After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 48
Chapter 48
Divorce?
The word jolted Chu Tinghan awake. His chest heaved violently, and his eyes gradually reddened. He moved his lips, murmuring, “No…”
But Pei Ji seemed not to hear him. The instant Chu Tinghan spoke, Pei Ji clipped the leash onto Lucky and strode past him, pulling the leash taut as he led the dog out the door without hesitation.
Throughout it all, Pei Ji never even glanced at him, as if Chu Tinghan didn’t exist at all.
Lucky, though it couldn’t understand human language, was acutely attuned to their emotions. One person was grief-stricken, the other furious—a stark contrast to the familiar scenes it had witnessed before. The dog whined softly, reluctant to leave, and even nuzzled against Chu Tinghan’s leg.
“Lucky, come on!” Pei Ji tugged on the leash, but the dog remained stubbornly planted. He raised his voice in a sharp command.
Reluctant but obedient, Lucky shuffled after Pei Ji, its tail drooping and its gaze lingering longingly over its shoulder, the leash stretched taut between them. After only a few steps, it paused again, twisting its head to look back at Chu Tinghan. It barked twice, but when he didn’t follow, it lowered its head, its tail drooping, and reluctantly trailed after Pei Ji, its displeasure palpable.
The door slammed shut with a resounding bang, severing the sliver of moonlight that had briefly slipped through the crack. The room plunged into an eerie stillness—no sound, no light.
Chu Tinghan had once believed that when this day came, he would be unable to bear parting from Pei Ji, that his emotions would shatter him, leaving him in agonizing torment.
Yet now, he felt strangely detached, neither collapsing nor suffering. Instead, an endless, desolate calm had settled over him, like ashes in a dying heart.
He was like a patient diagnosed with a terminal illness, knowing the outcome was inevitable, helpless but to quietly await death’s arrival.
No matter how the sliver of moonlight danced outside the window, it couldn’t reach him. The all-encompassing darkness had swallowed him whole. Chu Tinghan sat slumped on the sofa like a soulless statue, listening to the mechanical ticking of the clock as its hands methodically advanced.
As time wore on, the darkness gradually receded, and a faint white glow appeared on the horizon. It wasn’t until the first rays of dawn touched his skin that he roused from his dreamlike stupor.
He hadn’t expected this to happen so quickly, so suddenly. Before he could even prepare himself, Pei Ji had already uncovered the truth, dismantling nearly all of his carefully constructed lies.
He had already realized his mistakes and resolved to confess and apologize to Pei Ji, but he was already too late.
Now, no amount of explanation could salvage the situation; Pei Ji had already decided to divorce him.
Just half a month ago, they had been a happy, loving family. In such a short time, everything had changed. The vast house now felt empty with only him left, even Lucky had been taken away.
Chu Tinghan sat in the living room all night, his mind in turmoil and his mental state deteriorating. Gradually, he began to hallucinate.
He imagined he heard Pei Ji’s voice urging Chengcheng to wake up in the bedroom. Aunt Zhang would then rush to put breakfast on the table, while Chengcheng yawned and slowly chewed his toast. Pei Ji, checking the time and realizing they were running late, would grab Chengcheng’s backpack, scoop him up, and carry him to the car where the driver was waiting to take him to school.
The figures flickered before his eyes, the scenes shifting rapidly. The voices grew louder until countless voices piled on top of each other, creating an increasingly chaotic cacophony.
Buzz— All the sounds reached a crescendo and vanished abruptly. Chu Tinghan’s ears rang, and when he blinked again, every image had vanished without a trace.
When Pei Ji uttered the word “divorce” last night, Chu Tinghan felt a surreal detachment. His body instinctively suppressed the grief, desperately trying to deceive himself that it was all a dream—that when he opened his eyes again, everything would return to normal, exactly as he wanted.
But now, the desolate emptiness of the house relentlessly reminded him that everything that had happened last night was real. He and Pei Ji were truly separating.
The suppressed emotions surged forth like a dam bursting. Chu Tinghan suddenly felt a searing pain in his chest, as if his heart were being torn apart piece by piece from the inside out, the agony so intense it stole his breath.
He clutched his chest, took deep breaths, and barely managed to regain control of his emotions.
Pei Ji had taken Lucky with him. Sister Xu and Chengcheng had likely been dismissed as well. Aunt Zhang had taken leave a few days earlier, leaving Chu Tinghan utterly alone in the desolate house. The usual lively atmosphere had vanished, making the silence feel especially oppressive.
