After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Pei Ji’s voice was so cold it chilled Guan Nan to the bone.

Guan Nan, who had been playing with the cat, finally noticed something was wrong. Holding the kitten, he froze for a moment before setting it down and cautiously asked, “…Brother Pei, are you looking for Director Chu?”

They say married couples start to resemble each other over time, but Pei Ji and Chu Tinghan had only been married a short while. Could Director Chu’s mercurial temperament already be rubbing off on Pei Ji?

Guan Nan inwardly cursed. His mind raced, desperately trying to figure out what had suddenly soured Pei Ji’s mood.

Pei Ji replied flatly, “Personal matter.”

Did they have a fight? A misunderstanding?

Guan Nan dared not move, choosing to remain silent for now.

But Pei Ji clearly had no patience to wait. His voice grew even colder, carrying an unmistakable air of command: “Where is he?”

“He… Director Chu… he’s…”

“Where?” Pei Ji was growing impatient, unwilling to repeat himself.

Guan Nan closed his eyes and blurted out, “Director Chu left an hour ago. He should be at the stadium rehearsing for tomorrow’s concert.”

Upon hearing this answer, Pei Ji suddenly laughed.

Wasn’t he supposed to be in a meeting? Why is he at rehearsal again?

How much of what he says is actually true?

Seeing him smile, Guan Nan thought he was saved, but after the laughter subsided, Pei Ji’s expression became even more chilling.

Pei Ji raised an eyebrow, his voice flat yet accusatory. “Didn’t he say he was in a meeting? Why is he at rehearsal again?”

An invisible loading circle whirled above Guan Nan’s head, spinning endlessly before finally registering.

Wait… why didn’t anyone tell me they switched the person?

Is this cold, detached person still the Pei Ji I used to know?

Where’s the Pei Ji whose ears would turn crimson at the mere mention of Chu Tinghan, the Pei Ji who insisted on taking responsibility for him?

“Uh…” Guan Nan’s mind froze, stammering for ages without producing a coherent answer.

Pei Ji didn’t rush him, waiting patiently for Guan Nan to concoct a story.

Guan Nan pulled over a chair for Pei Ji to sit on and, after a long pause to gather his thoughts, finally managed to say, “The meeting was canceled at the last minute. Since the concert’s tomorrow, Director Chu went ahead to rehearse.”

Pei Ji remained silent, sitting with a cold expression as if lost in thought.

Not hearing Pei Ji’s reply, Guan Nan grew increasingly uneasy. After a moment’s thought, he added, “Is it urgent? You could wait here a bit longer. Director Chu should be back soon.”

Pei Ji stood up and said coolly, “No need. I’ll go find him myself.”

He couldn’t wait any longer; he needed to uncover the truth as quickly as possible.

Just a few steps from Chu Tinghan’s company, he suddenly changed his mind.

Confronting him directly about this would only create an awkward situation and put him on the spot.

Subconsciously, Pei Ji still couldn’t bring himself to believe that Chu Tinghan was a habitual liar.

He didn’t want these questions to damage their relationship, to reopen the cracks in their hard-won love.

What if I’m just imagining things? he thought. What if Chu Tinghan isn’t as manipulative and scheming as I fear?

Besides, he was practically worthless now—no fame, no fortune. Why would Chu Tinghan marry him under false pretenses?

It would be a losing game with no possible benefit.

Unable to fathom the reason, Pei Ji stood rooted to the spot, lost in thought. Finally, he settled on a compromise, pulling out his phone to send Chu Tinghan a message.

Pei Ji: While searching for documents in your room, I found a phone. Whose is it?

This approach allowed him to raise the crucial question without burning bridges. More importantly, if the whole thing was just a misunderstanding, there would still be room for reconciliation.

After a few minutes, Chu Tinghan replied.

Chu: The phone you used before.

Pei Ji breathed a sigh of relief, grateful Chu Tinghan hadn’t tried to hide the truth. But another question immediately surfaced: If Chu Tinghan knew it was his phone, why had he hidden it in a box in the study and never mentioned it?

Pei Ji: Why is my phone in your study?

This message went unanswered for a long time.

Pei Ji grew inexplicably restless again.

Was the lack of reply because Chu Tinghan was busy, or because he was stalling, searching for a plausible excuse?

Finally, the notification tone rang out.

