After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 16

Chapter 16

The driver, visibly shaken, fumbled with the gears. “Young man, don’t panic! I’m pulling away right now. Good people are always blessed; your partner will be fine, I’m sure of it.”

Pei Ji didn’t even have the strength to respond. He sat hunched over in the back seat, his fingers clenched tightly around his phone, his head bowed so low that it touched the screen, his posture resembling one in desperate prayer.

He’d never been backstage at a concert and had no idea how high the hydraulic stage was. The video footage was too blurry to make out any details of the accident.

As Chu Tinghan’s other half, he should be by his side right now. But in reality, he could only sit in a taxi and pray for him.

Pei Ji suddenly felt utterly useless.

He forced his trembling hands to steady as he reopened his phone and searched for more information. By now, the hashtag #ChuTinghanRehearsalAccident# had climbed to the top of the trending searches, the screen flooded with accident videos taken from different angles.

Each time Pei Ji glanced at a video, his heart grew colder. It wasn’t until he noticed his own breath turning icy that he finally snapped out of his drowning-like panic.

He scrolled through page after page of news as if he couldn’t tire, desperately searching for any sign of Chu Tinghan’s safety.

But there was nothing—not a single update. The internet was flooded with countless accident videos, yet no one revealed Chu Tinghan’s latest condition.

Chu Tinghan’s fans were just as anxious as Pei Ji, all praying for his safety. But as often happens with celebrities, a few callous voices mocked him, and some haters even blamed Chu Tinghan for the accident.

How could such an experienced singer like Chu Tinghan make such a rookie mistake? He’s been touring for years—can’t he even remember his stage cues?

Didn’t he feel his foot slipping off the edge? Why did he step back? This could have been easily avoided! I can’t believe he didn’t notice.

In the first half of the video, Chu Tinghan’s voice sounded weak and strained. That’s not his usual level. It’s like he was distracted while singing…

Spacing out during concert rehearsals? Chu Tinghan’s only been popular for a few years, and he’s already this unprofessional? No wonder he fell into the pit.

A normal person would have instinctively stepped forward the moment their foot met empty air, but he actually stepped backward. It’s clear he was completely distracted and didn’t even realize what was happening.

Why would he be spacing out during rehearsal? What was Chu Tinghan thinking about?

Such indiscriminate blame piled solely on Chu Tinghan could only come from his anti-fans. Their comments were dripping with extreme bias; in their eyes, even Chu Tinghan’s breathing was wrong.

Unsurprisingly, few took these comments seriously. Most people blamed the accident on the staff’s negligence.

But Pei Ji took them to heart, because he knew Chu Tinghan might actually have been distracted.

What was Chu Tinghan thinking about the moment he stepped onto the stage?

The answer was obvious. Right before Chu Tinghan went on stage, he had relentlessly pressed him about his phone. To explain, Chu Tinghan had sent him dozens of messages.

Yet Pei Ji, consumed by his own turmoil, hadn’t replied to a single one.

So, was Chu Tinghan thinking about those messages? Had Pei Ji’s relentless questioning distracted him?

If only he hadn’t harbored doubts and relentlessly pressed for answers… Would Chu Tinghan have been so distracted during rehearsals? Would he have fallen through that hole?

It’s all my fault…

The thought crashed over Pei Ji like a tidal wave of regret, drowning him in self-blame.

“Young man… don’t worry too much.” The driver, who had been silent the whole time, glanced back through the rearview mirror, worried about Pei Ji’s emotional state. He saw Pei Ji’s face drained of color, his lips white as paper, his condition utterly bleak.

Unsure how to comfort him, the driver slowly said, “Seeing how worried you are, you two must be very close. Heaven favors true lovers. Your partner will definitely be alright.”

After a long silence, Pei Ji’s chest rose and fell slightly. In an almost inaudible voice, he murmured, “Mm-hmm.”

The giant white fur ball, the friend who had suddenly moved out, the missing phone—he no longer cared about any of it.

Nothing mattered more to him now than Chu Tinghan’s safety.

Chu Tinghan will be alright…

Kong Chuan never imagined he’d run into Pei Ji so many times at the hospital in such a short span.

He was about to head downstairs to the cafeteria when he stepped out of the elevator and immediately spotted an anxious figure.

Pei Ji was pacing frantically down the corridor like a headless fly, clearly searching for someone.

As Kong Chuan weaved through the crowd to greet him, Pei Ji’s gaze didn’t linger on him for even half a second. He even muttered a hasty “Excuse me” before continuing his hurried pace.

Kong Chuan quickly reached out and grabbed his arm, puzzled. “Hey, where are you rushing off to? I’m saying hello—don’t you recognize me?”

Pei Ji froze, glanced at him, and paused before finally recognizing him.

Slightly exasperated, Kong Chuan was about to tease him—What a coincidence running into you again! What brings you to the hospital today?—but before he could utter a single word, Pei Ji spoke first, his voice urgent: “Do you know where Chu Tinghan is?”

