After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 27

Chapter 27

It took Chu Tinghan quite a while to realize the ambiguity of what he had just said. He couldn’t help but chuckle, then raised an eyebrow and casually corrected himself, “I meant… you’ll be a responsible and caring father in the future.”

Pei Ji let out a long, drawn-out “Oh” that sounded like a sigh of relief.

A moment later, as if suddenly realizing something, he turned his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “Didn’t you used to say I was irresponsible?”

Chu Tinghan was taken aback by his question. He hadn’t expected Pei Ji to notice such a minor detail. After a long pause, he replied, “You said you wanted to turn over a new leaf, and I think you’ve improved. You’re much better than before.”

Caught off guard by the sudden praise, Pei Ji was stunned. A warm feeling welled up in his chest, and he leaned forward slightly. “Really?” he asked.

Chu Tinghan couldn’t hide the smile in his eyes. He pressed his lips together and managed a muffled “Mm,” but the end of his tone wavered.

The warmth in Pei Ji’s heart spread like ripples across water.

Could he interpret this as Chu Tinghan now believing he was qualified to raise a child, willing to let him meet the child?

Truthfully, whether Chu Tinghan agreed or not hardly mattered anymore. The meeting with the child was already scheduled for tomorrow. Yet Pei Ji desperately wanted Chu Tinghan’s nod of approval, a sign of validation, or perhaps to win his acceptance as a reformed “scoundrel,” seeking some semblance of peace of mind.

Chu Tinghan watched him with a perpetual half-smile, inexplicably making Pei Ji’s cheeks flush. Forcing himself to remain calm, Pei Ji turned away, pretending indifference as he focused on selecting stuffed animals.

Stroking his chin thoughtfully, Pei Ji asked, “What kind of toys does he usually like? You know him better—why don’t you pick them out?”

The store’s dazzling array of stuffed animals made Pei Ji’s head spin. After circling the shelves several times, Chu Tinghan finally chose a few and handed them to Pei Ji. “He might like these,” he said, his movements hesitant, his tone uncertain.

Three soft, adorable puppies were suddenly thrust into Pei Ji’s arms, nearly tumbling to the ground. With lightning reflexes, he scooped them into his embrace. Remembering the room overflowing with plush toys, he mused, “Isn’t this… a bit sparse?”

All those toys had been bought for the child by Chu Tinghan—a room crammed to the brim with them. Chu Tinghan’s love was measured in heaps; if Pei Ji’s love came down to individual items, wouldn’t it seem like he didn’t care at all? What if the child refused to acknowledge him as his father because of this?

Chu Tinghan, of course, had no idea Pei Ji was harboring such delicate and peculiar thoughts. At Pei Ji’s remark, he merely frowned slightly in confusion. “Sparse?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

How many more does he plan to buy?

If money could measure love, then Pei Ji’s affection for the child was likely overflowing.

For some reason, the thought left a bitter taste in Chu Tinghan’s mouth.

Does he truly love the child? Or does he love…?

What if one day the truth were revealed, all the pretenses shattered? Would all this ephemeral, fragile beauty vanish without a trace?

Chu Tinghan didn’t delve further into the thought, yet an inexplicable answer surfaced in his mind, dimming his gaze and plunging his mood into the depths.

On the way home, Chu Tinghan showed no emotional fluctuations, maintaining a composed expression as a sturdy facade.

Pei Ji noticed his subtle shift and assumed he was tired, asking a few concerned questions. Chu Tinghan brushed it off, saying he was fine, just a bit sleepy.

As soon as they returned home, Chu Tinghan used fatigue as an excuse to retreat to his bedroom.

The door closed, completely blocking out the light, and the room was instantly swallowed by darkness.

He leaned weakly against the wall, his legs gradually weakening until they could barely support him, his back sliding uncontrollably down the surface.

The room’s clock ticked mechanically, each crisp, icy tick like the falling scythe of death.

A few seconds later, an abrupt, icy laugh pierced the deathly silence, tinged with a faint, barely perceptible dejection—a self-mocking sound.

At that moment, that absurdly audacious thought resurfaced in his mind:

If only they truly had a child…

“You’re really going through with this, finding a child actor to play your son? Have you really thought this through?”

“There’s no turning back once the arrow leaves the bow. If you actually take him to see Pei Ji, there’ll be no going back.”

“Seriously, I have to warn you—this is way too risky. You can keep up the act for a while, but not forever. Can’t you think of another way?”

Zhou Yingjie paced around Chu Tinghan in circles, his words tumbling out in a relentless stream, trying to convince him to abandon his plan. The two large, clear-eyed dogs beside him, oblivious to his meaning, trailed behind his legs, circling Chu Tinghan along with him.

But Chu Tinghan remained silent, unresponsive, as if his soul had been drained away.

“Sigh…” Exhausted by his one-man show, Zhou Yingjie stopped pacing, planted his hands on his hips, and cautiously poked Chu Tinghan’s elbow. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Are you even listening?”

After a long silence, Chu Tinghan lowered his head and mumbled a low, dispirited “Mmm.”

Seeing this, Zhou Yingjie stopped circling, pulled up a stool, and sat across from him, leaning forward to study his expression, trying to gauge his mood from his features.

