After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 38
Chapter 38
A few days later, Pei Ji arrived at the recording studio as scheduled.
In the car, Qiao He chatted casually with him. “Hey, bro, didn’t you say you wanted to get a puppy? My friend’s Samoyed just had a litter, and he’s been stressing about finding good homes for them. Want to adopt one?”
As he spoke, Qiao He pulled up a video of the newborn Samoyed puppies from his WeChat chat history and held his phone up for Pei Ji to see. “Look how adorable these little guys are! If you want one, I can just tell him, and he’ll deliver it right to your door.”
The video showed a cluster of fluffy white balls huddled together, utterly irresistible. But Pei Ji glanced at them only once before looking away, shaking his head with a sigh. “I’m not considering it right now.”
Qiao He froze, letting out a surprised “Huh?” He asked, puzzled, “Why not? Are they not cute enough? My friend paid tens of thousands for the mother dog—she’s purebred.”
Pei Ji felt a pang of regret. “They’re adorable, but it seems like he doesn’t like them.”
Qiao He’s forehead creased in confusion. “What he? Who are you talking about, bro?”
Pei Ji had long since removed the fake wedding ring he’d used to test Qiao He’s reaction, and rarely mentioned his spouse in front of him. As a result, Qiao He had nearly forgotten Pei Ji was married and in a relationship, leaving him momentarily blank.
Pei Ji had always struggled to find the right way to refer to Chu Tinghan in front of others.
Most married couples call each other “husband” or “wife,” but those terms felt strangely awkward and unnatural to him, impossible to say with a straight face.
Calling Chu Tinghan his “partner” felt too distant, making their recent marriage sound like a long-term, established relationship.
Using “my other half” sounded too formal, like something you’d say in a business meeting, not in casual conversation with friends.
So what should he call him?
Countless options raced through his mind. Pei Ji pursed his lips, a hint of embarrassment coloring his tone as he lowered his voice: “My… other half.”
Qiao He’s brain short-circuited for a moment before his face lit up with sudden understanding. He nodded emphatically, his expression earnest: “Oh! You mean your… partner, right?”
Pei Ji murmured a silent “Mm.”
Qiao He sighed regretfully, “Well, I guess I’ll ask someone else then.”
A few days earlier, when the topic of getting a dog came up, Pei Ji had assumed Chu Tinghan’s refusal meant he disliked dogs and might prefer cats, especially since he kept a stray kitten at his company. But when Pei Ji visited Chu Tinghan’s office again, the kitten was gone. He learned that Guan Nan had taken it home to raise, occasionally bringing it to work.
It seemed Chu Tinghan disliked both dogs and cats.
Yet Pei Ji couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Subconsciously, he always imagined coming home to a lively, happy little dog that would bound over to greet him, tail wagging furiously.
As this thought crossed his mind, Pei Ji unconsciously frowned, looking troubled.
Seeing this, Qiao He asked solicitously, “What’s wrong, Brother? Didn’t sleep well last night?”
Pei Ji waved his hand dismissively. “No, it’s probably just been too much lately. My head’s a mess, not feeling my best.”
Hearing that Pei Ji wasn’t feeling well, Qiao He immediately asked, “Can you still record today? If not, should we call the studio and reschedule?”
They had secured this studio appointment through Chu Tinghan’s connections, and with only half an hour until the scheduled time, rescheduling at the last minute would be a major inconvenience for the staff.
Even if the studio agreed, Pei Ji would feel guilty. “No need to bother them. It’s just a minor thing. I can still record.”
Qiao He nodded dubiously. “Alright, but if you feel any discomfort, tell me immediately.”
As Pei Ji’s assistant, Qiao He wanted to check on him eight hundred times a day, terrified something might happen to the artist he was responsible for. Of course, work aside, as a friend, Qiao He naturally cared about Pei Ji.
Qiao He remembered that before Pei Ji’s scandal broke, he rarely looked troubled. Back then, his worries were mostly about his career. But now, Pei Ji frowned more frequently, and it seemed to have little to do with work, instead closely tied to his emotional state.
Qiao He began to suspect that Pei Ji’s mysterious partner might be difficult to get along with. Though he had only met them once, their cold demeanor had left a lasting impression.
As an outsider, he couldn’t just ask outright—Hey, your partner seems to have a bad temper. Are they giving you a hard time at home?
