After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 33

Chapter 33

“Ahem, uh, can I ask you something?” Pei Ji blocked Guan Nan at the foot of the building, lowering his head a little awkwardly.

The last time Guan Nan had seen Pei Ji outside the office building, Pei Ji had been wearing a stormy expression, ready to confront him. Now that Pei Ji had come to find him again, Guan Nan worried that the couple were having another fight. He asked anxiously, “Brother Pei, wh-what is it?”

Guan Nan had already decided: if it was about Director Chu, he would answer “I don’t know” to every question. He didn’t want to get dragged into the couple’s squabbles and lose his job.

Pei Ji rubbed his nose, pursed his lips, and after a long pause finally asked, “Where does your Director Chu usually like to go? Does he have any hobbies?”

“N-no…” Guan Nan immediately started to follow his plan when he heard “Director Chu,” but the rest of the question didn’t sound like a fight. He quickly swallowed back his words and thought for a moment. “…Does the recording studio count?”

Then he watched Pei Ji’s lips, which had been curling upward, flatten, and Pei Ji gave him a complex, appraising look.

Guan Nan was momentarily confused.

Was he unhappy with my answer? But I’m telling the truth! Director Chu is a singer by trade, spending most of his time in the recording studio or practice room. What’s wrong with that?

Pei Ji raised an eyebrow, incredulously confirming, “The recording studio?”

Guan Nan, rattled by the question, began to doubt himself. After a moment’s thought, he realized he might have completely misunderstood Pei Ji’s intentions. Cautiously, he asked, “Brother Pei, what kind of ‘places he likes to go’ are you talking about? Are you… trying to ask Director Chu out?”

Before he could finish, Pei Ji coughed abruptly, lowered his gaze to kick at a pebble at his feet, and tilted his head to watch the cars speeding by. He asked casually, “Where do you think he likes to go?”

Guan Nan immediately understood. Pei Ji’s expression was exactly like when he’d been pursuing his girlfriend, asking her best friend what kind of gifts she liked—desperately anxious inside but desperately trying to maintain a nonchalant facade.

Though, Guan Nan suspected Pei Ji was probably more embarrassed than anything else.

Guan Nan found it oddly amusing. No wonder they couldn’t connect—he’d been completely misinterpreting the question.

Suddenly adopting the air of an experienced elder, Guan Nan reached out to pat Pei Ji’s shoulder. But halfway through the gesture, he remembered this was his boss’s partner and hastily retracted his hand, awkwardly scratching his head instead. He gave Pei Ji a knowing smile, saying, “Amusement parks, those trendy Instagrammable restaurants—I think they’d both be great. They’re perfect for dates.”

Pei Ji’s expression froze for a moment.

Guan Nan thought, “As expected, young people lack experience.” He continued, “Let me tell you, all the young couples these days go to places like—”

“I’m talking about Chu Tinghan,” Pei Ji interrupted flatly, his tone devoid of inflection.

Guan Nan was even more perplexed. He was convinced he’d understood the question perfectly, so why was the examiner still unsatisfied with his answer?

Pei Ji felt like he was playing the piano for a cow. Guan Nan had already become hopelessly lost in the maze of trendy Instagrammable spots.

I really shouldn’t have given him a short answer question allowing for creative interpretation. I should have just asked a yes-or-no question, Pei Ji thought.

Pei Ji actually had an answer in mind, but he wasn’t entirely sure. “Let me ask you this: Do you think Chu Tinghan likes things related to the stars?”

Guan Nan pondered for a moment. “It seems so. Director Chu often visits astronomy exhibitions during his free time.”

“Alright, I understand now,” Pei Ji nodded. “I’ve ordered bubble tea for everyone. The staff will deliver it upstairs soon. Please help distribute it. Thank you.”

Guan Nan wanted to invite him upstairs—Director Chu was there too—but before he could figure out how to phrase the invitation, Pei Ji had already driven off.

Guan Nan stood at the foot of the building, contemplating the mysteries of life.