But Chu Tinghan was sitting with his back to the light, his entire face shrouded in shadow. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and his eyes seemed veiled by a layer of mist, dull and lifeless.

Zhou Yingjie ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, facing the greatest dilemma of his life.

He couldn’t fathom Chu Tinghan’s emotions, utterly clueless about what the man was truly thinking.

People like Chu Tinghan were his greatest headache in life—those who kept their emotions bottled up, showing little on the surface, their joys, sorrows, anger, and grief hidden deep within.

After years of acting, he’d played countless characters, but the ones he dreaded most were like Chu Tinghan—those who kept everything bottled up, appearing calm on the surface while their inner world might be raging with storms.

Hard to act, he thought, even harder to read.

Normally, when faced with such a tricky situation, Best Actor Zhou would simply sidestep it. If he couldn’t play the part, he wouldn’t—staying in his comfort zone was perfectly fine. Why invite unnecessary trouble? But Chu Tinghan was one of his few genuine friends in the industry, and abandoning him now would be utterly disloyal.

“If you’re really facing a major problem you can’t handle, just tell me directly, okay?” Zhou Yingjie softened his tone, hoping to pry open Chu Tinghan’s tightly sealed lips.

The two dogs beside him sat down, tilting their heads and perking up their ears to watch Chu Tinghan intently.

Lucky settled even closer, his tail wagging slowly as it brushed against the ground, making a soft rustling sound.

The subtle noise roused Chu Tinghan from his reverie. He instinctively looked up and met Lucky’s gaze.

The next moment, as if sensing his low mood, Lucky suddenly stood up and padded over to Chu Tinghan, nuzzling his leg as if to cheer him up.

Chu Tinghan reached down to stroke Lucky’s fluffy white head, forcing a stiff smile.

The dog wanted to see him smile, so he smiled. Yet, for some reason, the sight of those bright, wet, canine eyes only deepened the ache in his heart.

After a long silence, Chu Tinghan finally spoke, his voice hoarse, “Can you keep him for a few more weeks?”

Zhou Yingjie couldn’t even muster an “Ah!” of surprise.

The Chu Tinghan before him was so utterly changed that he barely recognized him.

Even when he’d clashed with his former company, been abandoned by his allies, and watched his career plummet, he hadn’t seemed this defeated.

So strong and indestructible in business… How can he be so vulnerable in matters of the heart?

Sigh… It just doesn’t make sense.

Zhou Yingjie pondered for a long time, realizing he likely couldn’t help with the deeper issues. Perhaps all he could do was care for the dog. Anything else would be beyond his capabilities.

“Sure thing! Lucky’s so adorable and well-behaved. I could keep him for weeks, even years, no problem!” Zhou Yingjie thumped his chest in assurance.

“It won’t be that long,” Chu Tinghan murmured, lowering his gaze. His voice drifted over like a cold, faint breeze.

“How many years?”

Can it really last that long?

Chu Tinghan couldn’t quite articulate his feelings. He felt submerged in an endless expanse of deep blue sea, the waves rising and falling, sometimes pushing him toward the shore, sometimes pulling him back into the salty depths. The coastline seemed tantalizingly close, yet impossibly distant—perhaps he would never reach it.

Still, for now, he could at least lean against the shore. That was enough.

Regaining his composure, Chu Tinghan forced a perfunctory smile at Zhou Yingjie. “Thank you,” he said.

Zhou Yingjie watched the corner of Chu Tinghan’s mouth lift briefly and then fall again, his gaze growing increasingly complex.

Human potential is boundless. At that moment, Zhou Yingjie felt that the Best Actor trophy displayed in his room should belong to Chu Tinghan. All the deeply ingrained cinematic performances he had given over the years paled in comparison to that single smile.

A chilling smile that sent shivers down his spine.

Best Actor Zhou felt utterly inadequate, incapable of maintaining such a forced smile. He could only manage a stiff twitch of his lips as he helped with the final preparations.

“The young actor will change his surname but keep his given name. From now on, call him Chu Zicheng. He’s still too young, and his mother insisted on coming along. We’ll give her a cover as a nanny to disguise her role.”

Hearing this, Chu Tinghan looked up, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I know what you’re worried about,” Zhou Yingjie sighed. “Rest assured, his mother was a background actor for over a decade. Her acting skills are impeccable—she won’t slip up.”

“As long as you…” Zhou Yingjie trailed off abruptly. He’d initially feared Chu Tinghan would be the weakest link, but seeing him today, he was acting better than anyone—more convincingly than anyone. There was nothing to worry about.

Zhou Yingjie pursed his lips and changed tack. “Anyway, I’ve arranged everything. Just send someone to pick up the mother and son early tomorrow morning.”

With everything said, Zhou Yingjie couldn’t shake the feeling that the conversation had ended on an oddly heavy note.

A century seemed to pass as he watched Chu Tinghan walk out, get into his car, and drive away. Finally, he couldn’t resist standing by the roadside and waving. He called out sincerely, “May you get your wish.”

His voice was too soft, almost a whisper. Chu Tinghan couldn’t hear him, only see his lips moving.

