After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Chu Tinghan thought he must be going mad to have agreed to Pei Ji’s request without a second thought.
All morning, he’d been distracted by the matter countless times, so much so that he didn’t even notice when Guan Nan slid the contract across his desk.
Seeing Chu Tinghan slumped with his head bowed and propped up on his arm, Guan Nan assumed he hadn’t slept well. He placed the contract gently on the desk and whispered, “Director Chu, didn’t you get enough rest? Should you take a break first?”
Chu Tinghan remained unresponsive.
Guan Nan clicked his tongue in annoyance. Something’s off. Did Director Chu pull an all-nighter last night? He seems completely out of it.
He raised his voice slightly. “Should I go downstairs and get you a coffee?”
Still no response.
Guan Nan: “……”
This is getting weird. Could he have gone deaf all of a sudden?
Guan Nan took a deep breath, grounded his energy, and nearly roared, “Director Chu!”
Chu Tinghan felt a sharp pain in his ears, as if his eardrums were about to burst. He frowned and shot Guan Nan an irritated glance.
Finally, a reaction. Guan Nan breathed a sigh of relief and pointed to the contract on the desk. “The Youth Star Factory contract. Director Chu, please review it. If everything’s in order, I’ll send it out immediately. The Program Group staff are waiting downstairs.”
Chu Tinghan had already reviewed the electronic version of the contract, and Guan Nan had double-checked it. After a quick scan confirmed there were no issues, he signed it.
Guan Nan accepted the contract, hesitated for a moment, and asked, “Director Chu, didn’t you say you wouldn’t participate in this program? Why have you agreed now?”
He knew he shouldn’t question his boss’s decisions and that he should simply follow orders. This had always been his approach. But this time, his curiosity was overwhelming.
From the earliest planning stages of Youth Star Factory, they had wanted Chu Tinghan as a mentor. They had sent several teams to relentlessly pursue him, but without fail, he had rejected every offer without hesitation.
So why the sudden change of heart? This defied all logic. If persistence alone could make Director Chu agree, he wouldn’t be the most elusive star in the industry.
Chu Tinghan was silent for a moment before replying in a deep voice, “Because he’s going.”
Guan Nan was completely baffled.
He? Which “he” is he talking about?
If Director Chu doesn’t want to elaborate, fine. But why speak in riddles?
Realizing he couldn’t decipher his boss’s thoughts, Guan Nan didn’t press further. He awkwardly clutched the contract and turned to leave.
He’d only taken a few steps when a sudden flash of insight struck him.
If this had been before, he wouldn’t have had the slightest idea who this “he” was. But now, the answer came to him without a moment’s thought.
Who was the most important person to Director Chu these days? None other than Pei Ji, the man he kept hidden away in his golden cage.
Guan Nan impulsively twisted his head around, surprising himself with his own boldness. “…Brother Pei?”
At this, Chu Tinghan shot him an inscrutable look.
Brother Pei, indeed. So eager to cozy up.
Chu Tinghan remained silent, lowering his gaze to continue working on the documents in his hands.
Silence implied consent. So it really was for Pei Ji. Guan Nan was stunned. In all his time as Director Chu’s assistant, this was the first time he’d seen him compromise his principles for anyone. Pei Ji was the first—and possibly the only—exception.
Guan Nan couldn’t help but feel a newfound respect for Pei Ji. He wondered how to ask for advice, thinking he should also find a wealthy patron he could manipulate to escape his grueling office job.
Meanwhile, Pei Ji sneezed unexpectedly, completely unaware that he had become a “legendary mentor” in someone’s mind.
“Should I turn up the AC?” Qiao He asked, his gaze filled with concern. “We’re filming soon, Brother Pei, you can’t afford to catch a cold.” As he spoke, he leaned forward, intending to ask the driver to adjust the temperature.
Pei Ji waved dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m not cold.”
The two were on their way to the recording studio, a trip specifically arranged to meet the F Group trainees and get acquainted. This was also Pei Ji’s chance to assess their skills and see if any improvements could be made.
Since getting into the car, Pei Ji had been leaning against the window with his eyes closed, looking completely calm. Qiao He, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he belatedly realized An Zhu hadn’t uttered a word since they left. She had been glued to her phone the entire time, texting furiously, her expression darkening with each passing moment.