Kong Chuan froze for a moment, confused. “I’m just a regular guy. Chu Tinghan’s a huge star—I don’t even know him personally. How would I know where he is?”

After speaking, Kong Chuan realized Pei Ji wasn’t merely anxious but deeply worried. Pei Ji’s expression now mirrored exactly the distraught faces of family members waiting outside an operating room.

Kong Chuan finally realized something was wrong, frowning slightly. “What’s happened to him?”

“Has something gone wrong? Who’s been hurt? Don’t tell me it’s your Big Boss Chu?”

Pei Ji didn’t respond, instead repeatedly dialing the same number, pressing the phone to his ear, waiting for it to connect.

He moved like a programmed robot, repeating the action again and again.

But every call went unanswered, the line remaining constantly busy.

After hearing the endless “beep… beep…” sound yet again, Pei Ji grew genuinely frightened. Desperate, he blurted out to Kong Chuan, “If someone falls from a stage lift, would the injuries be severe?”

Pei Ji’s question was too vague, and Kong Chuan didn’t know how to answer. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “It’s hard to say. It depends on how high the lift was.”

The moment those words left his lips, Pei Ji’s eyes went dark. The anxiety in his expression was replaced by remorse and anguish. He lowered his gaze and murmured weakly several times, “It’s all my fault…”

Though he didn’t know what had happened, Kong Chuan realized he’d said the wrong thing and quickly tried to remedy it. “Usually, there’s no life-threatening danger involved—just minor injuries at worst. Don’t worry too much.”

Pei Ji remained silent, his head bowed low, but his gaze remained fixed on his phone, determined to receive news of Chu Tinghan the instant it arrived.

After what felt like an eternity, his call was finally answered. Guan Nan’s voice came through the line: “Brother Pei, I’m sending you an address. Come quickly—something’s happened to Director Chu.”

Upon receiving the news, Pei Ji rushed to the hospital room at the address Guan Nan had sent him, without stopping to catch his breath.

In the corridor, Guan Nan was waiting by the ward door. As soon as he saw Pei Ji, he waved him over: “Brother Pei, over here!”

Pei Ji practically sprinted, arriving breathless at the door. The ward door was closed, leaving him only able to glimpse inside through the glass panel. “What happened? How’s Chu Tinghan?” he asked urgently.

“The doctors are still examining him,” Guan Nan explained, “but it doesn’t seem too serious.”

“What do you mean, ‘not too serious’?” Pei Ji pressed urgently. “Where’s he injured?”

“During today’s rehearsal, the elevator platform malfunctioned. It didn’t rise in time, and Director Chu, not paying attention, stepped into the empty space and fell…” Guan Nan explained in painstaking detail, though his delivery was agonizingly slow.

Pei Ji had no patience for such details. His only concern was whether Chu Tinghan was injured, so he immediately cut Guan Nan off. “Is he hurt? How serious is it? Does he need to be hospitalized or undergo surgery?”

Pei Ji’s words came out in such a rapid-fire burst that Guan Nan almost couldn’t understand him. After a moment of processing, he shook his head. “No, it’s not that serious.”

In the next moment, the tightly closed hospital room door finally swung open, and a doctor emerged.

Pei Ji immediately rushed over to inquire about Chu Tinghan’s condition. Only after learning that Chu Tinghan was largely unharmed did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thankfully, the fall wasn’t from a great height, and there was a sponge cushion below to break his fall. He only sprained his ankle—nothing major,” Guan Nan added, eager to reassure Pei Ji. He waited for the doctor to leave before briefly summarizing the incident.

Pei Ji wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his heart rate finally returning to normal. “As long as he’s okay.”

He stood before the door, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. After confirming he was no longer as flustered as before, he straightened his clothes and entered the sickroom.

Chu Tinghan was now a patient, and as his family member, Pei Ji couldn’t afford to be more anxious or flustered than the patient himself. He forced himself to remain calm, deliberately making his steps measured and steady.

But the moment he stepped through the door and glanced at the sickbed, his carefully constructed composure shattered.

His footsteps quickened abruptly, almost charging to Chu Tinghan’s side. His heart, which had just begun to slow, raced anew. His brow furrowed involuntarily as he asked with concern, “Are you alright?”

Driven by worry and anxiety, Pei Ji forgot to maintain a proper distance. They stood so close they could feel each other’s burning breath.

Yet even more palpable than the breath was the pounding of his heart—thump-thump-thump—the strong, insistent rhythm betraying Pei Ji’s true emotions.

Chu Tinghan met his anxious, worried gaze, pausing for a moment as a flicker of disbelief crossed his eyes. He slowly asked, “You’re really worried about me?”

Chu Tinghan’s voice was too soft for Pei Ji to hear. Lowering his gaze, Pei Ji visually scanned him from head to toe, confirming no other serious injuries before focusing on Chu Tinghan’s ankle.

Chu Tinghan’s ankle was swollen into a large lump, the fair skin reddened from the sprain. Though the doctor had assured him the injury wasn’t severe, the sight was still alarming.