Chu: I was planning to get it repaired and return it to you, but so much has happened lately that I accidentally forgot about it. I haven’t had time to take it in, so I couldn’t return it.

Forgot?

Pei Ji was deeply skeptical. He knew Chu Tinghan’s schedule was packed, his days relentlessly demanding. But even someone that busy should have been able to spare time to fix a phone, right?

Besides, it was his phone. If it needed repairs, it should have been returned to him first. Why had Chu Tinghan never even mentioned it?

The more Pei Ji thought about it, the more his head ached. Helpless, he pressed further.

Pei Ji: This is my phone. Why didn’t you tell me about it?

Another long silence stretched between them.

Pei Ji suddenly felt utterly powerless. He knew he, as a heartless scumbag who had abandoned his husband and child, had no right to question his sugar daddy, Boss Chu. But Chu Tinghan’s evasive behavior was so suspicious it left him no choice but to doubt.

Pei Ji typed and deleted, typed and deleted, eventually clearing the message box entirely. He still couldn’t bring himself to send anything more accusatory.

After a moment, Chu Tinghan seemed to sense his panic and unease, finally sending a message.

Chu: The car accident happened so suddenly. My mind was in chaos for a while afterward, so I forgot to tell you.

The same answer—I forgot.

Pei Ji gave a silent, bitter laugh. He didn’t even know if he should believe this explanation.

It made sense, but it didn’t hold up under scrutiny.

He was tired of this charade. He didn’t want to ask any more questions, because he knew the answer would always be the same:

I forgot.

Chu Tinghan truly lived up to his reputation as an untouchable god of song. Even his memory seemed to match the saying: “Great men are often forgetful.”

He wondered just how many more ambiguous lies Chu Tinghan was keeping from him.

Pei Ji’s thoughts spiraled. He abruptly stopped thinking about it, shoved his phone back into his pocket, and took the elevator downstairs.

Despite forcing himself not to dwell on it, his mind remained restless.

He even found himself wishing he hadn’t been so vigilant, hadn’t discovered the phone Chu Tinghan had hidden.

Sometimes, ignorance truly was bliss.

Now, he felt as if an impenetrable layer of white paper had suddenly fallen between him and Chu Tinghan. They were separated by an indistinct, opaque barrier that made it impossible to see each other clearly, leaving him uncertain how to interact with Chu Tinghan in the future.

If a couple couldn’t be honest with each other, their marriage was merely an empty shell, a hollow pretense.

In light of this, his earlier promise to live a good life with Chu Tinghan now seemed like a cruel joke.

How could he possibly live well when their life together was steeped in deceit?

Pei Ji wandered outside in a daze, the high-noon sun glaring down, blinding him.

He squinted, instinctively raising his hand to shield his eyes, but before he could react, a familiar voice rang out beside him.

“Bro! It really is you!” Qiao He rushed over, still panting as he reached Pei Ji’s side.

Pei Ji noticed the coffee bag still swaying in Qiao He’s hand, guessing he must have run over.

He should have plastered his usual polite smile on his face, but he simply couldn’t muster even half a smile right now.

Qiao He caught his breath slightly. “I was downstairs buying coffee and spotted someone who looked like you from afar. I ran over, never expecting it would actually be you.”

Pei Ji kept his tone even. “What are you doing here? Did you need something from me?”

Qiao He pointed across the street. “You forgot? That’s Huanyu Media’s office building over there. I work there.”

Pei Ji wasn’t in the mood for such details. He simply nodded flatly to acknowledge the information.

But Qiao He grew even more enthusiastic, leaning in conspiratorially and lowering his voice. “Hey, when did you strike it rich, bro? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Strike it rich? Is he talking about my meteoric rise?

A thought involuntarily flashed through Pei Ji’s mind: He’s found himself a sugar daddy.

He desperately squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the thought, but no other explanation came to mind for his sudden wealth.

Wait a minute…

Pei Ji suddenly realized he had never revealed even the slightest hint about his relationship with Chu Tinghan to Qiao He.

Why was Qiao He asking him this all of a sudden?

“Why are you asking me that? What do you mean ‘I’ve hit it big’?” Pei Ji asked, puzzled.

Qiao He blinked in bewilderment, as if equally perplexed by Pei Ji’s question. “You know, about terminating your contract?”

He then glanced up at the office building behind Pei Ji, which did indeed look more impressive than Huanyu Media’s headquarters. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he said, “Is this your ‘Next Home’ you’ve been preparing?”

