After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Bright sunlight streamed through the window, slowly shifting its golden rays across the room, bathing the two men in warmth. Pei Ji lowered his gaze slightly, catching sight of Chu Tinghan’s amber-like brown eyes, crystal clear and filled with a hint of amusement. For a fleeting moment, Pei Ji was lost in his gaze. By the time he regained his senses, Chu Tinghan had already pressed himself almost against Pei Ji’s body.

The distance between them was terrifyingly close. Either man could tilt his head up or down and brush their soft lips against each other.

His senses and thoughts were completely consumed by the other man. Pei Ji’s gaze lingered involuntarily on Chu Tinghan’s lips for a moment too long, before snapping back as if shocked by an electric current.

Chu Tinghan leaned closer, and Pei Ji inexplicably sensed a hint of anticipation in his eyes. Chu Tinghan lowered his head, carefully suppressing the corners of his mouth to maintain a solemn expression as he slipped past Pei Ji, reaching around him to turn off the faucet.

The gushing water finally ceased, and the room fell silent once more.

The unexpected movement left Pei Ji momentarily stunned. He turned back incredulously, only then realizing that Chu Tinghan had leaned in merely to turn off the faucet.

He thought Chu Tinghan was going to kiss him…

What am I thinking? Pei Ji frantically suppressed these absurd thoughts.

What a scumbag! he thought. Just wanting to kiss someone so casually? He was just trying to turn off the faucet! Where did my mind even wander to?

Pei Ji was filled with remorse. Closing his eyes in despair and helplessness, he couldn’t help but suspect he might have mutated into a scumbag, genetically predisposed to such behavior. I’ve never been like this before.

Chu Tinghan stepped back several paces, reestablishing distance between them. His voice remained calm as he said, “Leaving the faucet running is quite wasteful.”

Pei Ji froze for a moment before mumbling a delayed “Yeah.” His mind was still racing, trying to understand why he’d let his imagination run so wild. And it’s broad daylight! Who would even do something like that now?

A scumbag’s mind truly operates on a different plane, he realized. I need to fix this, straighten out these warped thoughts.

Despite his efforts, a hint of disappointment flickered across his face, like a beautiful dream shattered. His eyes dimmed slightly, betraying a hint of loss.

Chu Tinghan stared at him for a moment longer, unable to maintain his composure. The carefully restrained corners of his mouth finally gave way, breaking into a suppressed smile.

Fortunately, Pei Ji was still preoccupied with his internal debate about whether he was being a jerk, completely oblivious to the subtle shift in Chu Tinghan’s expression.

Chu Tinghan found Pei Ji particularly amusing at that moment. He could almost see Pei Ji’s ears, which had perked up with excitement, droop down again as he tried to feign indifference.

Seizing the opportunity, Chu Tinghan raised an eyebrow and asked with deliberate feigned innocence, “You seem a bit down. What’s wrong?”

Pei Ji blinked, his face impassive. “Nothing’s wrong,” he replied flatly.

“Really? Nothing at all?”

“Nothing.”

Eager to end the conversation, Pei Ji abruptly changed the subject. After a moment’s thought, he raised an eyebrow with a smile and said, “Teach me how to sing, Song God.”

Chu Tinghan was momentarily stunned by his smile, his mind blanking for a beat.

What did he just say? he wondered. Did he just call me Song God?

That nickname was usually reserved for adoring fans. Where did he pick that up?

Chu Tinghan chuckled, thoroughly amused. “Who taught you to call me that?” he teased. “Song God? That sounds so out of touch with reality.”

Pei Ji stared blankly for a moment, his expression a mix of confusion and innocence. He stammered, “Isn’t that what everyone calls you?”

This bizarre herd mentality only made Chu Tinghan’s smile widen further.

Pei Ji thought he’d done something wrong. He frowned, staring at Chu Tinghan’s laughter, utterly bewildered by what he’d said that was so funny.

Song God Chu Tinghan… What’s wrong with that? Everyone calls him that! He’s never laughed this hard at the nickname before, nearly doubling over from laughter.

Perplexed, Pei Ji watched him laugh for a long time.

Chu Tinghan finally calmed down, though the corners of his lips remained upturned. As if struck by a sudden thought, he said meaningfully, “Other couples start calling each other ‘hubby’ soon after getting married. Will you?”

Pei Ji froze, his brain crashing for what felt like the hundredth time. He let out a soft, confused “Huh?” completely failing to grasp the connection between the two questions.

How did the conversation even drift this far off course?

“Hmm?” Chu Tinghan tilted his head, waiting patiently for an answer.

Then he watched Pei Ji lower his gaze, his head bowing slightly, a blush creeping up his neck.

After a moment of silence, Pei Ji finally managed an answer. He raised a fist to his lips and coughed awkwardly, then whispered, “I’m not used to it.”

The words were mumbled quickly between coughs, the sound so faint and the delivery so rushed that Chu Tinghan didn’t catch a single word.

