After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 37
Chapter 37
Half a month later, Chengcheng had fully recovered.
Unlike other children, who typically beamed with joy upon leaving the hospital, Chengcheng showed little reaction. He exhibited no enthusiasm about going home and even forced a reluctant smile when receiving gifts.
“Chengcheng, don’t you like this plush toy?” Pei Ji asked, stroking his cheek with a mixture of helplessness and confusion.
Chengcheng neither nodded nor shook his head, instead silently tugging at the ear of the plush rabbit in his arms.
Pei Ji began to worry that the prolonged confinement in the hospital room had damaged Chengcheng’s spirit. He was already quiet by nature—he couldn’t risk the boy becoming mute.
Trying to lift his spirits, Pei Ji mused aloud, “Chengcheng, after we leave the hospital, where would you like to go and play?”
He immediately remembered that Chengcheng’s recent allergic reaction had been caused by Pei Ji’s insistence on taking him to the zoo. “This time, we won’t go outside,” he quickly added. “We’ll go somewhere indoors. How about the museum? I heard they have dinosaur fossils.”
Seeing this, Sister Xu bent down and leaned close to Chengcheng’s ear, chiming in, “Chengcheng, aren’t dinosaur fossils your favorite?”
Chengcheng, still staring down and absently tugging at the rabbit’s ear fur, gave a barely perceptible nod and mumbled an acknowledgment.
Even though Chengcheng had agreed, Pei Ji didn’t dare take him out alone again.
Worried about his inexperience causing Chengcheng further distress, Pei Ji consulted Sister Xu about everything concerning the boy.
Far from being annoyed, Sister Xu patiently taught him everything—from Chengcheng’s favorite foods and clothes to his preferred games. She would chat endlessly with Pei Ji, her gaze occasionally softening with maternal tenderness as she looked at Chengcheng, her eyes veiled in a gentle light.
Over time, Pei Ji realized that Sister Xu’s affection for Chengcheng went far beyond the usual bond between a nanny and her employer’s child.
Ever since Chengcheng’s allergic reaction, an unspeakable, absurd idea had haunted him like a nightmare.
Pei Ji desperately wanted to ask, but he couldn’t bring himself to broach the topic.
Should I bluntly ask Sister Xu why she cares so deeply for Chengcheng? Why they’re as close as mother and son?
Such a question would be deeply offensive, and he couldn’t bring himself to voice it.
Unable to question Sister Xu, he had even less reason to doubt Chu Tinghan.
From the moment they obtained their marriage certificate until now, Chu Tinghan had never once harmed him. On the contrary, Chu Tinghan had made countless sacrifices for him. Pei Ji couldn’t deny the sincerity of Chu Tinghan’s feelings.
If there had been even the slightest flaw in Chu Tinghan’s affection, a hint of insincerity, Pei Ji would have confronted him without hesitation: Why does Chengcheng prefer Sister Xu? Why is Chengcheng so distant with us? Why does the nanny know about Chengcheng’s life-threatening allergies when his own father is completely ignorant?
But he couldn’t find a single crack in Chu Tinghan’s devotion. Aside from his unpredictable moods, Chu Tinghan was a perfect lover—one who constantly prioritized Pei Ji’s well-being.
Unable to find any legitimate grounds for doubt, this absurd suspicion continued to torment Pei Ji, unable to shake it off.
One day, when he went to pick Chengcheng up from school, he witnessed for the countless time Chengcheng rushing into Sister Xu’s arms without a second thought, completely ignoring him, his own father. Pei Ji awkwardly withdrew his outstretched arms, silently picking up Chengcheng’s small backpack and trailing behind them.
As they walked, they encountered one of Chengcheng’s classmates. The child looked curiously at the woman walking beside Chengcheng and asked if she was Chengcheng’s mother.
Before Chengcheng could answer, Sister Xu abruptly changed the subject, claiming there was an urgent matter at home. She took Chengcheng’s hand and hurried away without another word.
As Pei Ji stepped inside, his gaze immediately fell upon Chu Tinghan, who was seated on the sofa. He hesitated at the doorway, the absurd idea that had been gnawing at his chest all day surging within him, leaving him restless.
After a moment’s hesitation, he walked over to Chu Tinghan, casually tossing Chengcheng’s small backpack onto the sofa. Feigning nonchalance, he asked, “Are Sister Xu and Chengcheng very close?”
Chu Tinghan’s expression froze momentarily before he replied, his face remaining impassive, “I’m busy with work, and my parents aren’t in good health. None of us have the energy to care for a child. Sister Xu has essentially raised Chengcheng since he was a baby.”
Pei Ji casually bent down to pour himself a glass of water, taking a sip before uttering a nonchalant “Oh,” as if the question had been merely a casual afterthought.
Just as he was about to turn to find Chengcheng, Chu Tinghan called out, “Why did you ask that all of a sudden?”
Pei Ji smiled and shrugged. “Nothing, just curious.”
