After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 26

Chapter 26

By this point, Chu Tinghan’s mind had completely given up on thinking. He could only nod slowly at whatever Pei Ji said, having even forgotten why he had tricked the man into his bedroom tonight.

And so, in a daze, he ended up sharing a bed with Pei Ji, separated by a veritable galaxy’s worth of distance, and slept with the utmost propriety.

Chu Tinghan stared at the curtains fluttering in the breeze, his insomnia predictably returning. Only when a faint glimmer of dawn began to color the horizon did drowsiness finally overcome him, and he drifted off with great difficulty.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was already high in the sky.

Still groggy, he lay in bed for a moment, staring blankly ahead. Suddenly, memories of the previous night flooded his mind, leaving him with an inexplicable tickling sensation in his heart, like tiny kittens scratching inside.

Just as he was about to get up, his hand instinctively reached out and found the bed dipping beside him. He looked up and met Pei Ji’s bright eyes, radiant with sunlight. Pei Ji’s expression was slightly awkward as he curved his lips into a smile. “You’re awake?”

Chu Tinghan froze for a moment, blinking incredulously, convinced he was still dreaming—an impossibly wonderful dream, the kind he’d never dared imagine.

Seeing him staring blankly, Pei Ji assumed he was still half-asleep. He casually closed the photobook in his hands and, after a moment’s thought, added, “It’s a rare day off. Why don’t you sleep in a bit longer?”

As Pei Ji closed the book, Chu Tinghan finally caught sight of what was printed on the cover. He had assumed it was some book Pei Ji had found somewhere, but to his surprise, it turned out to be a photobook from one of his albums.

Page after page featured images of himself.

Who wakes up in the morning and immediately starts poring over someone else’s photobook, so engrossed you’d think it was some profound philosophical treatise?

Pei Ji’s movements were too quick; Chu Tinghan only caught a glimpse of his own face on the cover but couldn’t make out which album the photobook belonged to.

While Chu Tinghan’s style hadn’t changed drastically over the years, fashion trends evolved annually. His earlier looks might now seem outdated.

The thought instantly banished all sleepiness. Chu Tinghan sat up abruptly and snatched the photobook from Pei Ji’s hands without a word.

Pei Ji: ?

Is he stopping me from looking, or does he just not like people touching his things?

Then he saw Chu Tinghan flip through a few pages, let out a relieved sigh, and casually place the photobook on the bedside table, his composure returning to normal.

Seeing this, Pei Ji grew even more puzzled.

Could there be a secret hidden in the photobook?

He cast an inquisitive glance at Chu Tinghan.

After a moment of locked gazes, Chu Tinghan pursed his lips and whispered incredulously, “Why are you looking at this?”

If he weren’t here himself, he might have flattered himself by thinking Pei Ji was gazing at the book to reminisce about him. But with him right here, what was there to reminisce about?

Pei Ji replied casually, “I saw it, got a little curious, and just picked it up to flip through.”

Half-true, half-lie. The real reason was that sleeping in a different bed last night had left him feeling restless. He had slept fitfully and woken at dawn. He had originally planned to slip away quietly, but just as he was about to get up, Chu Tinghan suddenly turned over in his sleep, facing him. Pei Ji froze, his mind torn between leaving and staying. In the end, he carefully lay back down.

At that moment, he suddenly recalled that night when he’d tried to leave, only for Chu Tinghan to clutch his hand tightly in his sleep, muttering, “Don’t go.”

The scene played out vividly in his mind, instantly softening his heart. He feared that if Chu Tinghan woke up and couldn’t find him, he would feel insecure, so he decided to stay until he woke up.

Little did Pei Ji know, Chu Tinghan would sleep until nearly noon. Bored out of his mind, he shifted from lying down to sitting up, glancing around the room, wondering if he could find a book to read.

After circling the room, he found few books but discovered an entire shelf filled with every album Chu Tinghan had released since his debut.

An inexplicable emotion stirred within him. As if guided by some inexplicable force, he took one down and sat at the head of the bed, flipping through it page by page.

The photobook contained a mix of wide shots and close-ups, the high-definition lens capturing nearly a decade of Chu Tinghan’s journey. Pei Ji had only known him for the past five years, and most of the images showed a Chu Tinghan he had never seen before.

Or rather, the legendary Song God Senior Chu Tinghan, four years his senior, whom everyone talked about.