From across the distance, it seemed more like he was saying, Willingly.

“Do you think I should wear this outfit or that one?” Pei Ji had pulled all his clothes out and spread them across the bed, a rare occurrence for him to video call his best friend for fashion advice.

On the other end, Lü Yi squinted groggily, his hair a disheveled bird’s nest and his mind still hazy from sleep. He flattened his sticking-up hair and leaned closer to the screen.

Time: 6:30 AM

Caller: Pei Ji

Reason: To ask for help choosing an outfit

Am I hallucinating from sleep?

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Pei Ji asked, noticing the lack of response. He assumed it was a connection issue and adjusted his settings. “Can you hear me now? Is the connection bad?”

Lü Yi lay in bed, contemplating the mysteries of existence. He racked his brain but couldn’t make sense of anything.

“Is the signal bad?” Pei Ji persisted.

“…The signal’s fine,” Lü Yi finally managed to say, sitting up with his phone. “It’s just… I’m not fine.”

Hearing a response, Pei Ji breathed a sigh of relief and refocused the camera on the pile of clothes. “Which outfit do you think looks better on me? More… approachable?” he asked earnestly.

Lü Yi felt as if he’d slipped into another dimension, beyond the boundaries of reality. He couldn’t even see the clothes anymore; his mind was consumed by a single question.

Am I the one losing my mind, or is it him?

Otherwise, how could he possibly explain why someone would call at 6:30 in the morning just to agonize over what to wear?

And this wasn’t just anyone—it was Pei Ji, a supernaturally handsome man who could make even a burlap sack look chic.

Lü Yi’s rusty brain creaked into gear. With mock seriousness, he asked, “Are you going on a blind date?”

Pei Ji froze, visibly startled. “No.”

“Then what’s the occasion? You never cared about what you wore before!” Lü Yi paused, realizing his words might have stung. He recalled how he’d been back in the day, dressing meticulously as the perfect, clean-cut college boy whenever he was meeting a certain senior—a routine that had once led him to mistakenly assume they were already a couple.

Pei Ji raised an eyebrow and replied coolly, “None of your business.”

“Well, you should at least tell me what kind of person you’re meeting. You wouldn’t dress the same for meeting old folks as you would for seeing your crush.”

Pei Ji conceded the point after a moment’s thought. “Someone quite young,” he said.

“Oh, I get it,” Lü Yi said with a knowing smirk. “Then dress youthful. Don’t want to stand next to them and have people mistake you for their dad.”

What he really wanted to tease was: First you liked a senior four years older, now you’re into juniors much younger?

“From older to younger—that’s quite a shift in taste,” Lü Yi muttered, his morning grumpiness thick in his voice.

Still, he thought, with Pei Ji’s face, even the most demanding Fairy would be more than satisfied.

He’d assumed Pei Ji would understand this grumbling, delivered with the full force of his morning crankiness. But Pei Ji’s reaction was nothing like what he’d expected. Instead of getting angry, he played along, asking, “So, what kind of ‘father-son look’ do you think we should go for?”

Lü Yi froze, various retorts circling in his mind before being swallowed back down. He could only manage, with a look of utter bewilderment, “The one on your left—simple yet dignified, mature with a hint of youthful energy.”

He even put on a convincing yawn. “If that’s all, I’m hanging up. I stayed up late last night—exhausted.”

After disconnecting the video call, Lü Yi was suddenly wide awake. He frantically searched online:

Is there a cure for brain damage in friends?

While Lü Yi was still racking his brain over the matter, Pei Ji had already changed and was standing before the mirror, meticulously adjusting his appearance.

At nine in the morning, Chu Tinghan left to pick up the child, leaving Pei Ji alone at home to wait. Pei Ji paced the living room, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Does this outfit look friendly enough?

Will I scare the kid?

Will he like the gift I bought?

What should I say when we first meet?

Will the child accept…

Ding-dong! The doorbell’s sudden chime shattered his reverie. He froze, his heart pounding wildly.

Taking a deep breath, he forced a practiced smile and opened the door.

Chu Tinghan stood on the doorstep, leading a little boy who barely reached his shins. The boy wore an adorable overalls suit with a miniature suit jacket, a bunny embroidered on his shirt, and a black bow tie at his collar.

The boy tilted his still-childlike face upward, his large, round eyes fixed unwaveringly on Pei Ji.

Pei Ji felt those eyes sparkle like starlight, instantly struck by the sheer cuteness of the sight.

The speech he’d meticulously prepared vanished from his mind, leaving him utterly blank. All he could manage was a smile, unsure of what else to do.

Stepping forward, Pei Ji crouched down to meet the boy’s gaze. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke gently, his voice warm and smiling, “Hello there, little one.”

The boy recoiled slightly, as if uncomfortable with the closeness, his hand clenched so tightly at his side that he nearly crumpled the smooth fabric of his overalls.

A hint of bewilderment flickered in his eyes, his lashes still trembling. After a long pause, he slowly opened his mouth and said politely, “H-hello… Uncle.”

Pei Ji’s smile froze on his face.

What did he just call me?

Uncle?

Uncle?