Pei Ji couldn’t bear to look any longer and let out a barely audible sigh.

Afraid Chu Tinghan might sense his distress, he quickly rose, first pouring a glass of warm water and placing it by the bedside before turning to examine the bag of items nearby.

Assuming it contained medication prescribed by the doctor, Pei Ji approached without hesitation. “What medication did the doctor prescribe? Is there anything you need me to apply?”

After a pause, he glanced back at Chu Tinghan, as if seeking his opinion. “You’re injured and finding it difficult to move around. Should I help you apply it?”

Chu Tinghan stared at him silently for several seconds, his expression enigmatic—neither lost in thought nor entirely vacant.

Puzzled by his reaction, Pei Ji softened his tone and repeated, “Do you need my help?”

After a moment, Chu Tinghan finally snapped out of his reverie, asking the same question with a hint of surprise: “You’re really worried about me?”

Pei Ji blinked, momentarily stunned by the question’s absurdity. “Of course,” he replied, a hint of confusion in his voice.

He paused, pondered for a moment, then raised his hand, perplexed. “Is it that hard to tell?”

He had only wanted to appear composed and reliable, not cold or aloof.

Pei Ji mentally reviewed his recent behavior.

What had I done? Did I really seem so cold and heartless?

Surely not… I hadn’t even succeeded in pretending. My facade crumbled the moment I stepped through the door.

Unable to decipher Chu Tinghan’s thoughts, Pei Ji struggled to understand the true meaning behind his words.

He glanced up covertly at Chu Tinghan, only to find the corners of his lips tilting upward in a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

As the smile deepened, Pei Ji suddenly understood.

Perhaps in Chu Tinghan’s mind, worry equated to caring, and caring equated to affection.

The realization softened Pei Ji’s heart, followed by a surge of intense guilt.

Chu Tinghan loves me so deeply. How could he ever lie to me?

How dare he doubt him?

Warm afternoon sunlight slanted into the hospital room. Pei Ji glanced down at his watch and realized it was nearly dinnertime.

Pei Ji guessed that Chu Tinghan had exerted considerable energy during rehearsals and might be hungry. Tilting his head, he asked softly, “What do you want to eat? I’ll go get it for you.”

As he spoke, he casually set the bag back down, but it wasn’t balanced properly and tipped over, causing several items to tumble out.

Pei Ji bent down to pick them up, but his eyes widened in surprise. The bag didn’t contain medicine prescribed by the doctor—it was full of plush toys.

An eerie silence suddenly descended upon the room.

Pei Ji froze for a moment, wondering if he was hallucinating. He slowly picked up the toys, murmuring in confusion, “What… what are these?”

The question sounded rather foolish, but Pei Ji’s mind hadn’t caught up yet, and he didn’t immediately realize anything was amiss.

He incredulously stuffed the plush toys back into the bag. “What are these even for?”

The cute, childish plush toys seemed utterly out of place in the sterile hospital room—clearly not something an adult would own.

Pei Ji pondered for a moment, then a sudden thought struck him: Only young children would like plush toys. Could these be for… our… child?

“Is this… our… child’s?” Pei Ji asked, his voice strained and awkward, as if unused to uttering the word “child.”

“No—” Chu Tinghan hadn’t even begun to answer when Guan Nan, who had been watching the entire exchange from the side, blurted out.

His sudden interjection drew immediate attention. Two gazes turned toward him—one gentle, the other glacial.

Guan Nan felt his tongue tie itself in knots. “I mean, no… not something I could afford.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he sensed the two gazes shift, becoming speechless before abruptly turning away.

Chu Tinghan’s expression remained flawlessly composed. He said calmly, “They’re for the child.”

After a pause, realizing the logical flaw, he added, “When my parents learned of my accident, they originally planned to bring the child to visit me. But their flight was delayed, and they couldn’t arrive in time. These plush toys were specially bought to keep him entertained while he’s stuck in the hospital.”

Then he saw Pei Ji’s expression subtly shift, transforming from confusion to astonishment, and finally to anxiety. Pei Ji had seized on the key point, his mouth opening to ask, “Is our child coming back?”

He remembered Chu Tinghan had previously mentioned being too busy with work, which was why their child was staying with Chu Tinghan’s parents. Now that Chu Tinghan had personally told him the child was returning, did that mean he would soon be able to see his child?

Chu Tinghan’s face paled momentarily, unsure whether to nod or shake his head.

But Pei Ji’s question brooked no delay. He took a few steps toward Chu Tinghan, his brows arching, a glint of light in his eyes. “Once he’s back, can I see him?”

Chu Tinghan pressed his lips together, avoiding Pei Ji’s gaze as he lowered his eyes to think of a way out.

A moment later, a pale blue fabric suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision. He hadn’t realized Pei Ji had already moved to the bedside. He instinctively looked up and met Pei Ji’s eyes. The man had regained his composure, his gaze now calm. He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You promised me before. You can’t possibly go back on your word now, can you?”