Terminating my contract? Next Home? Pei Ji was utterly baffled.

After a moment’s hesitation, Pei Ji replied, “My contract with Huanyu Media isn’t even up yet. Where would a ‘Next Home’ come from?”

“But you terminated it years ago,” Qiao He insisted, even more perplexed.

“Terminated?”

“Yeah! You paid the 18 million yuan penalty in full at once!” Qiao He’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “Bro, I never knew you were this loaded! You’ve been hiding your true colors all this time!”

Pei Ji vividly remembered his bank balance showing only a five-figure sum, and a one as the first digit—dirt poor. Where would he get 18 million yuan to pay a termination fee?

Unless Huanyu Media and I both went insane and settled the deal with ghost money…

Pei Ji’s thoughts froze. “I terminated my contract?”

Qiao He nodded vigorously, like a chicken pecking at grain. “Yeah, you terminated the contract. It was several years ago. Wait, you don’t know?”

He scratched his head, utterly baffled. Who terminates a contract without knowing it?

Pei Ji froze, then suddenly remembered that since waking from the car accident, he had no memory of the past seven years. He had no way of knowing whether he had actually terminated his contract.

“How are you so sure I terminated it?” Pei Ji asked.

“Well, I asked, of course! I just wanted to check how many years were left on your contract with Huanyu Media, but the answer I got was that you’d already terminated it.”

Pei Ji frowned. A name suddenly flashed through his mind. “Who paid the termination fee?” he murmured.

Only one person he knew had the means to pay the eighteen million yuan in one go. But at this moment, Pei Ji desperately hoped the answer wouldn’t be him.

Qiao He pondered for a moment, then drawled, “I think… it was someone surnamed Chu.”

Surnamed Chu?

A thunderous boom exploded in Pei Ji’s mind. By some cruel twist of fate, it was the answer he least wanted to hear.

He only knew one person with that surname: Chu Tinghan.

But why?

They hadn’t even married back then. The termination fee wasn’t a shared debt; it shouldn’t have been Chu Tinghan’s responsibility, let alone something Chu Tinghan would pay.

But the truth was, Chu Tinghan had not only paid off the debt, but had also settled it in one lump sum, completely freeing him from this massive burden.

Why would Chu Tinghan do this?

He could have easily kicked Pei Ji to the curb. Why spend such a fortune to clean up his mess?

Eighteen million yuan might not have been a small sum for Chu Tinghan a few years ago.

Back then, they might not have even defined their relationship, or perhaps they were still dating in secret, nothing more than an ordinary couple.

Isn’t it said that when disaster strikes, everyone flees for themselves? Why hadn’t Chu Tinghan run? Not only did he refuse to abandon Pei Ji, but he poured all his resources into helping him.

Pei Ji couldn’t fathom any reason that would compel Chu Tinghan to recklessly throw eighteen million yuan at his problems.

Could it really be… just because of love?

Pei Ji kept asking himself why, but the only answer that came to mind was this:

She loves me. Because she loves me, she was willing to spend eighteen million yuan to buy my freedom.

But what was he doing now?

After all Chu Tinghan had sacrificed for him, he was still doubting her, suspecting her of being a con artist.

What kind of con artist would waste eighteen million yuan just to set up a scheme? The price was too steep—unless the person was a complete fool.

The next moment, the phone that had been silent for so long suddenly began ringing incessantly with notification alerts.

Pei Ji pulled out his phone, a beat slow, and saw messages from Chu Tinghan.

Chu Tinghan was still explaining about the phone incident, sending message after message, tirelessly repeating himself.

For some inexplicable reason, Pei Ji sensed a hint of pleading in the relentless stream of messages.

In this relationship, Chu Tinghan was desperately trying to make amends, while he—what was he doing? Suspecting, trying to find a crack in their seemingly perfect bond.

Pei Ji leaned against the wall, utterly drained, his eyes dull and lifeless.

Was this how I used to make Chu Tinghan lose heart?

A sudden wave of self-loathing washed over him. Chu Tinghan had been so good to him, yet he dared to doubt his sincerity, questioning whether his sincerity was mixed with ulterior motives.

“Bro…” Qiao He, startled by Pei Ji’s condition, reached out to steady him. “Are you alright?”