Staring at the empty, silent room, Chu Tinghan suddenly understood.
He had always believed Pei Ji felt obligated to care for him and Chengcheng due to his perceived “moral blackmail.” Yet Pei Ji could have simply sent regular child support payments like others did, without investing his time, emotions, or personal involvement.
Yet Pei Ji had played along with his charade for nearly half a year.
Chu Tinghan had never stopped to ponder why before, but the stark contrast between then and now suddenly brought clarity.
Perhaps what Pei Ji truly desired was a home built on genuine affection and love.
That’s why, outside the Pei family mansion that day, Pei Ji had rushed forward without hesitation, embracing him and declaring, “Let’s go home—to our home.”
Tragically, Chu Tinghan had long forgotten what a real home felt like. Growing up in a warped environment devoid of genuine affection, where only calculations and manipulations prevailed, he had lost sight of what a true home should be. He had also forgotten that home wasn’t just a word—it was the most irreplaceable bond in the world.
That’s why he’d brazenly treated their child as part of a grand deception, stacking endless lies to build a precarious, crumbling home.
Perhaps he’d been wrong from the start.
The thought intensified the ache in Chu Tinghan’s heart. The elaborate charade had become a trap, imprisoning not only Pei Ji but himself as well.
Gazing at the drifting white clouds outside the window, he suddenly wondered what Pei Ji was doing right now.
Was he hurting as much as he was?
No.
Absolutely not.
Pei Ji wouldn’t be hurting. He was probably too busy hating him.
A few days later, An Zhu discovered that both Pei Ji and Chu Tinghan were absent from the first episode’s filming, and they had both simultaneously gone off the grid.
She couldn’t reach Chu Tinghan by phone no matter how hard she tried. Fortunately, Pei Ji finally responded to her message.
An Zhu: How did you suddenly get sick? How are you feeling now? Any better?
Pei Ji: Probably just adjusting to the local climate. Much better now.
An Zhu: So you’ll be able to resume filming in the coming days?
After sending this message, Pei Ji suddenly stopped replying. The chat window kept showing “typing…” for an extended period.
For some reason, An Zhu felt that something was off with both Pei Ji and Chu Tinghan, and an ominous premonition stirred in her heart.
The next moment, Pei Ji finally sent a message, its content shocking her to her core.
Pei Ji: I’m not doing that outdoor variety show anymore.
An Zhu nearly dropped her phone in shock. Thinking she might have misread it, she reread the message carefully, word by word, from beginning to end.
She hadn’t misread it. Pei Ji genuinely didn’t want to continue filming the outdoor variety show.
An Zhu was utterly bewildered, unable to fathom why Pei Ji would make such a self-sabotaging decision. An opportunity others would kill for, yet Pei Ji was throwing it away without hesitation.
She didn’t believe Pei Ji was the type to act impulsively; there must be a reason behind such a bold move.
Instead of arguing immediately, An Zhu asked him why.
An Zhu: That’s so sudden! Why? Are you unhappy with the show?
A long silence followed.
Pei Ji: No.
An Zhu was completely baffled. If he wasn’t dissatisfied with the show, then why did he want to withdraw?
After pondering for a while, a daring idea suddenly flashed through her mind.
Perhaps he wasn’t unhappy with the show itself, but rather with someone on it.
Could Pei Ji have had a falling out with Chu Tinghan?
But that was their private business, and she couldn’t just ask him directly. After agonizing over it for some time, An Zhu finally devised a plan.
An Zhu: Withdrawing from the show is a major decision. Let’s discuss it in person.
An hour later, An Zhu rushed to the agreed-upon café.
Pei Ji sat in a corner of the café, wearing a mask and a hat, his dark clothes blending into the shadows. An Zhu had to scan the entire café before spotting him.
She sat down across from him and cut straight to the chase: “Tell me honestly, why are you so determined to withdraw from the show?”
Pei Ji clasped his hands on the table, pondered for a moment, and replied in a flat tone, “Personal reasons.”
An Zhu paused. Though Pei Ji didn’t explicitly state it, she already had a pretty good idea. His reluctance to film likely stemmed from Chu Tinghan.
No wonder they both called in sick and missed filming at the same time, she thought. I assumed it was the recent flu outbreak or some other infectious disease, but it turns out it’s a matter of the heart.
This kind of malady was far too complex for anyone but themselves to cure.
