After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 45
Chapter 45
Three years ago.
Late at night, Chu Tinghan had just emerged from his agency when a swarm of reporters descended upon him.
“Is it true that you’re suing your agency over financial disputes?”
“Did Minghua Entertainment forge a renewal contract? Is the signature on the contract they released actually yours?”
“Industry insiders claim your manager, Liu Yang, forced you to sign numerous irresponsible short-term endorsement deals, trying to squeeze every last drop of value from you before your contract expires. Is there any truth to this?”
“If the lawsuit drags on indefinitely, you could face being blacklisted. Do you have a contingency plan?”
Flashbulbs exploded in a dizzying strobe, media lenses nearly pressed against his face. Chu Tinghan was swept along by the surging crowd, unable to move an inch as reporters hurled question after question into his ears.
Chu Tinghan’s mind was a whirlwind of chaos. Unwilling to waste time here, he pulled his mask higher, lowered his head slightly, and began to push his way through the crowd without uttering a word.
Most of the media were here for the clickbait. Seeing him move, they immediately surged forward, their questions growing sharper and more invasive.
Every word he spoke now would be scrutinized and judged countless times by the public eye. Knowing he couldn’t afford to say anything, he maintained his silence.
Headlights suddenly pierced the distance. A nanny van arrived belatedly, and Guan Nan, his manager, leaped out with bodyguards to clear a path for Chu Tinghan.
Even after Chu Tinghan had slammed the car door shut, they still surrounded the vehicle, some even pounding on the doors.
Chu Tinghan closed his eyes, trying to block out the cacophony outside.
Today’s chaos was entirely the fault of his agency. At sixteen, he had been scouted and signed a ten-year contract with Minghua Entertainment, becoming one of their trainees. Among the trainees, he had the best all-around skills and the ability to stand alone, eventually debuting as a singer-songwriter.
Minghua Entertainment highly valued him, investing heavily in resources for him. Chu Tinghan’s popularity had exploded, and his commercial value ranked among the highest, making Minghua Entertainment naturally unwilling to lose such a cash cow. They had been pressuring him to renew his contract since last year.
But Chu Tinghan had long been disgusted by their short-sighted tactics and remained steadfast in his refusal to re-sign.
Minghua Entertainment, after all, was a business driven solely by immediate profit, with no regard for long-term development. Whether accepting gigs or endorsement deals, money always came first, quality be damned.
When Wu Qian was his manager, Chu Tinghan still had some say in his career, and Wu Qian was willing to challenge the company’s executives on his behalf. But half a year ago, Wu Qian fell ill and had to undergo surgery. Without his consent, the executives unilaterally replaced Wu Qian with Liu Yang. All high-quality, low-profit collaboration offers were rejected, and Chu Tinghan was instead saddled with poorly vetted, overpriced projects.
The public’s perception of him instantly soured, with critics openly accusing him of tarnishing his reputation.
“That bastard Liu Yang must be blind with greed! He even took on endorsements for shady micro-businesses! Now that the products have imploded and the company’s vanished, he’s nowhere to be seen, leaving you to take all the heat!”
Guan Nan seethed whenever he thought about it. Though he hadn’t been with Chu Tinghan for long, it was clear how precarious Chu Tinghan’s situation was. Liu Yang didn’t care about Chu Tinghan’s well-being, only wanting to squeeze every last drop of value from him.
Minghua Entertainment was another piece of work—they actually dared to forge contracts, pushing Chu Tinghan into the media’s crosshairs and keeping him plastered at the top of trending searches day after day.
Exhausted by these endless troubles, Chu Tinghan now craved nothing more than for the world to fall silent, to give his mind a moment’s peace.
Guan Nan wisely kept quiet.
To shake off the paparazzi tailing their nanny van, the half-hour journey stretched into a roundabout detour through most of the city, adding another hour and a half before Chu Tinghan finally arrived home.
After a quick shower, Chu Tinghan collapsed onto his bed and mindlessly scrolled through his phone. He casually opened his WeChat Moments and the first post was from An Zhu, posted just ten minutes earlier:
An Zhu: Dog company, goodbye forever!
The post included a photo of a corporate building’s entrance. If he remembered correctly, Huanyu Media occupied the upper floors.
Chu Tinghan was too preoccupied with his own troubles to spare any concern for his cousin’s situation. He instinctively swiped down to scroll past.
