After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Since he was stepping in as a last-minute replacement, Pei Ji had little time to prepare. The New Sound of Music Program Group notified him to attend a rehearsal at the filming location in three days.

Pei Ji mastered the song in less than a day, occasionally humming snippets of it unconsciously in his bedroom.

Hearing his singing, Chengcheng slowly crept over and hid behind the door, only half his small head peeking out.

Pei Ji heard the rustling and looked over, spotting a pair of large, luminous eyes.

Chengcheng blinked repeatedly, his gaze sparkling with curiosity.

Pei Ji was surprised; this was the first time Chengcheng had proactively sought him out.

Chengcheng’s small hands clung to the doorframe, wanting to come in but too timid to take another step, like a young fan encountering their idol.

Seeing through Chengcheng’s shyness, Pei Ji scooped him up, settled him on his lap, and lowered the music stand until the sheet music was level with Chengcheng’s gaze.

Chengcheng leaned forward to study the lyrics, only to realize he recognized very few characters. He scratched his head in frustration.

Pei Ji couldn’t help but chuckle.

But Chengcheng was still in preschool, barely able to count. Pei Ji hadn’t expected him to read yet anyway.

He drew Chengcheng closer, took his small hand, and patiently guided him through the song, teaching him each word one by one.

After singing a line, Pei Ji encouraged Chengcheng to try.

Chengcheng hesitated for a moment before finally opening his mouth, but he closed it again as soon as he uttered a single sound. He lowered his head and mumbled softly, “I can’t sing…”

“It’s okay! You can learn,” Pei Ji said, reaching out to stroke Chengcheng’s head, ruffling his hair back like petting a puppy. “Shall I teach you?”

Chengcheng nodded, finally singing the first line.

After hearing Chengcheng finish, Pei Ji finally understood what “I can’t sing” truly meant.

He had assumed Chengcheng was just being modest, too embarrassed to sing out loud. But it turned out Chengcheng genuinely couldn’t sing.

Not a single note was in tune; he was so wildly off-key that if Pei Ji hadn’t heard it with his own ears, he would have thought Chengcheng was reciting poetry.

Pei Ji’s feelings were a tangled mess. He frowned helplessly, unwilling to accept this reality.

How could Chengcheng possibly be tone-deaf? It must be because he was nervous.

Undeterred, Pei Ji tried teaching him a few more times, but nothing changed. Chengcheng wasn’t nervous; he was genuinely off-key, with the kind of untrained, raw voice utterly unsuited for singing.

This was nothing short of a devastating revelation.

Pei Ji sighed inwardly, a wry smile playing on his lips. He never imagined that the son of the Song God would be tone-deaf.

Just then, Chu Tinghan stood silently in the doorway, listening intently.

Knowing Chu Tinghan had witnessed the entire scene, Pei Ji couldn’t resist turning to him with a teasing grin. “So, positive times positive equals negative, huh? Not a single good gene inherited.”

“Seriously, if we told anyone Chengcheng was our son, no one would believe it.”

Upon hearing this, Chu Tinghan’s expression flickered almost imperceptibly, forcing a strained smile.

Pei Ji sensed the insincerity in his smile, detecting an inexplicable bitterness. Mistaking it for concern that Chengcheng’s tone-deafness was incurable, he tried to reassure him. “Look on the bright side. Maybe Chengcheng will suddenly ‘get it’ later on?”

Chu Tinghan’s smile froze, turning even more strained.

Why didn’t I realize Chu Tinghan had such high expectations for the kid? Pei Ji wondered. Being tone-deaf isn’t the end of the world—it’s not like he’s intellectually challenged! Why is this so hard to accept?

After a moment’s thought, Pei Ji figured Chu Tinghan might be concerned about their son’s future. Since both of them were singers, perhaps he’d envisioned Chengcheng following in their footsteps.

“Singing isn’t the only path,” Pei Ji mused thoughtfully. “If he can’t inherit his father’s career, he can inherit his father’s business.”

Their conversation was far too sophisticated for a three-year-old to grasp. Chengcheng tilted his head, staring at them with a bewildered expression.

Chengcheng blinked his large, round eyes, his chubby cheeks still adorably plump. Pei Ji couldn’t resist gently pinching one. After a moment’s thought, he clicked his tongue and sighed dramatically, “With a father as wealthy and talented as ours, Chengcheng will never have to worry about food or clothes—not in this lifetime, or the next, or the one after that!”

He shifted his gaze from Chengcheng to Chu Tinghan, his eyes curving into a knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you agree, Director Chu, Big Song God?”

Chu Tinghan paused, belatedly realizing Pei Ji was complimenting him—or perhaps deliberately teasing him. His earlier anxieties vanished instantly, replaced by the single thought: inherit the family business. He couldn’t help but chuckle, “So, you want him to become a dreamless, second-generation good-for-nothing already?”

Seeing Chu Tinghan smile, Pei Ji finally relaxed. He adopted a solemn tone. “What? I never said that!”

Chengcheng’s head swiveled back and forth between them, still utterly lost in their conversation. His confusion only deepened.

The rehearsal was scheduled for the afternoon. Pei Ji arrived half an hour early to prepare, but when it was time to start, his partner, Xu Wangxuan, was nowhere to be seen.

The Program Group staff seemed accustomed to this, each busying themselves with their tasks without the slightest hint of urgency.

Twenty minutes later, Xu Wangxuan finally rushed in. His assistant first apologized to the director, then went around apologizing to each member of the Program Group. Throughout the entire ordeal, Xu Wangxuan didn’t utter a single word, striding directly to the makeup room to get styled.