An Zhu sighed inwardly, already bracing for the worst. “Alright, if you absolutely insist on withdrawing from the show, I won’t stop you. But we’ve already signed the contract, so it won’t be easy to leave right away. Let’s not even talk about the exorbitant penalty fees for now. The most important thing is that Huazhang Films is the show’s biggest investor. They’re the hottest company in the industry right now—we can’t afford to offend them.”
“Besides, the director personally invited you. According to him, the CEO of Huazhang Films recommended you first, which is why they extended the offer to us.”
“It’s clear Huazhang Films has a very favorable impression of you. If this collaboration goes well, we might even secure a long-term partnership. But if you breach the contract now and withdraw, you might never get another chance to work with a major company again.”
“The choice is yours. Why don’t you reconsider carefully?” An Zhu laid out the stakes, waiting for Pei Ji’s response.
Upon hearing this, Pei Ji fell into deep thought.
He was indeed furious with Chu Tinghan, but his decision to withdraw from the show was also the result of careful deliberation.
Participating in the show meant prolonged close contact with Chu Tinghan, and he couldn’t bear to see Chu Tinghan again.
Not out of hatred, but out of anger—anger that Chu Tinghan dared to deceive him with such a colossal lie.
Did Chu Tinghan truly think he was so laughably naive that he could be so easily manipulated?
“Have you made up your mind?” An Zhu couldn’t help but ask.
Pei Ji pondered for a moment before saying, “Yes, I’ve decided. I’m withdrawing.”
An Zhu’s heart sank. She had hoped that after careful consideration, Pei Ji would retract his decision, but he remained resolute in his withdrawal.
It seemed Pei Ji and Chu Tinghan had had a major falling out, severe enough that he didn’t even want to face him.
An Zhu pursed her lips, feigning reluctance. In truth, she still hoped Pei Ji would continue filming the remaining episodes. This would allow her to avoid offending anyone while boosting his public profile and popularity.
However, Pei Ji’s tone was resolute, showing no signs of wavering despite her veiled appeals.
“Alright,” An Zhu sighed, picking up her phone as if about to leave. “Wait here a moment. I’ll call the Program Group and get a feel for their position.”
Pei Ji understood the consequences of breaching his contract, so he nodded silently and waited patiently for An Zhu to finish her call.
Over ten minutes later, An Zhu returned to the café, her brow furrowed in evident confusion.
Pei Ji spoke first: “What did the Program Group say?”
An Zhu: “They strongly advise against you withdrawing.”
Pei Ji had resigned himself to the idea that there was no way out and was already strategizing how to minimize contact with Chu Tinghan during the show’s filming.
But then An Zhu took a deep breath and said, “However, if you absolutely insist on withdrawing, you can, but on one condition: you must have dinner with President Jiang, the CEO of Huazhang Entertainment, and apologize to her in person.”
No exorbitant breach-of-contract fees, no industry blacklisting—just dinner with the CEO and an apology? This condition was so peculiar that Pei Ji couldn’t help but suspect ulterior motives.
An Zhu seemed to sense his suspicions and quickly waved her hands, explaining, “It’s not what you’re thinking! Just a proper dinner. No other demands.”
Pei Ji raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
It was hard to blame him for his suspicions; the entertainment industry was notoriously murky, and he’d never encountered such a peculiar requirement before.
An Zhu pressed on. “President Jiang is highly regarded in the industry. She’s not the kind of person you’re imagining. Moreover, she’s an exceptionally capable middle-aged woman. Rumor has it her son is about your age.”
“Her son is about my age?”
An Zhu, puzzled by his sudden interest, replied, “Yes, I overheard someone mention it while I was having dinner with others. Apparently, her son is also involved in music. Why are you suddenly asking about this?”
Pei Ji pondered for a moment, then asked, “What’s President Jiang’s full name?”
An Zhu blinked. Everyone always referred to her as President Jiang, and for a moment, she genuinely couldn’t recall her full name. She chuckled awkwardly. “I forgot.”
After a pause, she remembered the matter at hand. “So, are you willing to personally apologize to President Jiang of Huazhang Films?”
Other managers typically bark orders at their artists, but An Zhu always spoke softly and respectfully, as if she were negotiating with him.
Pei Ji knew being his manager wasn’t easy for her. Not wanting to put her in a difficult position, he agreed.
Several days later, Pei Ji arrived at the hotel in the evening as agreed.