Pei Ji had ordered the milk tea, so Guan Nan would naturally have to announce it to everyone when distributing it. But Director Chu was also present. If Director Chu found out Guan Nan hadn’t invited Pei Ji up, he’d likely sulk for the entire afternoon.

What should he do?

Eureka!

Ten minutes later, Guan Nan and a shop assistant carried the milk tea upstairs. As soon as the assistant left, Guan Nan planted himself in front of the pile and bellowed at the top of his lungs while distributing the drinks, “The Boss Lady’s treating everyone to milk tea! There’s enough for everyone!”

His throat nearly gave out as he yelled, desperate to ensure Director Chu, isolated in his office, would hear.

The office buzzed with excitement. Employees eagerly thanked the “Boss Lady” one after another, their enthusiastic shouts eventually drawing Director Chu out of his office.

Director Chu stood in the doorway, casting a cold, dismissive glance across the room. The formerly noisy office fell silent in an instant.

Cold sweat broke out on Guan Nan’s forehead. I’ve gone too far this time, he thought. Director Chu probably thinks we’re being too loud.

After a tense moment, Chu Tinghan spoke coldly. Everyone braced for a scolding, but instead, he announced he was treating them to dinner.

Director Chu… was treating them to dinner?!

“I have other plans tonight, so I won’t be joining you. Put the bill on my tab,” Chu Tinghan said before shutting the door.

As Chu Tinghan turned away, Guan Nan caught a glimpse of a faint, almost imperceptible curve at the corner of his lips—a hint of a smile.

The next morning, just as Chu Tinghan was about to leave, he heard Pei Ji call out to him.

He turned to see Pei Ji following him a few steps before stopping in front of him, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to speak.

Pei Ji had rehearsed his words countless times the night before, but now that he was standing face-to-face with Chu Tinghan, he felt a sudden shyness. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally managed to ask, “Um… are you busy lately?”

First the milk tea yesterday, and now he’s asking if I’m busy, Chu Tinghan thought. Pei Ji must want something from me. He raised an eyebrow. “Not particularly.”

“Then would you be free to go out with me…” The word “date” hadn’t even left his lips before he couldn’t help but chuckle, a faint blush creeping up his ears.

Aren’t playboys supposed to be smooth operators? How come he can’t even say “date” without embarrassment?

What’s so special about him? His height?

Pei Ji inwardly mocked himself, thinking he should just give up. But then, after a moment of silence, Chu Tinghan curled his lips into a smile and said, “Sure.”

Pei Ji froze, staring at him in disbelief.

“I have a meeting today. Gotta run,” Chu Tinghan said, pretending to reach for the door.

“Wait!” Pei Ji called out urgently.

Chu Tinghan turned to face him, his gaze calm and composed.

Pei Ji’s lips twitched uncontrollably, alternating between embarrassment and delight. He awkwardly raised his hand and wiggled his fingers as if strumming a guitar string, his voice tinged with amusement as he said, “Have a good day at work.”

Chu Tinghan felt his heartstrings plucked in that instant. He stood frozen for a long moment before finally murmuring an absentminded “Mm.” As he walked away, he felt like he was floating on air, the sensation almost unreal.

Pei Ji had chosen a stargazing exhibition for their date.

He selected this location because he remembered Chu Tinghan gifting him a microphone with a nebula-themed design. The first rule of gift-giving was to choose something the giver themselves would like. Though he wasn’t sure if Chu Tinghan truly loved it, at least he wouldn’t dislike it.

Given their high profiles, they were easily recognizable, so Pei Ji specifically scheduled their date on a weekday with fewer crowds.

As a precaution, they dressed plainly that day, blending seamlessly into the crowd.

Pei Ji strolled leisurely through the exhibition hall, circling until he finally spotted the familiar photograph he’d been searching for.

Before coming, he’d specifically researched the exhibition’s contents, knowing exactly what he was looking for.

