After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 29

Chapter 29

At noon, the kitchen was bustling with activity.

To celebrate the family’s reunion, Aunt Zhang and Sister Xu had prepared a lavish feast.

Chengcheng, a tiny figure barely taller than the table, stood beside his chair, craning his neck to gaze up at the food. He couldn’t even climb onto the seat.

Noticing this, Pei Ji walked over, lifted him onto the chair, and placed a bowl and chopsticks in front of him.

Chengcheng sat stiffly, raising his hand halfway before letting it fall, reverting to his usual prim composure.

Pei Ji mistakenly assumed he couldn’t reach the food and brought over a small plate, filling it with portions of various dishes and placing it within easy reach. Yet Chengcheng still didn’t move.

Though his eyes were fixed on the meal, his hands remained hidden beneath the table.

Puzzled, Pei Ji wondered if Chengcheng only knew how to use a spoon and was too embarrassed to admit it. He pressed a spoon into the boy’s hand, urging him to eat.

This time, Chengcheng finally moved. He gripped the spoon tightly and slowly, meticulously, scooped up tiny mouthfuls of rice, one by one, while the food on his plate remained untouched.

Thinking the food Pei Ji had chosen might not suit his taste, Pei Ji asked him what he wanted to eat.

Chengcheng glanced up at the tempting dishes on the dining table, swallowed hard, but remained silent.

Pei Ji could tell he wanted something but couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t say it.

Having never raised a child before, Pei Ji didn’t know how to coax him. He resorted to the simplest method: pointing to each dish and asking, “Do you want this? Or this?”

But to his surprise, Chengcheng reverted to his initial mode of communication: nodding for yes, shaking his head for no, with no other reaction.

This left Pei Ji feeling utterly defeated. The fragile connection they had just managed to forge had inexplicably frayed, leaving them distant once more.

If he hadn’t known Chengcheng was capable of normal conversation, he might have suspected the boy had some congenital, incurable psychological condition.

Pei Ji ate absentmindedly, his mind racing as he discreetly observed Chengcheng out of the corner of his eye.

He noticed that Chengcheng’s peculiarities extended beyond his speech; his physical movements were equally odd.

Chengcheng ate with extreme caution, only daring to take food from the dishes closest to him. He would meticulously divide each mouthful of rice into multiple tiny bites, making the act of eating more like an ordeal than nourishment.

Not only that, but Chengcheng’s gaze never lingered on the food or his two fathers. Instead, he would occasionally glance toward the kitchen.

Pei Ji followed his gaze and caught sight of Sister Xu bustling about in the kitchen.

Chengcheng’s behavior was far too unusual.

After pondering for a long time, Pei Ji could only come up with one somewhat reasonable explanation:

Perhaps Chengcheng feels uneasy with me, a guest in his home.

And his frequent glances toward the kitchen might mean that, compared to me—this incompetent father who vanished for years—Chengcheng would rather live with Sister Xu, who has cared for him for so long.

After the meal, Pei Ji tried every trick in the book to bond with Chengcheng, searching for conversation topics from every angle.

At first, Chengcheng remained taciturn. It wasn’t until Pei Ji presented him with a succession of various toys that the boy finally deigned to exchange a few words with him.

Pei Ji chuckled bitterly to himself. I never imagined I’d have to bribe my own son with toys to get him to talk to me.

How is this any different from what child snatchers do?

Yet, aside from this, he couldn’t think of any other, more reasonable approach.

And so, Pei Ji painstakingly warmed Chengcheng up, one toy and snack at a time.

By evening, Chengcheng had completely dropped his guard and was even approaching Pei Ji to chat on his own initiative.

Little kids tire easily. It was just past nine when Chengcheng’s eyelids began to droop, and he yawned repeatedly.

Pei Ji put away the toys and asked, “Are you sleepy?”

Rubbing his eyes, Chengcheng mumbled, “Mm-hmm.”

At that moment, Sister Xu suddenly approached. “Little Pei,” she said, “Chengcheng goes to bed at exactly half-past nine every night. Why don’t you play again tomorrow?”

“Sure. I’ll take him to wash up,” Pei Ji replied, reaching for Chengcheng’s hand.

Sister Xu blocked his path, taking Chengcheng’s hand first and smiling. “No need, no need. I’ll take him. You must be tired from playing with him all day. Go get some rest.”

Pei Ji hesitated. There was something odd about her tone, as if Chengcheng were a child he’d borrowed from her and it was now time to return him.