After a moment’s thought, he doubled back and sat down beside Chu Tinghan, musing aloud, “So Chengcheng…”
“I heard Destiny intends to invite you to sing the promotional song. Have they found a recording studio for you yet?” Chu Tinghan interrupted, smoothly changing the subject.
Chu Tinghan interrupted before Pei Ji could finish his question, making it awkward for him to press further. Pei Ji could only follow Chu Tinghan’s lead, answering with feigned seriousness, “Not yet, but the project manager said they’ll get back to me this week.”
Chu Tinghan looked at him. “Come to my studio.”
Pei Ji blinked in disbelief, flattered beyond words. “You… what do you mean?”
Could it be that Big Song God Chu is inviting me to record at his private studio?
Pei Ji had actually guessed Chu Tinghan’s intention but, fearing he might be misreading the situation, chose a more indirect way to ask.
Sure enough, as Pei Ji had anticipated, Chu Tinghan’s lips curved slightly. “Come to the recording studio where I record. The owner’s a friend of mine. We shouldn’t have any more power outages or microphone malfunctions there.”
Pei Ji initially wanted to play it cool, feigning reluctance and embarrassment. But before he could even utter a polite refusal, the genuine smile that flashed in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.
Seeing this, Chu Tinghan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He turned his head, leaving Pei Ji with only a seemingly expressionless profile.
The scene felt eerily familiar. Pei Ji could almost predict the expression that would appear on Chu Tinghan’s face next, and the reaction that would follow.
True to form, the next moment Chu Tinghan pressed his lips into a thin, taut line, lowered his gaze, and, while replying to a message on his phone, said coolly, “I’ve already made arrangements with the recording studio. You can go whenever you’re free.”
Pei Ji couldn’t shake the feeling that Chu Tinghan’s lips were unnaturally tight. After studying his profile for a moment, he suddenly changed his mind, cleared his throat, and said casually, “Did I ever say I agreed to this?”
Chu Tinghan’s finger froze mid-tap on the screen. No longer in the mood to stare blankly at his phone, he fell silent for a long moment before finally asking, “You… don’t want to?”
Pei Ji turned sideways to face him, his brow furrowing slightly as he replied coldly, “Of course not.”
A flicker of surprise flashed in Chu Tinghan’s eyes. He abruptly shut off his phone and tossed it aside, abandoning all pretense of composure. His earlier nonchalance vanished, replaced by a hint of panic. “Why? Are you unhappy with the studio?”
Pei Ji remained silent, merely raising an eyebrow and fixing him with a gaze that was both cold and penetrating.
In Chu Tinghan’s memory, Pei Ji rarely showed him such an expression. The last time he’d seen such cold indifference was when he returned to Communication University as an awards presenter, and Pei Ji had pretended not to know him at the ceremony.
That time had been baffling, and this time was equally inexplicable.
This side of Pei Ji felt utterly foreign. Chu Tinghan grew increasingly uneasy under his piercing gaze, his mind racing backward through their recent interactions, desperately trying to pinpoint what he might have said to displease him.
Chu Tinghan pressed his lips together, uncertainly suggesting, “If you don’t want to use this recording studio, I can find others… or is there a specific one you’d prefer?”
He forced himself to meet Pei Ji’s eyes.
The moment their gazes locked, Chu Tinghan realized the coldness in Pei Ji’s eyes had vanished, replaced by a sly, triumphant glint.
Pei Ji tilted his head, stretched out an arm to half-encircle Chu Tinghan, leaned closer, and narrowed his eyes with a smile. “Was my acting convincing?”
Chu Tinghan’s mind went blank, his ability to think completely shut down.
He couldn’t fathom Pei Ji’s intentions.
Why is he asking if his acting was good? Is this some kind of veiled implication… or just a joke?
Chu Tinghan’s heart skipped a beat, his face paling instantly. He forced a strained, unnatural smile and nodded slowly, stiffly.
Then he heard Pei Ji click his tongue and sigh, “But I still think Director Chu acted better.”
What did he mean by “acted better”? Had Pei Ji already realized that Chengcheng was…?
At this thought, the blood in Chu Tinghan’s veins seemed to freeze.
Seeing Chu Tinghan’s unnaturally pale complexion, Pei Ji abruptly snapped out of his playful act. He tentatively reached out and touched Chu Tinghan’s fingertips—they were icy cold.
Devoid of any warmth, cold as ice.
Pei Ji panicked, realizing he’d truly gone too far. He’d let his arrogance get the better of him, daring to tease Director Chu so brazenly. His voice faltered, “Hey, I—I was just kidding! Teasing you! How could you take it so seriously?”
Chu Tinghan remained silent, as if completely lost in the role Pei Ji had dragged him into, instinctively pulling his hand away.
Sensing Chu Tinghan’s withdrawal, Pei Ji realized he’d gone too far this time. Without waiting for permission, he immediately seized Chu Tinghan’s retreating hand, clutching it tightly, too afraid to let go.
