After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 35

Chapter 35

A few days later, Chu Tinghan found himself with some rare free time. Seizing the opportunity, Pei Ji quickly arranged for Chengcheng to take a day off from school and planned a family outing to a wildlife park.

Given their high-profile status—Chu Tinghan being a recently resurfaced celebrity riding a wave of renewed fame, and Pei Ji a legendary Song God adored for decades—they would inevitably draw attention in public. To avoid crowds and minimize the risk of being recognized, Pei Ji opted for a drive-through wildlife park, allowing them to stay in the car and avoid direct contact with others.

However, even Chu Tinghan’s car was as conspicuous as its owner. Pei Ji painstakingly selected a relatively understated white car from the garage.

The drive-through route at the wildlife park was straightforward: simply follow the entrance road forward to see all the animals along the way. For visitor convenience and animal interaction, the park had designated stopping points.

On this weekday, the park was nearly empty. Looking ahead, they could count the number of cars on the entire drive-through route on one hand.

With no cars behind them, Pei Ji deliberately slowed down. As they drove along, he pointed out and described the various animals to Chengcheng.

Chu Tinghan sat in the back with Chengcheng. Whether it was because Chengcheng wanted to watch the animals outside the window or because he simply preferred sitting by the car door, he seemed miles away from Chu Tinghan at that moment. His small hand gripped the car door handle tightly, his upper body twisted toward the window, eyes fixed intently on the receding scenery outside, giving him a slightly rigid appearance.

No matter what Pei Ji said, he only murmured a faint “Hmm” in response before continuing to blink and gaze out the window.

After driving a bit further, Pei Ji noticed a car ahead pull over to the side of the road. Two bouncy children hopped out, followed by their parents carrying water bottles.

Pei Ji glanced in the direction the children were running and spotted a group of alpacas enclosed in a fenced area. Several staff members stood outside the fence, apparently selling alpaca feed.

Pei Ji remembered that the wildlife park had a petting zoo where visitors could feed the animals up close. This must be it.

Chengcheng had been unusually quiet the entire drive. Pei Ji figured he might be bored from just looking at the animals through the car window, which was why he seemed so uninterested.

Today, only the three of them were in the car. Usually, when Chengcheng was upset, Sister Xu would tease him until he smiled, but now Pei Ji could only hope the small animals in the enclosure would cheer him up. Perhaps interacting with them would lift Chengcheng’s spirits.

As Pei Ji slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road, he glanced at Chengcheng through the rearview mirror, smiling. “Chengcheng, we can get out up ahead and feed the little animals. Would you like to go feed them?”

This time, Chengcheng finally reacted. He released the door handle, slowly twisted around to face forward, and leaned forward, his eyes wide with curiosity. After a long silence, he finally spoke his first words since getting into the car: “Where are the little animals?”

Hearing Chengcheng’s interest, Pei Ji’s smile brightened. He pointed ahead. “Right there! See the alpacas? And there seem to be hamsters and rabbits nearby too. Would you like to feed them?”

Chengcheng lowered his chin slightly, about to nod, when he seemed to suddenly remember something and turned his head to the side. He cautiously glanced at Chu Tinghan and asked slowly, “Can I go?”

Chu Tinghan clearly froze for a few seconds, perhaps surprised that such a question even needed to be asked. He nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Of course you can.”

Only after hearing his permission did Chengcheng nod firmly. “I want to go feed the rabbits,” he declared.

Seeing this, Pei Ji couldn’t help but smile wryly.

So, in Chengcheng’s mind, Chu Tinghan is the ultimate authority in this household, right? No matter what he asks, Chengcheng has to check with Chu Tinghan first, nodding only when he approves. If Chu Tinghan says no, Chengcheng probably wouldn’t even dare to move a muscle.

Anyone observing this scene would naturally assume Chu Tinghan was an extremely strict and demanding father.

But after observing them these past few days, Pei Ji didn’t think so. Chu Tinghan didn’t impose excessive demands on Chengcheng. Whether it was waking up late for school and being tardy, forgetting his homework after school, or eating too much candy and getting cavities—all these trivial matters were met with an indifferent “It’s fine,” as long as Chengcheng was happy.

In every aspect of daily life, Chu Tinghan had never established any rules for Chengcheng. Rather than a stern father, Pei Ji thought he seemed more like a laid-back parent.

Logically, with Chu Tinghan’s relaxed parenting style, Chengcheng should have been lively, mischievous, even spoiled and willful. He should never have been this obedient and well-behaved.