“What did you say just now?” This time, he genuinely wasn’t trying to tease Pei Ji; he simply wanted to know the answer.

He watched Pei Ji keep his head lowered, his chest rising and falling as if taking deep breaths to calm himself. After a long moment, Pei Ji finally spoke, as if having made up his mind, slowing his pace and stammering slightly: “I said… I… I’m not used to it.”

At first, Chu Tinghan found Pei Ji’s innocence rather endearing. But as the initial sweetness faded, he began to sense something wasn’t quite right.

Could amnesia truly alter a person’s personality so drastically?

He remembered Pei Ji from their university days as quite proactive, certainly not as pure and innocent as he seemed now.

In this moment, he suddenly felt like he was teasing a virtuous young man.

Hiss…

So, what was Pei Ji’s current mental age, exactly?

Chu Tinghan fell into deep thought, mentally piecing together the known clues.

When Pei Ji first woke up, he had no memory of their relationship or even of Lucky’s existence. He had somehow mistakenly believed they had a child together—a child of human species.

And now, Pei Ji seemed to have no recollection of this room either. Back then, Pei Ji was still a university student.

If this line of reasoning continued, Pei Ji’s current memories must predate his university days, making his mental age likely even younger than a typical college student’s.

Could he possibly be… a high schooler?!

Chu Tinghan’s mind went blank for a moment, utterly stunned by this conclusion. He couldn’t believe he had been flirting with a high school student—a freshly eighteen-year-old male high school student.

No wonder he was so innocent and naive. He was a full eleven years younger than Chu Tinghan.

Eleven years! This was practically a case of an old bull chewing on tender grass.

Zhou Yingjie used to tease him about Director Chu, who would never have imagined falling for a younger man four years his junior. Now it was even worse—eleven years! If Chu Tinghan were just a few years older, Pei Ji could be calling him “Uncle.”

Darkness swam before Chu Tinghan’s eyes as he finally grasped the enormity of his morally bankrupt actions. Regret flooded him, but it was too late.

In an instant, he snapped back to professional composure, clearing his throat awkwardly. He racked his brain for a way to salvage the situation but came up empty. Forced to play it cool, he said, “Just a slip of the tongue. You’ll get used to it eventually.”

Pei Ji had braced himself for a barrage of questions, or worse, for Chu Tinghan to demand he take back his words. He’d already rehearsed ways to awkwardly interrupt or deflect. To his surprise, Chu Tinghan simply brushed the matter aside with a casual remark. Pei Ji instantly exhaled in relief, feeling like he’d narrowly escaped a near-disaster.

As his pounding heart gradually calmed, Pei Ji finally had a moment to think rationally. After mulling it over, he realized Chu Tinghan’s words actually made sense.

Setting aside the “husband” thing for now, wasn’t it a bit inappropriate for him to keep calling Chu Tinghan by his full name?

Everyone else addressed him formally as “Director Chu,” his fans revered him as “Song God,” and his mentors fondly called him “Tinghan” out of respect. So, what should Pei Ji, as Chu Tinghan’s partner, call him?

“Director Chu” felt too formal and distant, “husband” stuck in his throat, and “Song God” had already been vetoed by a certain someone. So… Tinghan?

He glanced up at Chu Tinghan, parted his lips to try out a more intimate address, but ultimately clamped his mouth shut, not uttering a single syllable.

Aren’t smooth-talking players supposed to be experts at sweet-talking and flowery language? Why can’t I pull it off when it really matters?

Chu Tinghan, of course, had no idea about the countless mental struggles Pei Ji had endured in those brief moments. Seeing him press his lips together in silence, he mistakenly assumed Pei Ji was still bothered by the earlier endearment.

I really went too far…

If he’d known Pei Ji’s mental age was eleven years younger than his own, he would never have said such a thing.

Chu Tinghan desperately wanted to change the subject, preferably erasing this memory from both their minds. “Didn’t you want me to teach you how to sing love songs? If you don’t start learning now, I’m not teaching you anymore.”

Pei Ji snapped back to the task at hand, nodding immediately. “I’ll learn.” After saying this aloud, he silently added two words in his mind: Tinghan.

The apartment consisted of two bedrooms and a living room but no study. The living room was rather cluttered, so the unused bedroom, being the most organized, seemed the best place for the lesson. Chu Tinghan led Pei Ji inside.

As soon as they entered, Chu Tinghan closed the door and asked, “Why did you suddenly want me to teach you love songs?”

Has he finally come to his senses? Was he moved by me? Does he want to connect with me emotionally?

Chu Tinghan racked his brain for a thousand possible reasons, none of which could have prepared him for Pei Ji’s actual answer: “I got cast in a variety show. The competition songs are love songs.”

As expected, the worst thing one can do is assume mutual affection. Chu Tinghan shrugged helplessly, having already accepted the answer. “What variety show is it?” he asked.

Pei Ji hesitated for a moment before replying, “Youth Star Factory.”