Chu Tinghan’s hand felt stiff and icy cold in Pei Ji’s palm. Pei Ji squeezed it gently, like kneading a kitten’s paw pad. “Okay, I was wrong. I won’t do that again.”
Chu Tinghan’s face flushed crimson, then paled, completely forgetting to respond.
He didn’t know why Pei Ji was suddenly saying these things, or whether they had anything to do with Chengcheng’s true identity.
As Pei Ji massaged his palm, he continued rambling, “I just want you to stop putting on a front around me. Isn’t it exhausting? If you’re happy, smile. If you’re sad, cry. Even a child understands that. Why can’t you?”
“You called me a ‘little boy’ last time. Between us, who’s the younger one anyway?”
“Now I’m starting to wonder if Chengcheng’s habit of bottling things up comes from you?”
“I couldn’t see through you before, but now I can tell when you’re forcing that tight-lipped smile at a glance.”
As he spoke, Pei Ji suddenly burst out laughing, as if remembering something funny. After a long pause, he cleared his throat and, defying all common sense, said, “You know what? We should get you a tail. Then I could see that big tail wagging behind you when you’re happy, instead of you pressing your lips together and pretending to text back.”
As expected, the method worked almost instantly. The next moment, Chu Tinghan’s hands were no longer cold, and he snapped back to his senses, exclaiming with a face full of surprise, “Pei Ji?!”
This was the first time Pei Ji had ever heard Chu Tinghan call him by his full name.
Chu Tinghan’s expression was exceptionally vivid, like that of a provoked kitten baring its fangs. Just as he was about to pounce, however, his enemy caught sight of his pink paw pads, rendering his attack virtually harmless.
Pei Ji suppressed a laugh and retreated slightly, genuinely surprised by the effectiveness of his tactic.
Chu Tinghan took a few steps toward him, opened his mouth as if to speak, but then seemed to lose his train of thought. In a fit of pique, he abruptly sat back down, turning away to present Pei Ji with a particularly cold profile.
Seeing this, Pei Ji wondered if he had gone too far. Desperately seeking a way to smooth things over, he leaned in again, adopting a serious tone. “Alright, alright, I’m done teasing. Seriously, how about we get a puppy? One that can shake hands, sit, roll over, and wag its tail. Wouldn’t that be adorable? Plus, I think Chengcheng would love having a little friend to play with.”
Pei Ji paused, then softly consulted, “What do you think?”
Before Chu Tinghan could answer, he mused thoughtfully, “I always feel our home is so lifeless. We need a lively, energetic little dog. How about we get a small white dog?”
The implication of “small white dog” was too obvious. Chu Tinghan felt even his breath turn cold. He struggled to maintain his composure and forced himself to ask, “What kind of small white dog?”
At this, Pei Ji frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion, pondering, “I’ve been having these dreams lately. There’s this fluffy white ball that runs around, almost like a little dog.”
“A Bichon? Pomeranian? West Highland White Terrier?” Chu Tinghan’s heart raced faster, his voice strained.
“None of those. It’s a bit bigger,” Pei Ji said, gesturing with his hands to indicate the size. “About this tall and this big.”
As Chu Tinghan saw the shape Pei Ji outlined, his heart sank like a stone.
The size and shape were nearly identical to Lucky’s.
Chu Tinghan swallowed nervously, his chest heaving. Then he heard Pei Ji say hesitantly,
“Maybe it’s a Samoyed? Let’s get one. They’re gentle and affectionate, known as ‘smiling angels.’ Maybe a little Samoyed angel could help Chengcheng open up a bit. What do you think?”
The person opposite him didn’t respond. Pei Ji looked at Chu Tinghan, puzzled, and noticed his gaze was unusually blank, his thin lips pressed tightly together, his expression heavy with worry.
Pei Ji nudged him with his elbow. “Hey, I’m talking to you.”
Chu Tinghan’s eyes instantly cleared, and he turned to Pei Ji, his voice slightly delayed. “What?”
Pei Ji found it both frustrating and amusing, genuinely puzzled. “Chu Tinghan, why have you been spacing out so much lately? What’s on your mind?”
Every time the conversation turned to Chengcheng, Chu Tinghan would drift off into his own world. Pei Ji suspected he might be overworked and overly stressed, hence his perpetually worried expression.
Chu Tinghan shook his head and said mildly, “It’s nothing. I probably didn’t sleep well last night. Just a bit dizzy.”
After a moment of silence, he lowered his gaze to the polished floor, staring at the two figures reflected there, huddled close together. His voice dropped to a low murmur. “About getting a dog… let me think about it some more.”
Pei Ji couldn’t see Chu Tinghan’s expression, but he could sense the dejection in his voice.
He genuinely didn’t understand why Chu Tinghan had suddenly turned gloomy again. After a long moment of stunned silence, he finally responded, a beat too late, with a soft “Okay.”