He didn’t seem like Chu Tinghan’s biological son, raised by him personally, but rather like a child being fostered by a casual friend.

Pei Ji had always felt Chengcheng was afraid of Chu Tinghan, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

Frowning slightly, Pei Ji pulled the car over to the side of the road and helped Chengcheng out.

Inside the fenced playground, two children were having a blast, their innocent laughter ringing out in an unbroken stream. Pei Ji watched them, his heart stirred with complicated emotions.

Having spent so much time with Chengcheng, he had never seen the boy laugh so freely and openly as those children.

Suddenly, Pei Ji felt a gentle tug on his trouser leg.

He looked down to see Chengcheng, still a bit reserved, tilting his head up and asking softly, “Can I really go feed the rabbits?”

Chengcheng’s eyes sparkled with a light brighter than when he looked at Chu Tinghan, and a faint, almost imperceptible curve lifted the corners of his lips.

He’s clearly happy and excited, Pei Ji thought, but why is he afraid to show it?

Pei Ji’s heart twisted with a tangle of emotions. He couldn’t understand why Chengcheng, who was barely three years old and still so innocent, would harbor such complicated feelings.

What was he so afraid of?

What was it about this household that made him so wary, so afraid to reveal his true emotions?

A thousand unanswered questions surged through Pei Ji’s mind, weighing his heart down. But Chengcheng was still gazing up at him expectantly, his eyes sparkling. Forcing himself to swallow his doubts, Pei Ji smoothed his furrowed brow and mustered a gentle smile. “Of course, we can! Let’s go buy some lettuce for the little rabbit.”

Chengcheng took small, hesitant steps forward, his hand held tightly in Pei Ji’s. He kept glancing sideways at the man beside him.

Lost in thought, Pei Ji walked absentmindedly forward until a sudden gust of wind rushed past.

He looked up and realized the “wind” was actually a child, a head taller than Chengcheng, barreling toward the animal enclosure. His hair flew wildly as his parents hurried after him, calling out warnings to slow down and be careful.

At the gate, the child began to wheedle his parents, demanding two boxes of animal feed. His parents refused and forcefully returned one of the boxes to the shelf. The child’s lips trembled, and he burst into tears, as if determined to wail until his parents relented.

Watching the family, Pei Ji belatedly realized that his interactions with Chengcheng were fundamentally different from those of other parents and children. Their interactions were too formal, like those of familiar strangers rather than a father and son.

Family is a child’s sole refuge. Before them, they shed all pretense—laughing, crying, arguing, and smiling freely. Yet Chengcheng seemed to possess only one emotion; even a smile felt like a luxury. As for tears, apart from the time he accidentally broke a glass during their first meeting, Pei Ji had never seen him cry.

Before this, Pei Ji had always found children’s tantrums irritating, their cries grating on his nerves and giving him headaches. But now, he found himself absurdly wishing Chengcheng would cry to him—anything to make him seem real, to stop feeling like his son was living like a puppet.

He used to want his child to be well-behaved, easy to manage, and precociously mature. Now, all he wished for was for Chengcheng to boldly express his true feelings before him. Being obedient and mature no longer mattered; whether he cried or threw tantrums, anything would be more comforting than this timid, withdrawn version of his son.

The current Chengcheng was frighteningly well-behaved, disturbingly compliant—so obedient that the absurd thought crossed Pei Ji’s mind that they hardly seemed like father and son at all.

After buying food for the rabbits, Pei Ji stood beside Chengcheng and watched him feed them for a while.

Chengcheng squatted beside the little rabbit, offering it a lettuce leaf. He accidentally poked the leaf too close to the rabbit’s eye. Startled, the rabbit suddenly hopped away, turning tail and darting off.

Chengcheng, equally startled, lurched backward, nearly falling to the ground. Fortunately, Pei Ji’s quick reflexes caught him just in time.

“It’s okay, the rabbit won’t bite,” Pei Ji reassured him, crouching down to meet Chengcheng’s gaze as he pulled him into his arms.

Chengcheng watched the rabbit hop to the other side of the enclosure, then took half a step forward before retreating back into Pei Ji’s embrace.

Pei Ji saw through his hesitation and offered him a choice: “Nod if you want to play a bit longer, shake your head if you’re done.”

Moments later, Chengcheng’s head shook so vigorously it resembled a rattling drum, his cheeks jiggling with the motion.

Pei Ji chuckled, amused. Despite Chengcheng’s quiet nature and reluctance to smile, he could be quite endearing at times.