As he continued flipping through the pages, Pei Ji’s mood gradually became complex. He felt a pang of regret for the years they had missed, yet was also grateful for the five years of overlap they had shared.

The high-definition lens could only capture appearances. Given Chu Tinghan’s public persona as the aloof and unattainable Ice-Cold Song God, the photos revealed almost no emotion. His expression remained cold and detached, as if indifferent to everything around him.

This wasn’t quite the Chu Tinghan Pei Ji remembered. The Chu Tinghan in his memory was full of emotion; every frown, smile, or flash of anger made him even more vivid and dynamic.

Pei Ji tilted his head and gazed at Chu Tinghan’s sleeping face: his long, slender eyelashes, the sharp bridge of his nose, soft, thin lips, the smooth, well-defined line of his jaw, and his even, rhythmic breathing.

Hmm… He really does look better in person.

In the next moment, as if hearing his thoughts, Chu Tinghan suddenly woke up and inexplicably snatched the photo album from his hand, demanding to know why he was looking at it. When Pei Ji answered, a hint of disappointment flickered in Chu Tinghan’s eyes, as if dissatisfied with the response.

Pei Ji pondered for a moment, realizing his answer had been a bit too casual, no different from saying an old man reads the newspaper out of boredom.

What should I have said?

I was captivated by your photo album and couldn’t resist picking it up and getting lost in it.

Too contrived, Pei Ji silently mocked himself.

After another moment of thought, he spoke, half-jokingly, “Actually, I’m a big fan of yours. I love all your albums.” As he said this, he even went through the motions of taking the photo album again and flipping through it, putting on a show of being utterly engrossed. “Especially this one—it was a limited edition, and I missed out on getting it back then. I never expected to find it here.”

After speaking, Pei Ji noticed Chu Tinghan had frozen, his face flickering through a myriad of emotions over the next few seconds.

Had he gone too far with the flattery and been caught? But what he’d said was genuinely heartfelt. Back in college, he had truly admired this legendary senior, the Song God, who had risen to fame at such a young age, his talent shining like a beacon.

Pei Ji felt a pang of anxiety, unsure of Chu Tinghan’s reaction.

After a moment, Chu Tinghan simply said “Oh,” his voice indifferent, and rose to find clothes in the wardrobe.

Pei Ji watched him methodically sift through the closet, left to right, then right to left, yet he didn’t select a single garment. His movements were languid, his fingers brushing across each item, but his gaze never lingered.

Finally, Chu Tinghan returned empty-handed and sat on the edge of the bed, asking, “Do you like my album? Or only my album?”

The sunlight streaming through the window made Pei Ji dizzy, his head spinning. He vaguely understood the question but couldn’t bring himself to answer.

No matter how he answered, it felt wrong. This subtle emotion inexplicably gave him the illusion of being in an undeclared romance.

Pei Ji pretended not to understand. “Is there a difference?”

Chu Tinghan paused, then lowered his head and chuckled. “No.”

Perhaps it was the dazzling sunlight streaming through the window, or perhaps it was the captivating sound of his soft laughter, but Pei Ji’s heart suddenly skipped a beat, then raced wildly.

He sensed that something was changing, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

So he resorted to another way to regain his composure. He glanced around the room, noticed something different, and abruptly changed the subject. “Why are there so many stuffed animals in your room?”

Every corner of the bedroom was filled with adorable plush toys shaped like various animals, their childish, fairytale-like style completely out of character for Chu Tinghan.

If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that the Ice-Cold Song God secretly collected an entire room full of plush toys.

Upon hearing this, Chu Tinghan paused briefly, then replied calmly, “They’re for the child. He likes them.”

Pei Ji was so shocked by the answer that he nearly split in two. His lips twitched, and he stammered, “O-our… our child’s?”

Chu Tinghan nodded, his expression utterly composed. “Yes. Don’t all two- or three-year-olds like these?”

Pei Ji nodded slowly, still reeling from the bombshell.

After a long silence, he asked softly, “Does he really love plush toys that much?”

“Of course.”

Having received this second confirmation, Pei Ji dropped the subject, silently committing this detail to memory, wondering if it might prove useful someday.

A few days later, Youth Star Factory 3 released its latest performance episode. Shockingly, F Group’s stage hadn’t been edited at all. The Program Group seemed to have accepted the sudden blackout and missing backing track as part of the performance design.

But the abrupt blackout was too jarring. Viewers weren’t buying it, immediately recognizing it as a major blunder by the Program Group.

