After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Pei Ji’s gaze remained fixed on them, lingering in thought as he stood rooted to the spot.

Chu Tinghan and Sister Xu were so engrossed in their conversation, their expressions utterly absorbed, that they failed to notice Pei Ji standing less than ten meters away, watching their every move.

Unfortunately, their voices were too soft. Despite his proximity, Pei Ji could only catch fragments of syllables.

He took two more silent steps upward, edging closer to try and decipher their words.

But just as he moved, a sudden gust of wind howled outside the window, rattling the panes. The stairwell door slammed shut with a thunderous bang as the gale tore through the building.

The abrupt noise startled them, interrupting their conversation. Chu Tinghan turned to look, his peripheral vision catching a familiar figure. Instinctively, he glanced over—and his eyes met Pei Ji’s, catching him off guard.

Chu Tinghan froze, a flicker of barely perceptible panic flashing in his eyes. He pressed his lips together, then mechanically forced a smile. “Coming upstairs so quietly? Aren’t you carrying quite a load?” he quipped, half-teasingly.

In the first second of meeting Chu Tinghan’s gaze, Pei Ji felt the awkwardness of being caught eavesdropping. But when he noticed Chu Tinghan’s slightly trembling lips and the strained smile threatening to crumble on his face, that awkwardness vanished, replaced by an inexplicable sense of unease.

Everything today felt bizarre, as if he’d fallen into a world of Chu Tinghan’s making.

While Pei Ji was lost in thought, Chu Tinghan had unconsciously moved closer and extended a hand, gesturing for him to share some of the weight he was carrying.

Yet Pei Ji seemed oblivious to this gesture, showing no reaction whatsoever. His gaze remained fixed on Chu Tinghan, his brow furrowing involuntarily.

Chu Tinghan’s already stiff smile grew even more strained. The corners of his lips slowly drooped, and he swallowed nervously, forcing his voice to sound casual: “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?”

Pei Ji remained silent, his deep eyes swirling with complex emotions.

Unable to decipher his thoughts, Chu Tinghan grew increasingly unnerved by the unwavering stare. He awkwardly raised a hand to pat his cheek, his voice now strained: “On my face…”

“Chu Tinghan,” Pei Ji suddenly interrupted him.

Chu Tinghan froze. He’d heard this formal address—using both his surname and given name—countless times over the past months, long since grown accustomed to it. Yet this time, it grated on his ears with particular harshness.

In the past, when Pei Ji called him by his given name, there was often a hint of amusement in his tone. But this time, his voice was utterly flat, almost devoid of warmth, sending a chill down Chu Tinghan’s spine.

Pei Ji’s heart pounded with apprehension, afraid to speak rashly. He maintained a tense silence.

“Are you hiding something from me?” Pei Ji asked coldly, his words measured and each syllable precisely enunciated.

Pei Ji stood at the foot of the stairs, while Chu Tinghan stood on the landing above. Though physically higher, Chu Tinghan felt as if he were trapped in a deep ravine, shrouded in Pei Ji’s shadow.

The question hung over him like a guillotine. Pei Ji’s palms were slick with cold sweat, and his face remained frozen for an agonizing moment before he forced an unnatural twitch of his lips. He nearly lost control of his trembling voice. “N-no… What are you talking about?”

Pei Ji could sense Chu Tinghan’s unease and was about to press further when someone suddenly burst into the stairwell.

Guan Nan rushed over, nearly slipping on the slick floor as he ran too fast. He stumbled a few steps before finally catching himself against the doorframe. “Chengcheng’s awake! He’s looking for you!”

This sudden interruption completely derailed Pei Ji’s train of thought. When he tried to speak again, he’d forgotten what he wanted to ask, or how to even begin.

Chu Tinghan, however, seized this like a lifeline, hurrying toward the ward as if fleeing.

They entered the ward one after the other. Pei Ji casually placed the takeout on the table, then turned to see Sister Xu already standing by Chengcheng’s bedside, patiently and carefully feeding him water.

Pei Ji’s gaze lingered involuntarily on the pair for a moment. He’d never really paid attention to Sister Xu’s features before. Whether it was the chaos in his mind or the absurd thought brewing within him, he suddenly noticed that Chengcheng’s eyebrows and eyes bore a striking resemblance to hers.

Chengcheng’s eyes, nose, and mouth all seemed to echo Sister Xu’s features.

The scene before him was warm and tender, as if Sister Xu and Chengcheng were the true family, making him and Chu Tinghan feel utterly superfluous.

The more he watched their maternal bond, the more genuine it seemed, while his own paternal relationship with Chengcheng felt increasingly contrived.