Just as Pei Ji was about to lead Chengcheng away, the rabbit that had darted away suddenly hopped back, stopping right in front of Chengcheng. Startled again, Chengcheng stumbled backward several steps.

Before he could retreat further, his back bumped into someone. Chu Tinghan stood behind him, his brow furrowed deeply as he watched the bouncing white furballs scattered across the ground. He couldn’t understand why Chengcheng was so afraid of them.

Such a scaredy-cat! He’s nothing like me or Pei Ji. What if he blows our cover?

Chu Tinghan had originally planned to encourage Chengcheng to walk ahead on his own, but before he could speak, he watched helplessly as Pei Ji scooped Chengcheng up into his arms.

Pei Ji even turned back to ask his opinion: “Chengcheng’s scared. Should we head back?”

Chu Tinghan shot a glance at the snow-white rabbit, as round as a snowball. Though he still couldn’t understand Chengcheng’s fear, he nodded in agreement.

They got back in the car and continued driving.

The rest of the route offered almost no interactive features, and they reached the end before they knew it.

At the exit lay a sea of flowers, beside which stood cartoon animal cutouts, specially placed for tourists to take photos.

Seeing the floral expanse, Pei Ji finally remembered that the purpose of their outing had been to show Chengcheng the flowers.

Flowers, being mostly static, posed no further threat to Chengcheng’s fears. Without hesitation, Pei Ji quickly carried Chengcheng out of the car. This time, Chengcheng stepped briskly, running ahead to the flowerbed’s edge and striking a V-sign.

Surprised but wary of Chengcheng changing his mind, Pei Ji immediately pulled out his camera and snapped a photo.

But the moment he pressed the shutter, Chengcheng suddenly sneezed, blurring the image.

Then Chengcheng’s V-sign vanished. He began scratching his arms, then his ears, as if his entire body was itching.

Pei Ji, assuming Chengcheng was being bitten by outdoor mosquitoes, rummaged through the special backpack he had prepared for the boy. He pulled out floral-scented insect repellent and sprayed it on Chengcheng, then applied cooling balm to the red, scratched areas.

Ten minutes later, Chengcheng’s symptoms not only failed to improve but worsened dramatically. His skin was now covered in large red patches and small bumps.

A concerned parent nearby, noticing their frantic efforts, hurried over to help. Frowning, he hissed, “Doesn’t this look like an allergic reaction? What’s his allergen?”

“Allergy?” Pei Ji asked, looking up in surprise.

The parent replied with certainty, “Yes, these symptoms are classic allergy signs—exactly what my child experiences during an allergic reaction.” After a pause, he asked, “Do you know your child’s allergens? Could he have accidentally eaten something he shouldn’t have?”

This was Pei Ji’s first time raising a child, and he had no experience with allergies. If not for the stranger’s prompting, he might never have considered such a thing.

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He turned to Chu Tinghan and asked urgently, “Tinghan, what’s Chengcheng allergic to?”

Chu Tinghan’s face paled momentarily.

Sister Xu had prepared all of Chengcheng’s food and drinks; there couldn’t be any errors there. The only remaining possibility was the blooming flowers all around them.

Chu Tinghan forced himself to stay calm, but his voice still trembled slightly. “Pollen… is he allergic to pollen?”

“You parents are so careless,” the doctor said, looking at the child lying in the hospital bed with a mix of pity and reproach. “Your child is allergic to pollen, yet you had the audacity to let him take pictures in a sea of flowers?”

Pei Ji and Chu Tinghan stood by the bed, guarding Chengcheng, neither offering a rebuttal.

The doctor sighed, recognizing their inexperience as first-time parents. He continued, “Pollen allergies can be life-threatening if severe. From now on, keep him indoors as much as possible during allergy season. It’s awful for him to be suffering like this.”

Pei Ji’s voice was slightly hoarse. “Thank you for your help. We appreciate it.”

He didn’t argue or defend himself because he, too, felt deeply inadequate as a father. How could he not even know his own child’s allergens? If someone hadn’t noticed Chengcheng’s allergic reaction today, the consequences could have been catastrophic.

Chengcheng lay in the bed, his body covered in mottled red rashes, his face completely drained of color, and his expression one of clear distress.

The more Pei Ji looked at him, the more his heart clenched with guilt and self-reproach.

Chu Tinghan stood silently beside him, his face ashen and lips dry. He wanted to comfort Pei Ji, but his throat felt constricted, unable to utter a sound.

In his own mind, Chu Tinghan had raised Chengcheng single-handedly, so he should have known better about the child’s daily needs and sensitivities. Pei Ji’s indifference and ignorance of Chengcheng’s allergens were, in a way, understandable.