Youth Star Factory already had a history of vote rigging, and this was the final straw. Viewers erupted in fury, flooding the internet with condemnation of the unscrupulous Program Group.

F Group barely gets any screen time to begin with, and now the Program Group pulls this stunt? How disgusting! Do they really think they can bully F Group just because they lack powerful connections?

Whose toes did F Group step on to warrant such blatant targeting from the Program Group?

A fabricated error? This is a first for me! You have to hand it to the Program Group for generating buzz and controversy, but this is beyond unfair to the trainees.

Not just unfriendly—they’re treating F Group like they’re not even human! If it weren’t for their rock-solid high notes, this performance would have been a complete disaster.

How dare they release this train wreck! Retake it! We don’t need fancy sets or elaborate makeup—just give them a normal stage! No blackouts, no missing backing track—just a fair chance to perform!

Rerecorded!!!

As the controversy escalated, the Program Group, bowing to public pressure, had no choice but to summon F Group back to the studio for a reshoot.

This time, the Program Group dared not pull any tricks, allowing F Group to smoothly perform their stage again without incident.

After the recording wrapped, Pei Ji was removing his makeup in the dressing room, his ears filled with the sound of An Zhu and Qiao He flattering each other’s work.

“As expected of President An! You’ve even learned to wield the power of public opinion.”

“I initially wanted the Program Group to issue a public apology to Pei Ji, but they’re being stubbornly evasive, claiming it was a trainee’s mistake and that the trainee has already been fired.”

“They’re still as shameless as they were two years ago—utterly shameless!”

“Though you’ve improved since then…”

Their chatter abruptly ceased as a figure appeared in the doorway.

A mysterious stranger, cloaked from head to toe, not even a strand of hair visible.

An Zhu gazed at him, a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at her. She pointed toward the entrance and belatedly asked Pei Ji, “Is he… your friend?”

Pei Ji froze momentarily, too embarrassed to admit that this was his husband, the Song God, who had insisted on accompanying him to the recording out of worry for his safety.

“Hmm…” Pei Ji murmured, pondering for a moment. He couldn’t nod, and shaking his head was even worse. In that instant, he truly grasped the challenges of a secret relationship.

Pei Ji was naturally handsome; any excessive makeup would have been like gilding a lily. Before going onstage, the makeup artist had applied only a thin layer of foundation, which could be easily removed.

After removing his makeup, Pei Ji unhesitatingly grabbed his coat, strode past the two bewildered figures, and, under their astonished gaze, casually draped an arm around the shoulder of the mysteriously dressed “stranger” and strode away, leaving behind only the words, “Gotta go—something came up.”

An Zhu mechanically turned her head in the direction he’d left, utterly perplexed.

Something came up? What could possibly be so urgent that she, his manager, wouldn’t know about it?

Pei Ji had intended to project an image of casual camaraderie, two good buddies hanging out. But the moment Chu Tinghan leaned in, the scene took on an entirely different nuance. To onlookers, it now carried a hint of ambiguous intimacy.

As a result, Qiao He was already screaming internally, unable to suppress his excitement: They’re actually dating! Though he hadn’t clearly seen the person’s face, he somehow sensed it was a tall, charismatic, and strikingly handsome man.

An Zhu stood up, utterly bewildered, and rushed after them, only to see Pei Ji and the familiar “stranger” get into the same car.

She seemed to recognize that car—the model, the license plate… Wasn’t that her Song God Cousin’s Maybach?!

Wait, what? When did they hook up?!

An Zhu frantically pulled out her phone and called them both, one after the other. As expected, neither answered.

They’re definitely hiding something. One, a celebrity in a relationship, hasn’t reported it to his manager. The other, her own cousin, hasn’t told his little sister he’s dating.

I’m practically invisible in this family…

“Why are you making such a fierce face?” Qiao He, unaware of the situation, didn’t take it seriously and tilted his head, looking at her in confusion. “What’s wrong? Something happen?”

An Zhu’s expression was beyond her control.

Something happen? This is a major crisis!

What do I do when the artist I manage is apparently becoming my sister-in-law?!

She couldn’t fathom how Chu Tinghan could fall for Pei Ji, let alone how Pei Ji had managed to latch onto the coattails of her notoriously aloof Song God Cousin.

Just a few years ago, Pei Ji had vehemently opposed industry “favors,” even refusing to follow scripted reality show scenarios. How could he suddenly throw himself into the arms of a big shot?