Seeing his slight frown, Sister Xu added, “I’ve been helping Chengcheng with his bathing and washing up since he was little.”

Sister Xu might as well have written “I’m more experienced than you” across her forehead. Pei Ji, left with no choice, nodded in agreement and watched the pair grow increasingly distant.

Chu Tinghan happened to pass by just then. His expression shifted imperceptibly at the sight, and he paused, following Pei Ji’s gaze. “So reluctant to let him go?” he asked, his tone flat.

Pei Ji was jolted back to reality by Chu Tinghan’s voice, completely misunderstanding his meaning.

Reluctant to let go of what? Were they even talking about the same thing?

“He’s just going to wash up. It’s only a short while. It’s not like you’ll never see him again,” Chu Tinghan’s icy voice cut through the air beside him, leaving Pei Ji with an inexplicable sense of unease.

Pei Ji finally realized, somewhat belatedly, that Chu Tinghan was referring to Chengcheng.

A father being reluctant to let go of his son was perfectly normal. So why did it sound so strange coming from Chu Tinghan’s mouth?

Especially that casually indifferent tone, as if he couldn’t care less on the surface, sent a chill down Pei Ji’s spine.

Pei Ji was baffled. “No, I just wanted to see how Sister Xu takes care of Chengcheng normally, so I could learn a few tricks.”

Chu Tinghan’s gaze remained complex and skeptical. He clearly didn’t believe Pei Ji’s explanation.

Crash! A heavy object fell upstairs, followed by frantic footsteps and the sound of frantic pounding.

At that moment, Aunt Zhang was the only person upstairs, tidying Chengcheng’s bedding in the guest room.

Pei Ji looked up at the sound and saw the guest room door ajar. He hurried upstairs, asking, “What’s going on?”

After a tense moment, Aunt Zhang replied breathlessly, “There’s a bug in the room! I’m trying to kill it.”

Bugs weren’t inherently scary, but the thought of one in Chengcheng’s room sent shivers down Pei Ji’s spine. He frowned and sprinted to the guest room.

When he reached the doorway, he saw Aunt Zhang struggling to move a heavy cabinet. Without a word, Pei Ji helped her shove it aside.

After they moved the cabinet, Aunt Zhang bent down and searched around it, but couldn’t find even a trace of the bug. She sighed. “That bug was too fast. I couldn’t kill it, and now I don’t know where it’s gone.”

The guest room was Chengcheng’s room. Chengcheng was still young, and sleeping alone was already a challenge for him. If there were a bug in the room, he’d likely be too scared to sleep all night.

Pei Ji absolutely refused to let Chengcheng stay in the same space as a bug. Without a second thought, he told Aunt Zhang, “Don’t bother cleaning up yet. Chengcheng won’t be sleeping here for a while.”

Chengcheng sleeping in the guest room was Director Chu’s order. This was the first time Aunt Zhang had ever heard Pei Ji directly disobey Chu Tinghan’s command.

Hesitant, Aunt Zhang countered, “Then where will he sleep?”

Pei Ji answered without hesitation, “With us.”

The moment those words left his lips, a cold voice behind him repeated the phrase, turning the statement into a question: “With us?”

The words “with us” were enunciated with sharp clarity, deliberately emphasized.

Chu Tinghan raised an eyebrow, his gaze burning intently into Pei Ji.

Pei Ji turned to meet that meaningful stare, momentarily stunned before realizing the ambiguity in his words.

The “us” he meant was entirely different from the “us” Chu Tinghan had assumed.

“No,” Pei Ji said, closing his eyes in regret as he tried to explain. “I meant… with you or me.”

Chu Tinghan gave a light “Oh,” but Pei Ji inexplicably sensed a hint of disappointment in that single syllable.

My thoughts are getting wilder by the day, Pei Ji thought to himself. Not only am I narcissistic, but now I’m projecting emotions onto him!

Chu Tinghan’s face remained completely impassive. How could he possibly be disappointed?

Snapping back to reality, Pei Ji recalled his still-awkward relationship with Chengcheng. It seemed only natural that Chengcheng would prefer sleeping with Chu Tinghan. He suggested, “Maybe he should sleep with you first. There’s plenty of time to teach him independence later.”

As they spoke, Sister Xu finished washing Chengcheng and brought him over, having likely understood their discussion. “Chengcheng’s sleeping with Director Chu tonight?”

“Yeah,” Pei Ji replied. “I’m not comfortable letting him sleep alone yet.”

Sister Xu hesitated, reluctantly pushing Chengcheng toward Chu Tinghan.

