Qiao He, who had been so honest and open with him. It was unfair to let Qiao He suffer the consequences.
Fine, I’ll go see him. When should I meet him?
Qiao He first sent a crying emoji to express his gratitude, then replied: Tomorrow.
Tomorrow?!
So urgent?
The next day, Pei Ji followed the navigation app to Huanyu Media’s building. Just as he arrived at the entrance, he spotted Qiao He looking around anxiously, waiting for him.
Pei Ji walked over and called out to him.
Hearing his voice, Qiao He excitedly waved.
“What does General Xu want from me?” Pei Ji asked.
Qiao He looked a bit guilty. “I’m not entirely sure, but it probably isn’t anything good…” His voice trailed off, his face full of apology.
Taking two steps forward, Qiao He suddenly grabbed Pei Ji’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Brother, if you don’t want to see him, it’s okay. We can still leave now.”
Pei Ji chuckled, surprised by his sudden change of heart. “If I leave, what about you?”
Qiao He forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. Besides, he can’t withhold my salary just because of this.”
Over the years, Qiao He hadn’t fared well at the company. Initially, he’d been able to work as a personal assistant to minor celebrities, but once they learned he’d previously been Pei Ji’s assistant, they considered it bad luck and made excuses to switch staff. Qiao He’s status gradually declined until he was reduced to doing odd jobs around the office.
If General Xu hadn’t hinted—and then made it clear—that he’d make life difficult for Qiao He if he failed to bring Pei Ji, Qiao He would never have asked Pei Ji to come.
But now he was having second thoughts. Truth be told, his time as Pei Ji’s assistant had been the easiest period of his working life. Pei Ji was easygoing, emotionally stable, and made few demands of his assistant. More than an assistant, Qiao He felt like his little sidekick—and the most carefree kind at that.
“Brother, don’t worry about me. If you don’t want to go, you can leave right now. I won’t blame you at all.”
Qiao He had already made up his mind: if the company continued to give him a hard time this time, he would quit.
Everyone has their limits. If they won’t keep me, someone else will.
“You’re not buying the house anymore?” Pei Ji suddenly asked.
A thunderclap seemed to strike Qiao He. He felt as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Forcing an awkward smile, he quickly abandoned his thoughts of quitting. After all, finding a new job wouldn’t be easy. Better stick it out for now.
Qiao He hurried ahead, taking the lead as he guided Pei Ji toward General Xu’s office.
As they rode the elevator, the screen inside cycled through music videos by Huanyu Media’s artists.
The visuals shifted, and the music changed with them. Almost the instant the next song began to play, Pei Ji’s gaze froze on the screen.
The melody and lyrics were eerily familiar, almost identical to a song he’d written in high school. Yet the singer was a stranger he’d never seen before.
Stepping out of the elevator, Pei Ji’s brows furrowed involuntarily. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Who was singing that last song?”
Qiao He’s voice unconsciously carried a hint of disdain. “Xu Wangxuan, Huanyu Media’s hottest idol right now.”
Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he leaned in close to Pei Ji’s ear and whispered, “He’s General Xu’s illegitimate son. Don’t let his polished public image fool you—he has a terrible temper. Not many people in the company like him.”
Pei Ji wasn’t particularly interested in gossip at the moment. He was far more concerned about that familiar melody he’d just heard. “Was that song also his?”
“Yeah,” Qiao He replied. “It’s the song that made him famous overnight. Claims he wrote the lyrics and composed the music himself, but I doubt it. Probably hired a ghostwriter.”
Pei Ji knew that song like the back of his hand. He had poured his heart and soul into writing it alone in his cramped rented room near campus.
Years ago, his foster parents had a bitter falling-out when his foster father’s infidelity came to light. In a fit of anger, his foster mother abandoned him and fled the country, while his foster father paraded around with a new, beautiful woman and their child, staging a charade of familial harmony.
Pei Ji refused to participate in their farce. Disgusted by the spectacle, he had a furious argument with his foster father and never returned home.
His foster father stubbornly believed Pei Ji refused to accept them because he wanted to hoard the family fortune for himself. But Pei Ji had never coveted a single penny of it.
Ten thousand strings of coins, “Young Master Pei”—none of it mattered to him.
Back then, with nowhere to go, he spent his days gliding aimlessly through the city on his longboard.
As a child in the orphanage, his greatest dream had been to have a family like the other kids. Perhaps heaven had heard his prayers when his foster parents came to take him away. But the good times didn’t last. After their divorce, he was left alone and adrift once more.
He felt like heaven was mocking him—giving him something only to snatch it away. But gradually, he came to realize: why yearn for someone else’s love? He could live freely and independently on his own.