Pei Ji would probably throw him out of the car on the spot.
After mulling it over for ages, Qiao He finally blurted out, “What’s your partner’s temper like?”
Pei Ji blinked, surprised by the question. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “It’s alright. Why do you ask?”
Alright? Why not “pretty good”?
That must mean their temper is bad, Qiao He thought, completely misinterpreting his meaning. He smacked his lips, nodded knowingly, and grunted, “Ah.”
Pei Ji actually caught a flicker of pity in his eyes—as if he were thinking, Life under a big shot is tough, huh?
Exasperated, Pei Ji clarified, “Our relationship is fine. Stop worrying about things that aren’t your business.”
Unexpectedly, Qiao He’s expression became even more nuanced. He even patted Pei Ji on the shoulder and said gravely, “I understand.”
“What do you mean, you understand?” Pei Ji couldn’t help but laugh, finding Qiao He’s train of thought had derailed completely. He gently pushed Qiao He’s hand away. “Stop guessing and focus on your work.”
Just as the conversation ended, the car pulled up to the recording studio.
Pei Ji had barely stepped inside when a staff member intercepted him, his face apologetic. “Teacher Pei, I’m so sorry, but another artist is still recording and hasn’t finished yet. Would you mind waiting a bit longer?”
The staff member led him to the lounge, poured him a glass of water, and placed it on the table. “I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. I’ll come get you as soon as the other artist is done.”
Seeing the staff member’s embarrassed demeanor, Pei Ji nodded in understanding. “No problem.”
Qiao He, ever curious, casually asked, “Um… could I ask who’s recording ahead of us?” He glanced inside, noticing a large crowd gathered around the booth. “Did all those people come with him?” he asked, pointing.
The staff member gave an awkward smile.
Though he didn’t answer directly, Qiao He instantly understood, his neck nearly craning forward in shock.
This kind of setup must be for an international superstar…
Qiao He took a few steps forward, then turned to Pei Ji, sighing. “Hey, bro, I heard Song God Chu Tinghan often records here. You think we might get lucky and catch him recording today?”
Pei Ji glanced in that direction but saw no familiar faces. Besides, Chu Tinghan hadn’t mentioned anything about recording today.
Pei Ji withdrew his gaze. “It’s probably not him.”
Undeterred, Qiao He pressed, “How do you know?”
“It’s definitely not him.” Pei Ji’s tone was strangely certain, as if he’d personally witnessed the person inside wasn’t Chu Tinghan.
Just then, two staff members emerged from the studio, their heads close together, hands cupped over their mouths as they whispered conspiratorially. Their expressions were particularly sour, likely gossiping about someone.
Convinced he had stumbled upon a major scandal, Qiao He’s gossip-loving soul ignited. He sauntered over, pretending to grab something nearby while eavesdropping intently.
“I swear, I’m beyond exasperated. They’ve been recording for days and still aren’t finished! You’d think they were crafting some world-shattering masterpiece.”
“Aiya, hasn’t he always been like this? Everyone else records songs by the line, but he records by the word—sometimes he even struggles to find the right pitch. No wonder it takes him so long to record.”
“I remember his fans calling him something like ‘Genius Idol Xu Wangxuan’? What audacity! Genius? More like tone-deaf…”
Perhaps Qiao He was standing too close and seemed too deliberate, because the two men suddenly fell silent, grabbed their things, and hurried back inside.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Qiao He dashed back and whispered excitedly, “Brother, you know who’s in there? It’s Xu Wangxuan—the guy who won first place on that audition show you were on!”
Pei Ji remembered the name. He recalled seeing Xu Wangxuan’s music video in the elevator at Huanyu Media. Xu Wangxuan’s self-composed song was almost identical to a piece Pei Ji had written years ago, even the lyrics were eerily similar.
Qiao He winked at him, and Pei Ji knew he had more to say. “What’s up with him?” he asked.
“You won’t believe how he records songs! He does it one word at a time, and he’s completely out of tune! Those two guys just said he’s been recording this song for ages—they’re all getting so sick of it.” Qiao He looked utterly astonished.
Pei Ji immediately understood his implication. “You mean his public image is fake?”