Therefore, the fault for today’s incident lay squarely with Chu Tinghan himself, not Pei Ji.

His negligence had nearly put Chengcheng in mortal danger. Beyond self-reproach and worry, Chu Tinghan felt a deep, lingering dread.

Allergies could be trivial or life-threatening. What if Chengcheng’s reaction had been severe, and they hadn’t gotten him to the hospital in time? How would he ever explain that to the child’s real mother?

Just as these thoughts raced through his mind, hurried footsteps echoed outside the ward. Sister Xu burst in, her hair disheveled from running, strands clinging to her sweat-dampened cheeks. Her lips were pale and cracked, and her eyes were wide with panic.

She rushed to Chengcheng’s bedside like a madwoman, frantically rummaging through her bag for a medicine box. As she poured warm water to give Chengcheng the medicine, her movements suddenly froze. As if jolted awake from a dream, she turned to look at the two “fathers” standing by the bed, her voice trembling as she asked, “Did you take him to see the flowers today? Is Chengcheng allergic to pollen? What did the doctor say? How serious is it? Did he get a shot? Did he take any medicine?”

Sister Xu’s words poured forth like a raging flood, Chu Tinghan felt as though he were about to be swallowed by the overflowing torrent, suffocating beneath its weight.

At that moment, he knew he should calm Sister Xu down, tell her not to panic, but he couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word.

Because the child lying on the hospital bed wasn’t his. And the child’s true mother stood right before him.

He opened his mouth, feeling utterly helpless. “I’m so—”

But his voice was too soft, drowned out by another voice echoing the same sentiment. Chu Tinghan turned in surprise to see Pei Ji, his eyes devoid of light, apologizing to both him and Sister Xu in a low voice. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on taking Chengcheng to see the flowers, he wouldn’t have had to suffer like this.”

Chu Tinghan couldn’t meet his eyes. He blinked awkwardly, averting his gaze, and lowered his head.

He knew perfectly well that Pei Ji wasn’t to blame. The fault lay entirely with himself. But you can’t stop a play halfway through, and now he lacked the courage to speak the truth.

Hearing Pei Ji’s apology, Sister Xu abruptly choked up. A mother’s heart ached where her child’s body was wounded, and she couldn’t bring herself to offer a disingenuous “It’s okay.”

An eerie silence fell over the hospital room, the air growing thick and stifling, making it difficult to breathe.

After an awkward standoff, Pei Ji, feeling utterly unworthy to face Chengcheng’s biological father, Chu Tinghan, or Sister Xu, who had raised the boy, rasped, “It’s almost noon. Chengcheng must be hungry. I’ll go downstairs to get some food and be back soon.”

Just as he reached the door, Pei Ji stopped, turning back to ask cautiously, “Does Chengcheng have any other allergies? Is there anything he can’t eat?”

His gaze fixed on Chu Tinghan, clearly directing the question at him, but Chu Tinghan remained silent. At that moment, another voice cut through the tension. Sister Xu, standing beside him, volunteered, “No, Chengcheng is only allergic to pollen. He probably doesn’t have much appetite right now. Get something light and easy to digest.”

Pei Ji paused briefly, shifted his gaze from Chu Tinghan, nodded, and said, “Got it.”

The hospital elevators were under maintenance, so Pei Ji had to take the stairs when he returned with the food.

Carrying the lunchbox, he climbed the stairs. Just as he reached the floor where Chengcheng was staying, two familiar voices echoed from the hallway.

Slowing his pace, he crept upward, peering around the corner to see Chu Tinghan and Sister Xu standing in a corridor alcove, engaged in what appeared to be a tense conversation.

Chu Tinghan’s expression was grave, his brow furrowed with what seemed like guilt. Sister Xu dabbed at her tears with a tissue, her sobs barely audible.

The sight sent him reeling. A montage of images flashed through his mind:

Sister Xu rushing to the hospital room, her composure shattered, every movement betraying an extraordinary level of concern and anxiety. Her care for Chengcheng was practiced and seamless, as if she had performed these routines countless times, etched into her muscle memory.

Now, hiding in the corridor, she wept, her face twisted with pain, as if she wished she could take Chengcheng’s place.

Yet he and Chu Tinghan—aside from self-blame and worry—showed surprisingly little emotional turmoil.

As Chengcheng’s biological fathers, their concern didn’t even match that of a mere nanny.

The sight made Pei Ji dizzy. He suddenly couldn’t tell who was truly related to whom by blood.