In those days, his greatest passions were music and longboarding. When he stood on his board, all he heard was the wind whistling past, the sound of freedom. He belonged only to himself, living for no one’s expectations, and never again trembling in fear of abandonment.
He needed no hollow shell of a home, and certainly no one’s pitying care.
It was this state of mind that drove him to write the song, its style both free and daring.
Seven years had passed. How could this song now be claimed as someone else’s original composition?
Pei Ji refused to believe he would ever ghostwrite for anyone, let alone hand over his hard-won work to another. Especially not to someone connected to General Xu. It was highly likely that some twist of fate during those seven years had allowed the song to fall into another’s hands.
And this person turned out to be General Xu’s illegitimate son. Like father, like son—both despicable to the core.
Qiao He noticed his change in expression. “What’s wrong with the song?”
Pei Ji paused, then replied, “Nothing, it just sounds familiar.”
Unaware of the truth, Qiao He nodded and led Pei Ji into General Xu’s office.
When Pei Ji looked up, the face before him overlapped with the one he remembered from before the car accident—the same ugly, repulsive features. It really was General Xu, though he looked older now, his hair thinning at the crown.
Suppressing his disgust, Pei Ji stood before him and asked in a flat tone, “I heard you wanted to see me?”
General Xu glanced at him. “It’s been a few years, Little Pei. You’re still as handsome as ever.”
Tch… Who the hell does he think I am, his “Little Pei”? Pei Ji had no patience for pleasantries.
Pei Ji frowned slightly, his tone icy: “Get to the point. Don’t waste my time.”
Even though he believed his contract with Huanyu Media hadn’t yet expired, Pei Ji couldn’t be bothered to flatter General Xu anymore. The fact that he was even standing here talking to him felt like a generous concession. Besides, his career had already hit rock bottom—it couldn’t get any worse.
General Xu’s smile froze, clearly taken aback by Pei Ji’s lack of deference. “The company is currently developing a variety show, and I think you’d be perfect for it. Are you interested in participating?”
Pei Ji didn’t hesitate: “No interest.”
General Xu could no longer maintain his composure, finally revealing his true colors. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you! Given your current status, you wouldn’t even get cast as an extra. Participating in our company’s variety show would be the luckiest break of your career.”
Pei Ji raised an eyebrow, casually picking up a pen from the table and twirling it between his fingers, as if he hadn’t heard a word. He offered no response.
Seeing this, General Xu’s face flushed crimson, then paled, his fury growing. He couldn’t understand where Pei Ji got his audacity. “Pei Ji, do you want to be blacklisted from the industry?”
At his words, Pei Ji didn’t even spare him a glance, merely scoffing coldly.
After all these years, can’t you come up with something new? I heard this line seven years ago. Do you really think I’d be scared now?
Pei Ji set down his pen, his eyes devoid of warmth. “Are you finished?”
General Xu blinked, still stunned, but before he could react, Pei Ji had already vanished from his sight.
“Thanks again, bro,” Qiao He said, standing by the roadside with Pei Ji as they waited for a ride.
Pei Ji glanced at him dismissively. “No problem,” he muttered before burying his head in his phone, searching for General Xu’s contact details to delete and block.
After scrolling through just a few pages, Pei Ji suddenly realized something: every single contact in his phonebook was work-related. Most entries were labeled with the person’s company position and name.
The contacts had been directly imported from his old phone, meaning that the old phone had been used exclusively for work-related communications.
Pei Ji pondered this for a moment, a daring idea forming in his mind.
It was highly likely that the old phone had been his work-only device, while personal contacts were stored on another phone.
He turned to Qiao He and asked, “How many phones did I have back then?”
It had been two years ago, and Qiao He’s memory was hazy. “From what I remember, most celebrities keep their work and personal lives separate. To avoid accidental likes or similar mishaps, they usually have a dedicated phone just for work.”
Pei Ji pondered, “So, according to you, I should have had two phones back then?”
Qiao He nodded slowly, then shook his head after a moment, looking troubled. “I don’t quite remember… logically, there should have been two.”
Pei Ji’s brow furrowed deeply, his expression turning grave.
Noticing his change in mood, Qiao He asked, “Why are you suddenly asking about this?”
Pei Ji snapped back to attention, answering casually, “Just a random question.”
If he truly had two phones, where was the other one? Why had he never seen it before?
With this question burning in his mind, Pei Ji rushed home anxiously, barging into his room and tearing through every drawer and cabinet in a frantic search.
But even after turning the place upside down, he couldn’t find the slightest trace of the other phone.
Where had it gone?
Could he have accidentally left it at the hospital when he was discharged?
The moment Kong Chuan saw Pei Ji at the hospital again, his first instinct was to bolt.
Pei Ji grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back. “Why are you running? I’m not going to eat you.”