“Exactly! How could someone like him possibly be an all-around ace and a genius idol?” Xu Wangxuan suddenly perked up, launching into a tirade against Pei Ji. “Not only is his talent a complete fabrication, but his personality is rotten to the core. Once, when I happened to be on the same program group as him, I personally saw him throw all the fan letters into the hotel trash can without even glancing at them…”
Upon hearing this, Pei Ji’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression growing more serious.
Previously, he had assumed that the striking similarity between Xu Wangxuan’s songs and his own might be due to him having been forced to sell his songs in the past, or perhaps being a low-status, powerless songwriter compelled to ghostwrite for Xu Wangxuan.
But now, considering Xu Wangxuan’s abysmal talent and dubious character, it seemed impossible that Pei Ji would ever willingly sell his hard-earned work to such a man, let alone swallow his pride and ghostwrite for him.
So, could the similarity between their songs… be a case of plagiarism?
Though suspicious, he lacked evidence and decided to bide his time.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that Xu Wangxuan finally finished recording and emerged from the studio, the entourage accompanying him also leaving.
As the entourage departed, the recording studio suddenly felt much more spacious.
Qiao He watched the departing crowd with a tsk.
So much for thinking he was some global superstar. Turns out it’s just Huanyu Crown Prince Xu Wangxuan, that diva who loves to throw his weight around.
Without even needing to guess, he knew the group likely included four bodyguards, a stylist, three assistants, and a driver.
“Alright, stop staring,” Pei Ji said, waving a hand in front of Qiao He’s face. “Time to get back to work.”
Pei Ji had written both the lyrics and music himself, so he was intimately familiar with the song. Combined with his natural vocal talent and formidable skill, he finished recording in no time.
As they escorted him out, the staff wore genuine smiles.
Pei Ji thanked them for their hard work and was about to head to his car when several burly men in bodyguard uniforms suddenly blocked his path.
He glanced coolly behind them and recognized the familiar license plate.
He hadn’t seen that sequence of numbers in four or five years, and the sight of it now only stirred up irritation.
Pei Ji frowned slightly and said flatly, “Move aside.”
The hulking men remained unmoved, making it clear that unless he got into the car, he wouldn’t be allowed to pass.
Pei Ji had no intention of getting into a roadside scuffle with them. He asked coldly, “What new orders does President Pei have for me?”
“President Pei wants you to come home.”
Hearing this, Pei Ji sneered, finding the statement deeply ironic. Home? he thought. Does that bastard father even have the gall to utter that word?
His patience gone, Pei Ji forcefully brushed past them, making a move to leave. He stepped to the right, but the burly man blocked his way.
Trembling behind Pei Ji, Qiao He assumed they had stumbled upon some organized gang.
Pei Ji clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white with barely contained fury. But he knew the score: grievances should be settled with the one truly responsible. These men were just paid muscle, following orders.
Pei Ji stepped back slightly and told Qiao He, “Go on ahead.”
Qiao He hesitated, torn between wanting to flee and concern for Pei Ji. “Who are these people?” he asked, his voice shaky. “Will you be alright? Should I call the police…?”
What good would that do? Pei Ji thought. They’d probably just dismiss it as a family matter and tell us to sort it out ourselves.
“Don’t worry,” Pei Ji reassured him. “I’ll be fine. Just go.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Qiao He left, glancing back nervously every few steps.
After Qiao He had walked a considerable distance away, Pei Ji knew he wouldn’t be able to escape today. He coldly arched an eyebrow. “Lead the way.”
The “President Pei” the bodyguard mentioned, who wanted him to “come home,” was his foster father, Pei Su. Pei Ji hadn’t contacted him in seven or eight years and had even blocked his phone number.
When his foster parents divorced, Pei Ji was still young, just starting high school. Every time he returned home, he was met with hysterical arguments. At the time, he naively believed it was just the “seven-year itch” that afflicts middle-aged couples. It wasn’t until one day, when his foster mother disappeared without a word and a new couple moved in, that he realized their relationship had been crumbling for years.
His foster mother couldn’t have children due to health reasons, while his foster father, who had initially vowed to remain childfree, repeatedly crossed his own boundaries. First, he adopted Pei Ji as his son, and then he brought home his mistress and their illegitimate child, whom he had kept hidden for years.
If Pei Su hadn’t sent his bodyguards to ambush him today, Pei Ji would have almost forgotten he even had such a scumbag of a father.