He had only taken a few steps when he suddenly stopped, deliberately pausing in front of the nebula photograph. In the lower right corner, a caption identified it with the code IC1805—the exact model of the handheld microphone Chu Tinghan had given him years ago.

Truth be told, he hadn’t come here solely for a date. He harbored a private motive: he wanted to ask Chu Tinghan why he had chosen to give him that particular microphone back then.

Slightly turning his head to glance at Chu Tinghan, he asked with feigned casualness, “Why did you decide to give me a handheld microphone?”

Chu Tinghan paused for a moment, then looked up at the nebula photograph beside them. A sudden understanding seemed to dawn on him. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “The school’s microphones were too inferior—unworthy of you.”

This was the truth. Years ago, while on his way to a recording session, Chu Tinghan had happened to pass by Communication University. The campus was hosting its annual music festival. Pei Ji, then a senior, was likely performing at his last campus music festival—and his final performance as the lead vocalist of Dreamcatcher.

For some inexplicable reason, he felt that missing this performance would be a lifelong regret. Driven by an inexplicable impulse, he rebooked his train ticket and went to Communication University instead.

His work kept him so busy that he could only spare a few hours at Communication University. With such little time, he didn’t inform anyone, choosing instead to stand quietly at the back of the audience, silently enjoying the performance.

The microphones at Communication University were ancient relics, and just as Pei Ji was about to take the stage, one finally gave up the ghost. The sound cut in and out, accompanied by frequent crackling and static. Though it didn’t affect Pei Ji’s performance, the audio quality was far worse than usual.

At that moment, Chu Tinghan thought Pei Ji’s talent deserved a far better microphone than this piece of junk from who-knows-when.

Coincidentally, Pei Ji’s graduation was approaching, and Chu Tinghan had been struggling to find the perfect gift. After much deliberation, he concluded that a personalized handheld microphone would be the most practical choice and decided to gift him one as a graduation present.

Most professional singers have custom-made microphones, but with less than two months until graduation, there simply wasn’t time for custom fabrication.

Later, he happened to learn that a renowned brand was releasing a limited-edition handheld microphone. Its only drawback was its steep price, so he chose it as the gift.

Pei Ji had imagined many possible answers, but he never expected this one.

Pei Ji stared at him for a moment, a sudden softness spreading through his chest. Suppressing a smile, he asked pointedly, “Then why did you choose… this one?” As he spoke, he deliberately glanced at the nebula map displayed before them, making his meaning all too clear.

What he really wanted to ask was: With so many nebulae in the universe, why pick one shaped like a heart? But he was too self-conscious to put it so bluntly, though he was certain Chu Tinghan would understand.

Chu Tinghan followed his gaze, raising an eyebrow. After a long pause, he replied with a half-amused expression, “Limited edition. You young guys love that kind of thing, right?”

Pei Ji froze, suddenly realizing Chu Tinghan was like a cunning fox—perfectly aware of what he wanted to ask, yet deliberately feigning ignorance and sidestepping the question.

The answer wasn’t entirely unacceptable, but the phrasing left something to be desired.

Young guys? He hadn’t heard that term in well over a decade, making him sound ages younger than Chu Tinghan.

Slightly exasperated, Pei Ji couldn’t help but smile, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Chu Tinghan, we’re only four years apart.”

He even held up four fingers in a playful mock accusation.

Chu Tinghan was momentarily stunned by Pei Ji’s smile, taking a long moment to regain his composure. He murmured a soft, “Mm.”

Inside the exhibition hall, hazy shadows intertwined, and shimmering light cascaded in layers. The ethereal, drawn-out chanting in the background music seemed to stretch time itself, yet brought their hearts closer. The scene felt like a freeze-frame from a movie: the crowd flowed ceaselessly around them, yet their eyes could only see each other’s figures.

Pei Ji couldn’t quite articulate his feelings at that moment. Though Chu Tinghan had skillfully evaded every question, his evasiveness felt more exhilarating than a direct answer.

Eventually, a passerby accidentally bumped his shoulder, jolting him back to reality.