But halfway down the screen, his hand suddenly froze.
Judging by An Zhu’s tone, her departure from the company hadn’t been amicable.
Chu Tinghan paused, scrolled back up, and stared at her post for a long time. He suddenly remembered that An Zhu’s managed artist was Pei Ji.
Could An Zhu’s conflict with the company mean Pei Ji is facing similar troubles?
With that thought, Chu Tinghan immediately messaged An Zhu.
Chu: Why did you suddenly resign?
Moments later, An Zhu bombarded him with a series of voice messages, each almost exactly sixty seconds long.
Chu Tinghan’s head ached, but fearing he might miss crucial information, he had no choice but to listen while simultaneously transcribing the audio to text.
An Zhu was beside herself with rage, her emotions raw and volatile, her words tumbling out faster than a machine gun.
Chu Tinghan pieced together the gist of her rant:
Huanyu Media believed her protégé shone too brightly, threatening the path of the company’s heir. They’d smeared the young artist with scandal, intending to use him as a stepping stone for their princely heir. An Zhu refused to comply, confronting the executives. Their response? To fire her on the spot.
Chu Tinghan pondered for a moment, then typed another message.
Chu: The artist you’re referring to—is it Pei Ji?
An Zhu: Yes.
Upon receiving confirmation, Pei Ji’s heart sank like a stone.
Over the past six months, Chu Tinghan had been so consumed by a barrage of troubles that he hadn’t even considered Pei Ji might also be struggling.
An Zhu had been fired. What about Pei Ji?
Chu: Where is he now?
An Zhu: The security guards kicked me out. When I left, Pei Ji was still in the boss’s office.
An Zhu: Who knows what kind of exploitative terms the boss is forcing on him? Probably some kind of predatory contract.
An Zhu: Huanyu Media is blind as a bat. They’ve got Pei Ji—an artist with zero flaws, practically heaven-sent—and they’re not even promoting him! Instead, they’re pushing that Xu Wangxuan! They must have lost their minds.
An Zhu: I came to this big company to learn the ropes, but all I got was a stomach full of frustration. People are so vicious, the waters are so deep. When I start my own company, I’ll definitely sign Pei Ji back…
An Zhu, her head spinning with anger, sent a torrent of messages in a single burst.
Chu Tinghan didn’t have time to read her rant. Upon learning that Pei Ji might still be trapped and oppressed at Huanyu Media, he rushed to the garage, picked out the most inconspicuous car, and sped off to find him.
Halfway there, Chu Tinghan gradually calmed down. As his reason returned, a crucial question struck him:
In what capacity am I helping Pei Ji right now?
…As his senior?
But after Pei Ji graduated, they had almost completely lost touch. The only time they had seen each other was at an event at Communication University, when school leaders invited them to be award presenters.
Back then, Pei Ji had been strangely formal, his demeanor and actions all business, treating Chu Tinghan no differently from anyone else.
Thinking about this, Chu Tinghan suddenly hesitated about whether he should go.
What if Pei Ji had lost interest long ago? Wouldn’t this just make him look pathetic, clinging to false hope?
Someone as handsome and talented as Pei Ji would never lack for admirers. What if he already has a boyfriend? What am I even doing here?
Am I supposed to become his ‘older brother’?
Chu Tinghan let out a self-deprecating chuckle. He genuinely liked Pei Ji, but he’d rather be a stranger than his little brother.
Ahead was a fork in the road. Chu Tinghan steered left, intending to turn back, but regretted it as soon as he flipped on the turn signal.
Forget it. I’ll just treat this as a drive to clear my head. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.
At one in the morning, the city was eerily quiet, with no pedestrians or cars in sight, only the dim yellow streetlights standing sentinel.
Half an hour later, Chu Tinghan finally reached the road where Huanyu Media was located. The traffic light turned red just as he approached, forcing him to wait.
While waiting at the red light, he glanced in the direction of Huanyu Media. A familiar figure suddenly caught his eye in the periphery.
A tall, handsome man sat hunched by the roadside, his head bowed low. Several empty liquor bottles lay scattered around him, looking utterly wretched.
Just moments ago, Chu Tinghan had been hesitating, agonizing over what to do if Pei Ji’s initial interest had been merely a fleeting infatuation. Most young men Pei Ji’s age tended to fall in and out of love easily, changing partners faster than they changed clothes.