Just hearing that name, remembering that man, made him nauseous.
Throughout the journey, Pei Ji remained silent, his cold gaze sweeping across the scenery outside the car window.
When Pei Ji arrived, standing before the familiar house after so many years, everything had changed beyond recognition.
Perhaps he once had a home here, but that home had long since dissolved.
Aunt Li, who had watched him grow up since childhood, stood at the doorway, her gaze darting frequently down the road. The moment she spotted his figure, her face lit up with barely concealed excitement, but she hesitated, not daring to approach. It was Pei Ji who nodded politely and called out, “Aunt Li.” Only then did she respond with a choked “Aiya,” her eyes reddening.
Pei Ji stepped inside and glanced around, noticing that the layout and furnishings were completely different from what he remembered.
In the past, he might have felt a pang of regret or nostalgia, but now his heart remained utterly calm, devoid of any strong emotion.
This place had long ceased to be his. With a new mistress, naturally the layout would change accordingly.
Pei Ji took a few more steps inside and spotted a familiar figure. Pei Su sat in the center of the living room, awaiting him with a stern expression and piercing gaze.
Too lazy to give him a proper look, Pei Ji merely cast him a dismissive glance.
Visibly displeased, Pei Su demanded, “Aren’t you going to greet me?”
After a moment, Pei Ji spoke slowly, his tone utterly flat: “President Pei, did you have something you wanted to discuss?”
Pei Ji cut straight to the point, asking abruptly, “When did you get married? Have you had a child?”
Pei Ji frowned slightly, surprised that his father knew about these developments.
Pei Su slid several photos across the table. The images showed Pei Ji carrying Chengcheng to the hospital on the day of the allergic reaction. Though the images were somewhat blurry, his facial features were clearly discernible.
Pei Ji glanced down at the photos and calmly countered, “What business is it of yours?”
Pei Su slammed his hand on the table, his voice rising in anger. “You bear the Pei surname—you’re still my son. How can it not be my concern? Why wasn’t the family informed of such major events like marriage and childbirth?!”
Pei Ji let out a mocking laugh. “Ha… ‘family’? Don’t you find that ironic? Who was it that destroyed our entire family? Have you forgotten already?”
Just as he finished speaking, the door creaked open. Hasty footsteps approached, and Pei Ji heard someone call out, “Little President Pei!”
Hearing the title, Pei Ji momentarily drifted into a daze, instinctively assuming he was being addressed.
The title remained the same, but the person behind it had changed.
Pei Ji glanced toward the doorway and saw another face that disgusted him—his nominal younger brother, Pei Zheng, Pei Su’s illegitimate son raised elsewhere years ago.
Pei Zheng looked like he had just returned from somewhere, his hair slightly disheveled and a smudge of dust on his knee. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed a lack of energy.
The moment their eyes met, Pei Zheng snapped awake, pointing a finger at Pei Ji and snarling, “What are you doing here?”
Seeing this, Pei Ji immediately understood Pei Su’s true intentions. The questions about his marriage and child had been a mere facade; the real purpose was likely that his current son was proving unreliable as an heir, leading him to recall his own abandoned, bloodless son.
While this might be negotiable for someone else, it was out of the question for Pei Ji. He had no desire for the family fortune; he wouldn’t even touch a single share of it, considering it tainted.
Tired of wasting time arguing with them in this stifling atmosphere, Pei Ji felt an overwhelming urge to leave and distance himself from the situation.
Pei Ji ignored the photos and stood to leave. “President Pei, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your family reunion.”
Just as he was about to exit, Pei Su suddenly rose, his voice sharp and authoritative. “You are still a Pei! He is a child of the Pei Family—my grandson!”
Pei Ji found this utterly baffling. Has President Pei finally lost his mind? Does he suddenly yearn for familial warmth? Or has he come full circle and realized I’m the more reliable son after all? What now? Suddenly no longer worried about a son without blood ties betraying his father?
True to form, Pei Su continued in a deep voice, “I’ve arranged a position for you at the company. Report to work tomorrow.”
The implications of this statement were unmistakable. Pei Ji understood it perfectly, and Pei Zheng, standing nearby, understood it even more clearly. Pei Zheng’s face instantly paled, his eyes widening in shock.