But Chengcheng, forcibly pushed halfway, dug in his heels and refused to budge another step.

Seeing this, Sister Xu gave an awkward smile and quietly patted his back, urging him to go over.

Chu Tinghan stood a few steps away from Chengcheng, his expression growing colder.

Chengcheng stubbornly refused to move forward. Instead, he turned and ran back to Pei Ji, his little hands gripping Pei Ji’s pants as he tilted his head up to gaze at him with a pitiful expression.

The air seemed to freeze for a second, terrifyingly still.

Pei Ji lowered his gaze and patted his round head, belatedly realizing, “You want to sleep with me?”

Even after saying it, he couldn’t quite believe it. Chengcheng was actually asking to sleep with him? Was he dreaming?

Could it be that his patience and care throughout the day had finally paid off?

Had Chengcheng finally accepted him?

Pei Ji was happier than if he’d won the lottery, completely oblivious to the darkening storm brewing on Chu Tinghan’s face.

Chu Tinghan had been about to say, “Then come sleep with me too,” but before the words could leave his lips, Pei Ji had already scooped up the child and was heading downstairs.

Halfway down, he turned back with a smile and said, “Goodnight.”

Chu Tinghan gritted his teeth and forced out a “Good night” after an agonizing pause. He could only stand by the second-floor railing, helplessly watching Pei Ji and Chengcheng disappear from his sight.

Even after Pei Ji’s bedroom door closed, he remained rooted to the spot, leaning against the railing, his face betraying no emotion. Yet, beneath the calm surface, his heart churned like a storm-tossed sea.

It seemed Pei Ji cared for the child far more than Chu Tinghan had imagined.

He couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad thing.

His original plan had been to keep Pei Ji by exploiting the child’s lie. Now that his goal was achieved, he felt no joy whatsoever.

Instead, he felt deeply uneasy, as if he had fallen into a bottomless black hole, utterly lost with no sense of direction.

Creak. Pei Ji’s bedroom door suddenly opened from the inside. Hearing the sound, Chu Tinghan quickly retreated into his own room.

The moment Pei Ji opened the door, he spotted a shadowy figure lurking outside.

He had faintly heard footsteps outside earlier, realizing she had been pacing back and forth. Perplexed, he asked, “Sister Xu, is there something you need?”

Sister Xu unconsciously rubbed her apron. “Um, I was just wondering if Chengcheng would like a cup of warm milk before bed. I’ve already heated it up.”

Pei Ji took the milk inside and watched Chengcheng drink it all. He returned the empty glass to Sister Xu. “You’ve been busy all day. You should get some rest too.”

With that, he closed the door and went back inside, turning to find Chengcheng’s wide, blinking eyes staring up at him.

Noticing the child’s lack of drowsiness, Pei Ji asked, “Can’t sleep?”

Chengcheng lowered his gaze, hesitated for a long moment, then barely parted his lips to whisper, “I…”

He stopped after uttering just one word, his round eyes fixed on Pei Ji.

“Hmm?” Pei Ji tucked the blanket around him, waiting for him to finish.

Chengcheng said cautiously, “I… I want a story.”

Pei Ji was taken aback. He hadn’t expected such a request from the child. It seemed Chu Tinghan was quite attentive to his son, even telling him bedtime stories.

Unsure of what kind of stories Chengcheng usually listened to, Pei Ji searched online and found one to read aloud.

About ten minutes later, Chengcheng finally closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The soft, warm yellow lamplight fell gently on Chengcheng’s face. Pei Ji gazed at the child’s peaceful profile and realized Chengcheng looked somewhat like himself, but bore little resemblance to Chu Tinghan.

He could find hardly a trace of Chu Tinghan in that face.

It’s normal for a child to resemble only one parent, Pei Ji thought. He didn’t dwell on it and soon drifted off to sleep himself.

The next morning, when Pei Ji woke up, he saw Chengcheng still sleeping soundly. He wanted to let the boy sleep a little longer, so he carefully and quietly slipped out of bed.

But Chengcheng, having just moved to a new place, was sleeping lightly and was roused by Pei Ji’s movements.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, Chengcheng, still half-asleep, murmured vaguely, “Ma… Mommy…”

Pei Ji froze, the tenderness in his eyes vanishing instantly.

If I heard correctly, did Chengcheng just call for… Mommy?

But both he and Chu Tinghan were men. The child should be calling them Papa or Daddy, or something similar.

Two men… where would Mommy come from?