Ten minutes later, Pei Ji received a cryptic message:

An Zhu: You…

An Zhu: You haven’t… fallen from grace, have you?

He’d barely glanced at it, not even had time to process it, when An Zhu retracted both messages.

Even through the screen, Pei Ji could sense her unspoken words hanging in the air.

He pondered the matter, realizing he hadn’t handled things properly.

While waiting at a red light, he tapped the steering wheel and glanced sideways at Chu Tinghan. “Um… it seems my manager found out about us. Do you think I should tell her? Can I be honest about our relationship? Can I tell her you’re my partner?”

“If you don’t want to go public, that’s fine too. I’ll just tell her I’m married, keep my partner’s identity secret, and absolutely won’t mention your name.”

Chu Tinghan seemed utterly indifferent to the topic. He tilted his chin forward, signaling the green light. “Just focus on driving, you just got your license.”

Pei Ji blinked, taken aback by this answer. He muttered a dazed “Okay” and concentrated on the road ahead.

But after driving a short distance, he still felt uneasy and said again, “My manager…”

“I know her,” Chu Tinghan interrupted calmly, his expression serene. “We’re very close. She won’t have any objections to what we’re doing.”

Pei Ji didn’t suspect any familial connection, assuming Chu Tinghan simply had a wide network of contacts. He let the matter drop.

On the way back, they passed a toy store. Pei Ji glanced at it absently, then suddenly remembered Chu Tinghan mentioning the child’s fondness for plush toys. Before he could even consciously decide, he had already slowed down, pulled over, and found a parking spot.

The Big Song God’s car was never short on hats and masks. Pei Ji casually grabbed a baseball cap, pulled it low over his head, then donned a mask and glasses. He carefully pressed the brim of the hat down and tugged the mask higher, turning to ask, “Can you still recognize me?”

Chu Tinghan looked momentarily puzzled, then slowly shook his head.

Pei Ji pushed open the car door. “Wait here for a moment.”

Chu Tinghan grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Just to buy something. I’ll be right back.” Pei Ji flashed a reassuring smile, almost patting Chu Tinghan on the head to ease his worries.

The toy store was a dazzling sight. The moment Pei Ji stepped inside, his eyes were drawn to an entire wall covered in plush toys, featuring every popular cartoon character imaginable.

Standing before the wall of plushies, Pei Ji experienced decision paralysis for the first time in his life.

There are just too many! He felt his eyes crossing. How am I supposed to figure out which one our kid would like best?

Chu Tinghan, still worried, followed him into the store. After just a few steps, he spotted Pei Ji standing before the plush wall, his gaze fixed on the toys as he pondered his selection.

As footsteps drew closer, Pei Ji instinctively turned around. Seeing Chu Tinghan, his first reaction was to pull him closer.

Caught off guard, Chu Tinghan found himself standing shoulder to shoulder with Pei Ji, who, absorbed in his task, still held onto his arm. They were so close that Chu Tinghan only needed to turn his head to see the fine hairs on Pei Ji’s skin and the hint of a smile at the corner of his eye.

Pei Ji’s voice, tinged with anticipation and nervousness, murmured, “I haven’t spent any time with him yet, so I don’t know what he likes. Which one do you think he’d prefer? A puppy? A bunny? Or maybe a bear?”

The person before him seemed to be caught in slow motion, like a close-up shot. His features grew sharper, his emotions more vivid, yet his voice faded into a soft murmur.

Chu Tinghan didn’t quite catch what Pei Ji was saying, but he clearly heard the absurd yet audacious thought that suddenly surfaced in his mind.

If only we really had a son… A perfect lover—gentle, considerate, and responsible. I’d even be willing to bear him one.

Feeling himself about to be swept into the vortex of love, Chu Tinghan’s mind, already hazy, inexplicably produced a second thought:

“If only you were my dad…”

Though the voice was soft, Pei Ji heard it clearly due to their close proximity. When he realized what Chu Tinghan had said, he felt as if he’d been struck by lightning, utterly shocked by what he’d heard. He even considered rushing to the hospital to have his ears checked—no, perhaps his brain too.

Pei Ji swallowed nervously, his face alternating between pale and flushed, his tongue nearly tying itself in knots. “Y-you… What did you just say?”

He couldn’t quite describe what he was feeling, his panic overwhelming. “Y-you… you have that… that kind of hobby?”