From childhood onward, Pei Zheng had lived in Pei Ji’s shadow. Or rather, Pei Ji had served as a measuring stick against which he constantly compared himself. No matter what he did, he always had to measure up against Pei Ji, always striving to outdo him in every endeavor.
This had been true before Pei Ji was acknowledged as family, and it remained true even after Pei Zheng had finally driven him away.
It was just like a few days ago when he had carelessly made a mistake at work. Pei Su’s face instantly darkened, and he had rebuked him, saying, “If your brother were here, this would never have happened.”
The thought sent a chill down his spine, making him feel like a pawn to be discarded at any moment. His sole purpose seemed to be proving he wasn’t inferior to Pei Ji.
Now, Pei Zheng’s knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists, his eyes locked onto Pei Ji like a wolf whose prey had been stolen.
Too bad Pei Ji couldn’t care less about any of his family’s wealth.
Pei Ji stopped, a mirthless smile playing on his lips. “I’m sorry, President Pei,” he said, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Pei Su was clearly furious, his chest heaving violently and his brows drawn into a tight frown.
“I have work to attend to now, so I won’t trouble you further,” Pei Ji said coldly, enunciating each word. “Oh, and by the way, the child’s surname is Chu, not Pei. He’s not part of the Pei Family and never will be.”
Before Pei Su could react, Pei Ji turned and strode away without looking back, leaving no room for rebuttal.
When Pei Ji stepped out again, twilight had painted the sky, a crimson halo glowing on the distant horizon.
His gaze froze on the sunset and evening glow, the scene overlapping with memories from years ago. He felt as though he were back in that disoriented afternoon when he had been abandoned, adrift in his own home.
His father remarried, his mother was finally free, but he alone had no place to belong. He was utterly alone in the world, without a soul to depend on.
Encountering this familiar scene once more stirred a complex mix of emotions within Pei Ji. He couldn’t quite name the feeling, but it left a bitter taste.
He lowered his eyes and silently descended the steps.
He had assumed this time would mirror the past, with him leaving the house alone again.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a familiar pair of expensive leather shoes.
Pei Ji’s head snapped up, his gaze colliding with Chu Tinghan’s cold, narrow eyes. The man standing before him was none other than Song God Chu Tinghan himself.
He hadn’t expected to encounter Chu Tinghan here, let alone find him waiting outside the door.
He stood frozen for a few seconds, his heartbeat gradually amplifying, growing clearer until it surpassed the intensity of a war drum in its deafening roar.
Chu Tinghan gazed into his eyes, sensing a watery glint within them, and noticing the faint redness at their corners. Pei Ji seemed inexplicably vulnerable, radiating a fragility that words couldn’t capture.
The next instant, Chu Tinghan first felt the rush of wind Pei Ji generated as he lunged forward, then Pei Ji’s figure abruptly filled his entire field of vision.
Pei Ji couldn’t resist pulling him into a tight embrace, burying his face in Chu Tinghan’s shoulder.
Chu Tinghan’s mind went blank, momentarily flustered. Pei Ji at that moment resembled a wounded puppy seeking comfort.
After a long pause, Chu Tinghan finally spoke awkwardly, “Are… are you alright?”
Pei Ji didn’t answer, only tightened his grip around Chu Tinghan.
Chu Tinghan had no idea what had happened. He cautiously ventured, “This is your home…”
Chu Tinghan had barely uttered half a syllable of the word “家” (home) when Pei Ji, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly interrupted him, his voice muffled: “Tinghan, let’s go home.”
After a pause, Pei Ji added, “Our home.” As he spoke, he tightened his embrace, as if trying to meld Chu Tinghan into his very being.
Hearing this, Chu Tinghan’s outstretched arms froze in mid-air, trembling too much to complete the embrace.
He seemed to hear something shattering, belatedly realizing he had made the most catastrophic decision in the world.
Should I not have lied to him? Should I not have built a false home on lies?
The tighter Pei Ji held him, the closer he pressed against him, yet Chu Tinghan felt colder and colder, his heart drifting further and further away.
Lies might sustain for a time, but they could never endure a lifetime.
Their love was like the setting sun on the horizon, gradually sinking below the horizon.
He could only pour all his strength into shifting the seasons of their hearts to summer, delaying the sunset for just a little longer.