The words had barely left his mouth when he saw Chu Tinghan’s face turn deathly pale. “You can’t go,” Chu Tinghan blurted out.

Pei Ji frowned, but before he could ask “Why?” Chu Tinghan continued, “I’m not trying to control you. It’s just that this show is rife with corruption. They’ll stop at nothing for ratings. I’m afraid…”

“It’ll be fine,” Pei Ji interrupted gently, understanding Chu Tinghan’s concern. His tone softened, as if to reassure him. “Don’t worry. I won’t fall into the same trap twice.”

Chu Tinghan fell silent for a moment before quietly asking, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Though the question wasn’t explicit, Pei Ji inexplicably understood. He probably meant, Why didn’t you tell me you were taking this show?

Couples should be honest with each other, Pei Ji thought, realizing his oversight.

Thinking Chu Tinghan was about to get angry, Pei Ji braced himself to apologize, but then Chu Tinghan said, “I can help you.”

When Pei Ji heard those words, his emotions were complex. Part of him resisted being dependent, yet another part felt a warmth slowly spreading in his heart.

He chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow. “If I always relied on you, wouldn’t I seem utterly useless? Don’t worry, I can handle this.”

“Alright, stop frowning. Nothing bad will happen.” Pei Ji sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned Chu Tinghan over. “Instead of worrying about things that might not even happen, why don’t you teach me how to sing first, Song God?”

Pei Ji smiled helplessly, knowing Chu Tinghan was deliberately teasing him with the nickname to cheer him up. He had no choice but to humor him and agree to learn love songs.

However, Pei Ji hadn’t expected Chu Tinghan to take the lesson so seriously, his expression even more stern than a school principal’s.

He’d assumed learning love songs meant focusing on conveying emotion, but Chu Tinghan instead taught him the technical skills with meticulous precision, without a trace of sentiment.

Chu Tinghan was such a dedicated teacher that Pei Ji dared not slack off for a moment. By the end of the lesson, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

The last time he’d felt this way was during his grueling final year of high school, preparing for the college entrance exams.

The sky blushed crimson as the setting sun began its descent, and before they knew it, dusk had fallen.

Chu Tinghan hadn’t intended to stay long. After a quick clean-up, he took Pei Ji home.

As they left the apartment building, Pei Ji faintly heard children’s laughter growing closer, as if they were approaching him.

He looked up, following the sound, and saw a couple leading a tiny child.

The little one couldn’t have been taller than his calf, his voice still tender and his chubby cheeks adorably round. The backpack on his back seemed almost bigger than him, suggesting he had just gotten out of school.

The couple gazed at the child with doting affection, listening intently as he tilted his head back and recounted the day’s adventures at kindergarten with endless enthusiasm.

It was an ordinary yet heartwarming scene, and Pei Ji’s gaze lingered on them for an inexplicably long time.

A moment later, the child took his mother’s hand in one hand and his father’s in the other, not forgetting to toss his backpack to his father to carry. As both feet left the ground simultaneously, the couple seamlessly lifted him up, swinging him back and forth in a playful imitation of a swing.

The entire neighborhood rang with their joyful laughter.

Moved by the scene, Pei Ji suddenly thought of his and Chu Tinghan’s child.

Could a two-year-old play on a swing? he wondered. And when our child grows up, will they also cling to us, wanting to play all sorts of childish games?

This thought reminded him of Chu Tinghan’s earlier words: I’m not someone who takes responsibility for children. I haven’t cared for our child since birth.

Before they came here, when their child saw other families playing together, laughing and having fun, did they feel the same envy Pei Ji had felt as a child?

Did they feel lost? Did they agonize over why their other father didn’t love them, didn’t want to raise them…?

A sudden pang of bitterness gripped Pei Ji’s heart. He called out to the figure ahead of him, “Chu Tinghan.”

Chu Tinghan paused, turning to look back at him.

Fine, I’ll call him by his full name after all, Chu Tinghan thought with a wry smile as he turned around. He was about to ask what Pei Ji wanted when he unexpectedly met a pair of sorrowful eyes.

A sudden, uneasy premonition flared in his heart.

“The plane must have landed by now, right?” Pei Ji asked softly.

“Can you take me to see him?”

Chu Tinghan felt as if a cold wind had seeped into him, his entire body stiffening from head to toe.

The family of three rounded the corner and disappeared from Pei Ji’s peripheral vision. Pei Ji withdrew his gaze and spoke in a low voice, his tone subdued: “I don’t want to delay any longer. I don’t want to miss his childhood.”

Chu Tinghan wanted to respond but found himself unable to speak.

After a moment, he suddenly felt a gentle tug on his fingers.

Pei Ji cautiously hooked his hand around Chu Tinghan’s, his eyes glistening like a puppy’s as he pleaded softly, his voice impossibly sweet: “Please, Senior.”

Time seemed to freeze. Chu Tinghan’s heart skipped a beat.