An Zhu had initially hesitated to disturb Pei Ji’s rest, trying to resolve the matter by exchanging texts with the Program Group. But their replies were infuriatingly evasive, repeating the same canned lines over and over:
“We’re following standard promotional procedures.”
Seeing this canned reply again, An Zhu snapped. She dialed their number and demanded, “What do you call ‘standard procedures’? Standard procedures include buying negative press? Exploiting artists with baseless rumors spreading like wildfire?”
Hearing this, Pei Ji opened his eyes, took out his phone, and searched his name on Weibo. An endless stream of identical rhetoric filled the screen.
News of his upcoming appearance on Youth Star Factory had spread like wildfire, igniting a furious debate across the internet.
“Pei Ji’s name is actually on the latest list of potential Flying Guest Mentors for Youth Star Factory???”
“Pei Ji? The Pei Ji I’m thinking of? Didn’t he get canceled ages ago? Does the internet really have no memory???”
“Has the Program Group lost its mind? Inviting a disgraced celebrity? Sure, this season’s trainees are nothing special, but they don’t deserve this! Making them collaborate with a washed-up has-been?!”
“It’s clear this season is a disaster. They can’t even afford proper celebrities anymore. Would it kill them to hire a normal one? What did those of us who follow idol survival shows do to deserve this?”
“For those who don’t know, he’s just a Guest Mentor helping with the performances. To those who do, it’s like F Group committed some cardinal sin and now has to drag around this massive burden.”
“These days, even canceled celebrities can relaunch their careers. It’s laughable.”
Pei Ji scrolled through a few comments before losing interest. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle the criticism, but the endless repetition bored him.
The same words, the same arguments, over and over. He was already sick of it—how were they not tired yet?
He could roughly guess what An Zhu was arguing about. Turning to her, he gestured for her to hang up.
After a moment’s hesitation, An Zhu reluctantly ended the call, muttering indignantly, “The Program Group is utterly shameless! They’re using you to stir up buzz before filming even begins, and the methods they’re using are downright despicable.”
“No, I’m going to demand an explanation from them,” she insisted, reaching for her phone again.
Pei Ji calmly stopped her. “Don’t bother. It’s a waste of time.”
An Zhu pressed her lips together. “Doesn’t it bother you at all?”
Pei Ji shrugged. “I’ve been getting roasted for two years straight. I’m completely desensitized. Just think of it as free publicity from the Program Group—saves us money.”
What was that saying again? ‘Even infamy is fame.’ Compared to being hated, what he feared most now was fading into obscurity.
An Zhu stared at him, stunned, for a long moment.
When did Pei Ji become so carefree and optimistic? His mental fortitude is truly remarkable.
After weathering a series of explosive scandals—the car accident, being a “soft-rice king,” being labeled a “scumbag,” and the baby bombshell—Pei Ji had developed an unshakable mindset: As long as I’m not dead, everything else is just details.
Besides, he had long known that the Program Group had only agreed to let him be a Flying Guest Mentor because of the buzz he brought. So he wasn’t surprised by their tactics.
To hell with scandals and slander, he thought. Right now, winning the competition is all that matters.
Half an hour later, they finally arrived at the Trainee dormitory building. Designed with convenience in mind, the lower floors housed practice rooms while the upper floors were dormitories, allowing Trainees to complete their daily filming and training without ever leaving the building.
As soon as Pei Ji entered the dormitory, he was greeted by a sea of cameras, their lenses swiveling to focus on him in unison.
Pei Ji lowered the brim of his cap and strode purposefully toward F Group’s designated practice room.
As agreed, the F Group Trainees should have been waiting for him there. Anxious about traffic delays, Pei Ji had arrived half an hour earlier than scheduled.
He waited in the practice room for a while before the Trainees began to trickle in.
Perhaps because F Group held such a marginal position in the show, living like transparent figures, they showed surprisingly little emotion about having a scandal-ridden celebrity as their Guest Mentor. Some even nodded and shook hands with him cordially.
Pei Ji was somewhat taken aback. Before coming, he had braced himself for the worst, expecting to spend some time “taming” them. But to his astonishment, they were surprisingly cooperative.
Leaving aside their mediocre skills, the atmosphere within F Group was remarkably harmonious. They were almost united as one, each member putting in maximum effort to perfect their stage performance.
Pei Ji understood their motivations perfectly. Even though they knew their bottom-tier ranking meant they had no chance of debuting, every extra day they remained meant more exposure. A single second of screen time could be their only hope of being noticed.