Pei Ji felt like he was going mad, harboring such irrational thoughts.

These bizarre and absurd notions sprang up like bamboo shoots after a rain, flooding his mind. His thoughts grew increasingly chaotic, and his mood grew more agitated. He forced himself to look away, desperately trying to divert his attention.

As he turned, Guan Nan was standing right in front of him. Desperate for anything to distract him, Pei Ji blurted out, “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, something big came up…” Guan Nan began, then glanced at Chu Tinghan and abruptly changed his tone. “Actually, it’s a minor matter. I came to discuss it with Director Chu, and since I heard Chengcheng was sick, I thought I’d check on him while I was here.”

As Chu Tinghan’s assistant, most of Guan Nan’s business involved Chu Tinghan’s work. Pei Ji had little interest in such matters. He nodded curtly and didn’t press further.

After finishing his water, Chengcheng declared he was hungry and wanted to eat. Pei Ji was about to pull the lunchbox from the insulated bag when his phone suddenly rang. The caller ID showed An Zhu.

Pei Ji handed the insulated bag to Guan Nan, wiped his hands, and stepped outside to answer the call.

“Hello, Pei Ji? Where are you right now?” An Zhu fired off the question the moment the call connected.

Pei Ji sensed a hidden meaning in her words. Remembering his wife and child in the room, he cleared his throat guiltily and replied casually, “I’m outside. What’s wrong?”

“You…” An Zhu hesitated, then stopped abruptly.

Pei Ji was utterly confused, waiting for her to continue.

After a long silence, as if struggling with herself, she finally sighed. “Never mind. Just… be more careful about your surroundings when you go out. Watch out for paparazzi.”

Hearing this, Pei Ji finally understood her meaning. He pondered for a moment before asking, “I was photographed?”

He considered this phrasing too vague and rephrased his question, “Or… we were photographed?”

A moment later, An Zhu simply replied, “Mm-hmm.”

Pei Ji closed his eyes in despair, his head suddenly pounding.

Celebrities caught hiding their marriages and children rarely ended well. He didn’t dare imagine the online backlash.

He didn’t care about the criticism directed at him—he was used to it—but he couldn’t bear the thought of Chu Tinghan and young Chengcheng being dragged into the scandal.

Taking a deep breath, he asked calmly, “How fast is this spreading? How far has it gone? What exactly did they capture?”

As he asked, he pulled out his phone and searched online. To his surprise, not only were there no photos, but not even a whisper of the incident had leaked.

“Don’t worry, the photos haven’t been posted online,” An Zhu reassured him. “That paparazzi was just after money. He sent the photos to me first, and probably to…” An Zhu slammed on the brakes just as the words “your brother” were about to slip out. “He probably sent them to your partner as well.”

Paparazzi tactics are nothing more than extortion, Pei Ji thought. He checked his bank balance and asked with difficulty, “How much did he ask for?”

“I don’t know the exact amount, but he did contact me again later. Since I haven’t seen any of your photos online, I’m guessing your partner bought them all.”

After a pause, An Zhu added, “Your public profile is getting higher every day. You need to be more careful when you go out. The internet is hypersensitive to marriage and children. One slip-up and your whole family could get dragged into the mud.”

Pei Ji thought for a moment. Their child was already almost three years old, and his partner was none other than the Song God, a household name. Hundreds of eyes followed his every move daily, so keeping their family secret was likely an impossible task.

They’d been in a clandestine relationship before marriage. Did they have to continue living as a “secret couple” even after tying the knot?

This constant need to hide made him deeply uncomfortable.

After a moment, Pei Ji suddenly said, “What if I went public now…?”

“Huh?!” An Zhu was clearly shocked by his suggestion. “Y-you mean… what exactly do you mean?”

Pei Ji stated solemnly, “Go public.”

An Zhu was a bit bewildered. “Why would you do that?”

Having worked in the entertainment industry for years, she was accustomed to seeing celebrities secretly marry and have children. Pei Ji’s willingness to be so open was unprecedented.

She couldn’t fathom why he would make such a bold decision. To her, publicly acknowledging his marriage would be tantamount to closing off all future career prospects.

“You need to think this through carefully,” An Zhu warned. “You’re only twenty-five…” She wanted to remind him that this was the prime time to focus on his career, and being single meant limitless opportunities.

It wasn’t that she disapproved of Pei Ji’s marriage; she just opposed him revealing his married status to the public.

But Pei Ji held the opposite view. He stated plainly, “I have no intention of continuing as an actor. At twenty-five, I’m too old to be an idol anyway. My marital status really isn’t that important to me.”