Kong Chuan forced an awkward smile. “I really can’t cure that… white fur ball thing you have.”
Pei Ji was speechless. “Did I say I was here for treatment?”
Kong Chuan blinked, puzzled. “Then why are you here looking for me at the hospital?”
Pei Ji: “Did you forget the WeChat message I sent you a few days ago?”
Kong Chuan drew out a long “Ohhh,” finally remembering. “You mean about your phone being lost at the hospital?”
Pei Ji’s expression was indescribable. “What else would it be?”
“I’ve already asked someone to look for it, but there’s no news yet,” Kong Chuan said, straightening his wrinkled white coat and casually complaining, “It’s just a phone. Why not just buy a new one?”
He paused, then raised an eyebrow as if struck by a thought. With a teasing grin, he added, “A phone only costs a few thousand yuan. I remember your sugar daddy, that rich guy surnamed Chu, is loaded. Just bat your eyelashes and he’ll buy you a new one.”
The words had barely left his mouth when Pei Ji’s face instantly darkened.
Kong Chuan nervously licked his lips. “I-I was just joking. Don’t take it seriously.”
Pei Ji continued to stare at him with those deep, penetrating eyes, making his scalp tingle with unease.
Throwing caution to the wind, Kong Chuan clapped Pei Ji on the shoulder, trying to butter him up. “It’s noon anyway. Let me treat you to lunch. What do you feel like eating?”
“I have no appetite,” Pei Ji replied coldly.
With that, he turned and walked away without looking back.
Kong Chuan stood frozen in place, raising his hand to slap his own mouth. Why did I have to blurt that out? Why did I have to touch that nerve?
His hand had barely grazed his cheek when Pei Ji, who had just stormed off with a frosty expression, suddenly returned with the same icy demeanor.
Pei Ji paused, puzzled by Kong Chuan’s actions.
Kong Chuan froze momentarily, then quickly rubbed his face, muttering theatrically, “Ugh, springtime is so dry. My skin is all flaky.”
When did he suddenly become so meticulous about his appearance? Pei Ji didn’t bother calling him out on his lie. He frowned and asked, “Did I really say I was ‘bored of playing with you’ back then?”
Hearing this, Kong Chuan couldn’t keep up the act any longer. “Yeah, so what?” he retorted dismissively. “You don’t believe me?”
A scumbag trying to redeem himself? This is absurd!
Kong Chuan, earnestly trying to reason with him, said gravely, “Bro, man up and take responsibility. Don’t deny it.”
Pei Ji, seeing Kong Chuan’s self-righteous act, felt a surge of contempt and instinctively retorted, “Did Chu Tinghan pay you off?”
Kong Chuan froze, dumbfounded. This good brother of mine is truly a hopeless scumbag—not only denying his misdeeds but also slandering his patron!
He shook his head with a sigh, at a loss for words. “No, you… sigh, I think I’d better check your head again.”
Kong Chuan reached out to pat Pei Ji’s head.
Pei Ji swiftly slapped his hand away. “No need.”
Kong Chuan declared with righteous indignation, “I haven’t taken a single penny from him!”
Pei Ji hadn’t meant to imply that. He simply couldn’t understand why Kong Chuan was so quick to condemn him as a scumbag based solely on a phone call.
“Bro, Brother Pei, I really can’t stand it anymore! How can you be so heartless? He’s treating you with genuine sincerity, and what do you do? Suspect him behind his back!”
“If I hadn’t found that old phone for you, would you have immediately suspected your sugar daddy again, accusing him of stealing it?”
“The problem is, they’re not exactly strapped for cash. Why would they steal your phone? You don’t have state secrets on there, do you? Seriously, I can’t stand to watch this anymore.”
Kong Chuan’s casual teasing inadvertently reminded Pei Ji.
The hospital aides were all hired by Chu Tinghan. It would have been child’s play for them to swipe a phone from him unnoticed.
But why would Chu Tinghan take his phone?
Pei Ji couldn’t fathom it, massaging his temples with a headache.
Kong Chuan, thinking the jerk was finally repenting, tried to put an arm around him. “Look, to be honest, what you did was seriously messed up. If I were Chu Tinghan, my heart would be absolutely ice-cold right now.”
After hearing this, Pei Ji actually felt a twinge of guilt.
Could I really be such a world-class scumbag? Immediately blaming my sugar daddy when things go wrong, never admitting I’m at fault?
Pei Ji’s mind was a mess. After a long silence, he finally said, “Alright, I get it.”
A moment later, he added, “Keep an eye out for the phone, will you? It’s pretty important to me.”
Deep down, Pei Ji suspected that the entirety of his past with Chu Tinghan might be locked away on that mysteriously vanished phone…