Pei Ji’s thoughts were in utter chaos, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth. After a moment, he weakly waved a hand and murmured, “It’s nothing. Probably just low blood sugar. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

Qiao He glanced around and spotted a café next door. He quickly urged Pei Ji to go inside and rest.

The café was nearly empty. Pei Ji found a window seat, his brow deeply furrowed, a hint of pain etched on his face.

Qiao He dared not ask what was wrong, so he sat across from Pei Ji, his words catching in his throat.

He could guess that Pei Ji was dealing with a particularly thorny issue, but he doubted he could offer any real help.

Qiao He sat quietly, silently pushing the freshly ordered latte across the table to Pei Ji. Then he lowered his head, took out his phone, and pretended to be absorbed in it to hide his inner anxiety.

Pei Ji rested his forehead in his hand, staring blankly out the window at the passing crowd, almost as if his mind had gone blank.

His phone, still lying on the table, kept buzzing with notification alerts. Without even looking, Pei Ji knew they were all messages from Chu Tinghan, but he couldn’t bring himself to read them.

Each explanation from Chu Tinghan felt like a dull knife grinding against his heart, the blunt pain reminding him of the fact that he was a suspicious, unreliable man.

Pei Ji couldn’t understand how he had become this way.

Despite all Chu Tinghan had done for him, he still doubted her, still refused to fully trust her.

Was it true that once a man embarked on the path of being a scumbag, there was no turning back?

Pei Ji suddenly plunged into intense self-condemnation, utterly despising his own actions.

Chu Tinghan’s messages remained on his phone screen. Pei Ji wanted to reply, but he didn’t know what to say.

Should he apologize? Or promise once again that he would be completely honest with her, that he would trust her implicitly from now on, and that he would never doubt her again?

A promise given once or twice is precious, but repeated too often, it loses its value.

Pei Ji couldn’t remember how many times he’d said such things in the past, and he wasn’t sure if the other person would ever genuinely trust him again.

“Oh my God…” Qiao He suddenly gasped softly, clutching his phone.

Pei Ji, thinking Qiao He was addressing him, instinctively looked up, only to find the man staring at his phone in horror, as if he’d just seen some earth-shattering news.

For some reason, a sudden wave of unease washed over Pei Ji. “What happened?”

Qiao He handed him the phone, clutching his chest with lingering fear. “This is terrifying! This has to be a major accident, right? Falling from that height… I hope the person’s okay. I’m even a bit of a fan… Please, let them be alright…”

A fan… The injured person is a singer?!

A name flashed through Pei Ji’s mind, and his heart skipped a beat. As he took the phone, his hand trembled slightly.

The phone displayed a blurry leaked video, its backdrop an open-air stadium. The music stuttered in fragments, and the performers onstage wore casual clothes, as if during a rehearsal.

The first few seconds of the video were calm, but then the figure at center stage retreated according to the planned choreography. However, the hydraulic lift behind him failed to rise on cue. As half his foot stepped into empty air, his body lurched backward uncontrollably, and he plunged into the dark abyss as if swallowed by the stage itself.

By this point, the camera began to shake violently, the footage blurring. The video abruptly cut off with the recorder’s panicked scream.

The moment Pei Ji saw the figure fall, he distinctly felt his heart stop beating.

That silhouette was too familiar. The text overlaying the video blared: “Chu Tinghan’s rehearsal may have suffered a major accident!”

Chu… Chu Tinghan?!

Chu Tinghan had been in an accident!

Realizing this, Pei Ji’s heart, which had been still for so long, began to pound again in his chest, each beat more frantic than the last. The throbbing grew faster and stronger, coalescing into a desperate, deafening alarm.

Pei Ji’s mind went blank. Before his brain could even issue a command, he had already bolted to the roadside.

“Bro, where are you going?” Qiao He chased after him, but he was a step too late, only catching a glimpse of Pei Ji’s retreating figure disappearing at the edge of the road.

Pei Ji rushed to the roadside and flagged down a taxi, begging the driver to take him to the hospital at top speed.

The driver, looking impatient, turned around and muttered, “My app says I’m off-duty. Why are you even hailing me? I’ve got family waiting. Get out—”

He trailed off mid-sentence, stopped by the sight of Pei Ji’s desperate, broken gaze. A faint, almost imperceptible redness rimmed those beautiful peach-blossom eyes, their expression nearly pleading.

“I’ll pay extra, please! I’m really in a hurry. Something seems to have happened to my beloved…”