Based on each trainee’s strengths and weaknesses, Pei Ji restructured the song “Flutter” into several parts, maximizing their individual talents while minimizing their flaws.
However, of the eight trainees in the group, only seven had shown up for practice. The others explained that Lü Yi was feeling unwell and couldn’t make it.
Pei Ji raised an eyebrow, thinking, So there’s still a rebellious thorn among them. He asked, “What’s the name of the one who’s absent?”
A trainee with neatly combed hair replied, “Lü Yi.”
Pei Ji paused, startled. “What did you say his name was?”
The trainee looked confused. “Lü… Lü Yi, sir.”
Pei Ji searched for “Lü Yi” on Youth Star Factory’s official account. The face matched exactly—it really was Lü Yi, the same Lü Yi he knew from university.
“What’s wrong with him?” Pei Ji asked.
“He said he didn’t sleep well last night and has a headache.”
Considering how he could sleep like a log as soon as his head hit the pillow, this was likely just an excuse to avoid coming. Who knew he could be so lazy? He seemed so energetic and full of life when he was drumming up sponsorship for Dreamcatcher.
Pei Ji asked, “Where’s his dorm? Could you show me the way?”
“Of course! His dorm is just upstairs,” the trainee replied without hesitation, leading him there.
There were only security cameras in the hallway of the trainee dorm floor. Pei Ji knocked on the door, and after a moment, a muffled “Come in” sounded from inside.
Pei Ji opened the door and stepped inside. He immediately saw Lü Yi sitting at his computer desk as if nothing was wrong, looking perfectly healthy.
Even hearing someone enter, Lü Yi didn’t bother to look up.
Pei Ji closed the door, took a few steps forward, and smirked. “What kind of VIP do you think you are? I have to come here to get you myself?”
Lü Yi froze for a few seconds before mechanically turning his head. Upon seeing Pei Ji, he instantly snapped his head back around and crushed the fruit candy in his mouth into tiny fragments.
Pei Ji found it amusing. Is he seriously pretending not to know me?
“Still got a headache?”
Lü Yi ignored him, offering only a sullen profile.
Utterly baffled, Pei Ji wondered if he’d offended him earlier. “If you’re not going to talk, I’m leaving.”
He made a move toward the door, his hand barely touching the handle when Lü Yi finally spoke, his voice dry and clipped: “I thought we’d broken up for good.”
What did he just say? … “Broken up”? Pei Ji couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Lü Yi’s tone dripped with disdain. “Oh, so you still remember me? Fine then. My brother’s getting married later this year—don’t forget to bring a gift.”
Pei Ji stared at him, speechless.
Is he losing his mind? Did he forget to take his meds or something?
Pei Ji glared at him with the look one reserves for a lunatic.
Lü Yi shot him a cold glance and pouted. “What’s with that face? No, I’m the victim here! You blocked me first, pal.”
The mention of this reignited Lü Yi’s grievance, his long face contorting into a litany of complaints: “About a year or two ago, you blocked me out of nowhere! What did I even do wrong, Big Brother? You even sent me a text telling me not to contact you again, and then blocked my number too! What’s with that? If you want to end things, at least give me a heads-up!”
“Is this how all you celebrities are? You haven’t even made it big yet, and you’ve already forgotten your roots.”
This was perhaps the most bewildered and helpless moment of Pei Ji’s life. His mind was consumed by a single, thorny question:
What should I do when my best friend’s gone mad?
He stepped forward and reached out to check Lü Yi’s forehead. “Are you delirious with fever?”
Lü Yi waved his hand dismissively, rejecting the touch. “What nonsense! You’re the one who’s delirious! Don’t change the subject.”
Lü Yi scowled. “Tell me the truth—why did you block me?”
Pei Ji hadn’t recovered this memory yet. All he could say, with genuine helplessness, was, “There must be some misunderstanding.”
“What misunderstanding could there be? Oh, wait—could it be you’ve been secretly dating a girlfriend who made you delete all your friends, male and female, from your phone?”
Disbelief was written all over Lü Yi’s face as he mocked through clenched teeth, “Which young heiress has such a possessive streak?”
Pei Ji suddenly fell silent.
A girlfriend? No. But a boyfriend… that might actually be possible.
But surely it wouldn’t come to this, would it?