But seeing him in this state, Chu Tinghan’s chest tightened inexplicably. Setting aside any reservations about love or attraction, he instinctively drove over to him without hesitation.
He never imagined their next meeting would unfold in such a dramatic fashion.
The day Chu Tinghan found Pei Ji was deep in autumn, when withered yellow leaves carpeted the ground in a desolate, mournful scene.
The dim streetlight cast a lonely silhouette.
Pei Ji sat by the roadside, his mind numbed by alcohol, his thoughts muddled.
The once-spirited man sat with his head bowed, silently draining bottle after bottle of strong liquor, his entire being saturated with the pungent aroma of alcohol.
Chu Tinghan stepped out of the car and paused briefly, his resolve wavering. Unable to bear it, he hurried directly toward Pei Ji.
Hearing footsteps, Pei Ji glanced down at the expensive, pristine leather shoes beneath his eyelids and froze for a few seconds before looking up in confusion. His handsome eyes were tinged with a forlorn red, and glistening teardrops clung to his lashes, making him resemble a pitiful, homeless puppy drenched in a torrential downpour.
He saw Chu Tinghan extend a hand toward him, asking if he wanted to go with him.
The flashback paused, and Guan Nan couldn’t help but ask, “So when exactly did you bring Lucky home?”
If Wu Qian hadn’t mentioned it, Guan Nan would have assumed Chu Tinghan had bought Lucky specifically.
Chu Tinghan pondered for a moment. “…The next morning.”
That day, Chu Tinghan hadn’t slept at all. He woke up at dawn and happened to run into Aunt Zhang returning from taking out the trash.
Aunt Zhang said she’d heard noises from the trash can in the community—a pitiful whimpering sound like a kitten or puppy. She wondered which irresponsible owner had abandoned it there.
At the time, Pei Ji was still sleeping off his hangover in the guest room. Chu Tinghan approached Aunt Zhang and asked, “When did you hear this?”
“I heard it just now when I was taking out the trash,” Aunt Zhang said. “It’s still raining outside, but the whimpering sounds are getting fainter and fainter. Director Chu, you…”
She had deliberately spoken loud enough for Chu Tinghan to hear. The whimpering was truly pitiful, but she couldn’t presume to tell her boss what to do, so she offered only a subtle hint.
In truth, she knew Chu Tinghan only seemed cold on the surface; deep down, he was a decent person. It was just that the heartless people he’d encountered over the years had forced him to erect these walls of aloofness.
As she’d anticipated, Chu Tinghan didn’t hesitate for even a second. He immediately grabbed an umbrella and headed outside.
A few minutes later, he returned carrying a filthy little white dog. The pup was covered in trash, and it had soiled his shirt.
Chu Tinghan was a notorious germaphobe, yet he stubbornly suppressed his disgust to bring the dog back. He even took the warm towel from Aunt Zhang’s hand and meticulously wiped away the filth clinging to the pup’s fur, inch by inch.
The pup was barely half the length of his arm, gaunt and scrawny, its breed utterly unidentifiable.
After cleaning the trash from its fur, Chu Tinghan took the dog to the nearest veterinary clinic.
The vet said the puppy had parvovirus. The owner must have been heartless to toss it in the trash because of that.
Later, when Pei Ji sobered up and said he was leaving, Chu Tinghan worried something would happen to him but couldn’t stop him. In a desperate move, he thrust the puppy into Pei Ji’s arms, hoping it would make him stay.
At the time, the puppy was still sick and needed constant care. Chu Tinghan claimed he was blacklisted by his agency in China and wouldn’t be able to get work anytime soon. He said he had to go abroad to make a living and didn’t have time to care for the dog.
“The puppy needs someone to look after it. Will you take care of it for me? It’s perfect timing too—I need someone to watch the house while I’m gone. You can stay here with him.”
Without waiting for Pei Ji’s reply, he shoved the curled-up, pitiful puppy into his arms. With a cold expression, he said indifferently, “If you don’t want to care for him, just let him fend for himself.”
Pei Ji looked down at the frail, dying creature in his arms and couldn’t bear to leave it to its fate. He reluctantly agreed.
His thoughts returned to the present, Chu Tinghan’s emotions teetering on the edge of collapse. “Where could Lucky have gone?” he asked weakly.
Guan Nan had raised several village dogs back home, and their favorite pastime was always finding their owners.
He cautiously suggested, “Could he have gone looking for Pei Ji?”