“Besides, since I don’t have many truly devoted fans yet, it’s better to reveal my actual marital status now. That way, when the truth inevitably comes out later, I won’t face a complete internet firestorm.”

Marriage and children were like a time bomb strapped to his back, ready to explode at any moment. Rather than wait for someone else to detonate it, he’d rather disarm it himself first.

But more than anything, Pei Ji couldn’t stand the secrecy. He couldn’t bear hiding his marital status from the world, refusing to be a liar—especially to his genuine and passionate fans.

An Zhu held the phone, stunned. She actually found his reasoning quite sound. After a moment of silence, she sighed. “Alright. So how do you plan to announce it?”

She really wanted to ask if Chu Tinghan knew about this and whether they needed to consult him, but she was afraid that if she asked, Pei Ji would suggest consulting Chu Tinghan himself. She didn’t dare make any demands of the Song God Director Chu.

This is between Big Brother and Sister-in-Law. As their younger sister, I should stay out of it.

Forgetting her role as manager for a moment, An Zhu nervously asked, “Um… what about your partner…?”

“It has nothing to do with him.”

An Zhu was utterly bewildered again.

Why is it suddenly irrelevant? she wondered. Does Pei Ji now hold all the power, making every decision?

Could it be that Director Chu, who appears so cold and aloof on the surface, is actually henpecked behind closed doors?

The stark contrast sent her mind into a chaotic battle. After a long, dazed silence, she mechanically moved on to the next step: “How do you want the official announcement worded? Should we tag him?”

“I never said I wanted to make an official announcement,” Pei Ji chuckled, sounding helpless. He had assumed An Zhu would understand his meaning, but her mind had apparently wandered off in a completely different direction.

After a moment’s thought, he clarified as clearly as possible, “What I mean is, we just need to let everyone know I’m married now. There’s no need to reveal who my spouse is.”

Completely at a loss as to what he was trying to achieve, An Zhu could only nod numbly and update Pei Ji’s official account bio to reflect his married status.

The moment the change was made, news of Pei Ji’s marriage spread like wildfire, instantly sweeping across the entire internet.

Some mourned his loss, others praised his sincerity, while still others criticized his lack of basic professionalism.

Pei Ji had no intention of returning to his idol days, nor did he seek to attract legions of fangirls or fanboys. From the beginning, his true passion remained music. More than fans, he yearned for dedicated listeners—music lovers.

Director Chu was equally stunned by the news. The suddenness of the announcement caught him completely off guard.

Having navigated the entertainment industry for years, he knew all too well the potentially devastating impact marriage could have on an artist’s career. Though initial online reactions were mostly positive, praising Pei Ji’s sincerity and responsibility, Chu Tinghan’s heart inexplicably sank. Two words suddenly flashed through his mind:

Not worth it.

A fabricated marriage wasn’t worth Pei Ji sacrificing his career for.

When Pei Ji finished his call and returned to the hospital room, his eyes met Chu Tinghan’s slightly reddened gaze.

Standing at a distance, Pei Ji couldn’t see clearly and assumed the redness was from fatigue. “You should go rest if you’re tired,” he said. “I’ll stay here.”

Chu Tinghan seemed not to hear him, asking instead, “Why?”

Pei Ji looked utterly bewildered, managing a wry smile. “What ‘why’?”

The words had barely left his lips when he suddenly realized Chu Tinghan might be referring to his public announcement of his marriage.

Is it really that big of a deal? he wondered. I don’t even think it’s anything special. Why is Chu Tinghan acting more upset than I am?

Pei Ji frowned helplessly, racking his brain for a way to comfort the man who was grieving for him. “I saw your old interview the other day,” he said. “Didn’t you say you’d consider marriage if you found the right person? What’s this—you can consider it, but I can’t announce it?”

“I never pegged Director Chu as such a tyrant,” Pei Ji teased with a chuckle.

Chu Tinghan could tell Pei Ji was deliberately trying to lighten the mood and make him relax, but he couldn’t muster even the slightest smile.

He silently lowered his gaze, unable to meet Pei Ji’s smiling eyes. He couldn’t articulate the tangled emotions swirling within him—joy, sorrow, and a hint of regret, all intertwined.

Back then, I said those things because you were in my heart. Marriage, family—it all hinged on you being the person by my side.

He had been giving the public preemptive warnings, subtly hinting that a special place in his heart was reserved for someone.

But who held that place in Pei Ji’s heart?

Could it be Chu Tinghan himself?

Chu Tinghan dared not dwell on the thought. He couldn’t be sure whether it was his own convincing performance that had drawn Pei Ji into the act, or whether the other man had genuinely developed some real feelings.