Pei Ji calmly observed the scene, thinking to himself that having powerful connections truly made a difference. Being twenty minutes late and still swaggering off to makeup—it must be exhausting for his poor assistant to clean up his messes every day.

Beside him, Qiao He, who had long been exasperated by Xu Wangxuan’s behavior, muttered under his breath in a voice barely louder than a mosquito’s buzz, “This little-time actor thinks he’s a big shot! He’ll get exposed sooner or later!”

With mock bravado, he raised his fist in Xu Wangxuan’s direction.

But the moment his fist extended—barely a second—the door to Xu Wangxuan’s makeup room suddenly swung open.

Seeing this, Qiao He’s arrogant swagger instantly deflated. He quickly retracted his hand, feigning a chin-scratch, glancing left, then right, but stubbornly refusing to meet the man’s gaze.

Pei Ji couldn’t help but chuckle. “He didn’t come out himself—that’s his assistant. Weren’t you all high and mighty just now? What’s with this sudden fear?”

Qiao He stubbornly denied it, feigning ignorance. “Huh? What? I didn’t do anything.”

Pei Ji shot him a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at his lips. It’s a pity Qiao He isn’t an actor, he thought. How did the film industry miss discovering this diamond in the rough?

After leaving the makeup room, the assistant headed straight for the director’s group. They engaged in a lengthy discussion, their conversation dragging on without resolution. The assistant looked visibly embarrassed, while the director’s expression grew increasingly displeased.

Seeing this, Qiao He’s interest immediately piqued. He lowered his head, claiming he couldn’t find his earbuds, and started “searching” his way toward the director’s group. He ended up crouching near the wall, eavesdropping on their conversation.

Pei Ji was momentarily speechless, thinking, Qiao He truly has no fear. He’ll stick his nose into any commotion, no matter how dangerous.

Before long, Qiao He returned, his footsteps heavy and hurried, as if the word “furious” were etched across his face.

“Brother, do you know what Xu Wangxuan’s assistant said?”

Pei Ji wasn’t particularly interested in any of this, but he played along. “What did he say?”

“He actually said Xu Wangxuan refused to share the stage with you! He even said it was either you or him, as if he were some top-tier star! It’s ridiculous—you’re here to save the day, and instead of thanking you, he has the audacity to make such an unreasonable demand!”

“He really thinks he’s some top-tier star? Doesn’t he realize half his fans are bought bots?”

“Oh, but if I were him, I wouldn’t want to share the stage with you either. You’re like a truth-revealing mirror; you make him look utterly hideous by comparison.”

“Bro, let me tell you something in confidence—the photographers always charge extra for retouching Xu Wangxuan’s photos. Instead of admitting he lacks natural charm, he blames the photographers’ ‘poor skills’…”

Qiao He rattled on like a machine gun, growing more agitated with each word, his hair practically standing on end.

Pei Ji thought if Qiao He were a balloon, he’d have already exploded with a boom.

Pei Ji couldn’t even find an opening to interrupt.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Qiao He ran out of steam. He took a deep breath and, noticing Pei Ji’s unusually calm demeanor, asked in bewilderment, “Hey, aren’t you mad at all?”

“Why would I be angry?” Pei Ji stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall as if watching a play.

Whether they recorded or not, he wouldn’t suffer any real harm. If they recorded, he’d get the exposure; if they didn’t, he’d get the Program Group’s breach-of-contract compensation. Naturally, he wouldn’t get worked up over such a trivial matter.

Meanwhile, the assistant and director were still deadlocked in negotiations. As dusk approached and further delays became untenable, the director finally stood up to personally find Xu Wangxuan.

A few minutes later, Xu Wangxuan finally emerged, grudgingly agreeing to share the stage with Pei Ji.

During the rehearsal, Pei Ji finally understood what Qiao He meant by “playing big for a small fry.”

Xu Wangxuan had countless unreasonable demands. One moment he complained about the camera angles, insisting they shoot his right profile because it was “more flattering.” The next moment he griped about the lighting, refusing to be lit from above. Then he complained that the props clashed with his outfit.

A single song had to be paused eight hundred times due to his demands. Even Pei Ji, with his famously steady temperament, began to grow weary.

He also noticed that Xu Wangxuan never even opened his mouth, lip-syncing the entire time.

This was the first time he’d ever seen a singer lip-syncing on a music variety show.

Based on what he had seen and heard at the recording studio, Pei Ji concluded that Xu Wangxuan wasn’t incapable of using a microphone; he simply didn’t dare to.

Before the rehearsal had even finished, a leaked video suddenly surfaced online.

The comments section of the leaked video immediately exploded.

“Did the Program Group bring Pei Ji in to save the day?”

“Pei Ji’s luck is insane! How does he always end up saving these mega-popular variety shows? Last time it was Youth Star Factory, and now it’s New Sound of Music!”

“Why did the Program Group even choose him?”

“I’m starting to suspect foul play. This is just too convenient—how does he always swoop in to save these mega-popular shows?”

“He definitely has a big shot backing him.”

“Pei Ji is using that handheld mic again. I bet it was a gift from his big shot backer.”

“A few days ago, paparazzi caught him frequently entering and exiting an office building. Several entertainment agencies are housed there, so his big shot could be one of them.”

As luck would have it, Pei Ji had just finished rehearsing and was scrolling through these comments on his phone when the very “big shot” mentioned in the comments arrived.

And to everyone’s astonishment, the big shot personally came to pick him up in full view of the crowd.