The exhibition hall had a theater, and Pei Ji, embracing the “we’re here anyway” spirit, ventured inside. The theater was screening various videos of starry skies captured by a renowned photographer.

Their timing was fortunate; they’d arrived just in time for the photographer’s meet-and-greet. After the screening, a host came out to warm up the audience before introducing the esteemed master.

Pei Ji hadn’t expected to run into a familiar face—let alone one so terrifying—on his hard-earned date.

He sat through the entire event on pins and needles, ducking his head whenever that person’s gaze swept in his direction, desperate to avoid being noticed. As time wore on, he even developed the absurd feeling that he’d been caught red-handed having an early romance.

Terrified of his brother’s relentless sermonizing, Pei Ji grabbed Chu Tinghan by the arm the moment the credits rolled and bolted for the exit.

Chu Tinghan glanced around, seeing no suspicious figures or cameras. “Paparazzi?” he asked, puzzled.

“Worse,” Pei Ji muttered, shooting a furtive glance over his shoulder to ensure the man wasn’t watching. “Something far more terrifying.”

Though Chu Tinghan didn’t quite understand, he quickened his pace to match Pei Ji’s as they hurried out.

In a corner near the theater’s front entrance, Lü Yi was chatting amiably with a renowned photographer when a familiar figure caught his eye in his peripheral vision. Even from the back, he sensed an air of frantic escape, as if the person were fleeing someone.

Without a second thought, Lü Yi bid farewell to the photographer and sprinted after the figure, taking three steps at a time, not daring to pause.

As he drew closer, the person became increasingly familiar—the height, the build, even the handsome aura radiating from the back of their head. It was Pei Ji!

No way, Lü Yi thought. What are the odds? I just got eliminated from that reality show and landed this hosting gig, and now I’m running into Pei Ji again?

And the person Pei Ji was pulling along looked vaguely familiar too.

Unfortunately, Pei Ji’s longer legs meant Lü Yi couldn’t catch up despite chasing him all the way to the exhibition hall’s entrance. Seeing Pei Ji about to get into a car with the other person, Lü Yi had no choice but to shout from a distance.

But with so many eyes around, and given Pei Ji’s status, he couldn’t call out his full name. Gritting his teeth, he blurted out, “Young Master Pei!”

At the sound of his name, Pei Ji nearly tripped over his own feet.

Seizing the opportunity, Lü Yi hurried closer, breathless. Bending over with his hands on his knees, he asked, bewildered, “Why… why are you avoiding me?”

Catching his breath, he straightened up and looked up, only to meet a pair of cold, indifferent eyes. The man looked vaguely familiar, radiating an icy aura that seemed to warn others to keep their distance. His eyes narrowed slightly as if scrutinizing Lü Yi.

Lü Yi couldn’t shake the feeling that this man harbored some unspoken hostility toward him. After a moment of hesitation, he turned to Pei Ji, puzzled. “Who’s this? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Pei Ji knew Chu Tinghan’s special status couldn’t be revealed, and Lü Yi’s loose mouth would likely spread the news. Playing it safe, he casually replied, “A friend.”

“A friend?” Lü Yi raised a skeptical eyebrow, glancing down at their tightly clasped hands. He clicked his tongue mockingly. “Why don’t you let go of his hand before we talk? You sure this is just a ‘friend’?”

A friend? What kind of friends hold hands like that, refusing to let go?

Pei Ji and Lü Yi were close. He immediately recognized Lü Yi was just teasing him for not mentioning he had a boyfriend, nothing more. But Chu Tinghan, unfamiliar with their banter, heard the words and misinterpreted them.

Let go? Why should I let go?

Unaware of the darkening expression on Chu Tinghan’s face, Pei Ji was about to comply with Lü Yi’s teasing and let go to maintain the lie. Instead, Chu Tinghan’s grip tightened.

Chu Tinghan stepped half a pace closer, his eyes growing darker. Lowering his voice, he added a single, decisive word: “Boyfriend.”