Just outside the private room, his hand froze on the doorknob. He stood motionless before the door, hesitating to enter.
Before coming, he had searched online for information about President Jiang, CEO of Huazhang Films. While he couldn’t find a photo of her, he did find her basic details:
Jiang Xuehua.
To him, this name was like a torrential downpour from his youth.
At that moment, he desperately hoped the person inside wasn’t the one he feared—that the matching name was merely a coincidence.
Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Pei Ji plastered on a polite smile and pushed open the door. “President Jiang—”
The word died on his lips. His polite smile froze on his face, then slowly vanished.
Inside the room, a meticulously groomed middle-aged woman stood by the window, her back to him.
The silhouette was unmistakable; Pei Ji recognized it in less than a second.
The same name, the same person—this was his adoptive mother, Jiang Xuehua.
Hearing his voice, Jiang Xuehua glanced over her shoulder. The instant their eyes met, her gaze flickered involuntarily.
Pei Ji hadn’t expected this Jiang to actually be her. Without a moment’s hesitation, he spun around, pushed open the door, and strode out.
His expression and movements radiated stark rejection.
Jiang Xuehua froze for a moment, then immediately chased after him.
Pei Ji didn’t look back, quickening his pace to rapidly widen the distance between them.
Behind him, the sharp clicks of her heels on the pavement grew louder and more frantic. But with his long legs and wide strides, he steadily pulled ahead.
In desperation, Jiang Xuehua abandoned all pretense of elegance. Ignoring the stiletto heels, she broke into a full run.
A corner loomed ahead. Seeing Pei Ji’s figure about to disappear from view, she stopped abruptly and shouted, “Aji, I was wrong!”
At her words, Pei Ji’s legs felt as if they had been filled with lead, refusing to move another step.
Jiang Xuehua—his foster mother.
From the earliest memories he could recall, Pei Ji had grown up in an orphanage. Back then, he often heard people say that the children in orphanages had been abandoned by their parents—unloved, uncared for. He had believed himself to be one of them. In his naive, childlike world, he thought only disobedient or troublesome children were abandoned by their parents. So, from a young age, he had been impeccably behaved, never causing any worry. His character was exemplary, and his grades consistently ranked at the top of his class. It was precisely these qualities that had led his foster parents to choose him as his foster father’s successor.
From that moment on, he never dared to relax, fearing he would fail to meet his foster parents’ expectations and be abandoned once more.
As a child, he always felt his adoptive mother disliked him. She was extraordinarily strict, and he never once heard her praise him directly. It wasn’t until later, when the hired Aunt slacked off and accidentally scalded him, that Jiang Xuehua immediately fired her, abandoned her career, and devoted herself entirely to raising him. Only then did he realize she did care for him, her feelings simply too complex.
Through his adoptive parents’ arguments, he gradually learned that adopting him had been his foster father’s idea. Pei Su wanted a son to succeed him.
But words are always easier than deeds. It was Pei Su who craved a child, but Jiang Xuehua who bore the true burden.
Later, after Pei Su fell seriously ill, Jiang Xuehua accidentally discovered his will. She learned he had betrayed her by fathering an illegitimate son with another woman, and shockingly, the will left his entire estate to the illegitimate son, never mentioning her or Pei Ji by name.
Unable to accept this betrayal, Jiang Xuehua decided to divorce Pei Su. Leaving behind only a note, she vanished without a word.
In the note, she wrote that adopting Pei Ji had never been her intention. She had never liked children and would not seek custody. Seeing Pei Ji would only remind her of that nauseating marriage.
Caught between his foster parents, Pei Ji felt he belonged nowhere. His foster father didn’t want him, and his foster mother refused to take him back. He was genuinely happy that Jiang Xuehua had escaped her self-sacrificing marriage, but he couldn’t accept her heartless abandonment of him.
No one wants to be the one cast aside, especially when the one doing the casting is the mother he had always depended on most.
So when Jiang Xuehua finally admitted she had been wrong after all these years, Pei Ji was genuinely surprised.
He had never believed she was at fault; he simply couldn’t forgive her cold, decisive actions.
Even if she hadn’t phrased it so harshly, even if she had just said something kind to soften the blow, it would have been better than that icy, “I don’t want you.”
“Mom truly knows she was wrong,” Jiang Xuehua’s voice trembled. “I shouldn’t have left you alone back then. I shouldn’t have said such hurtful things, and I definitely shouldn’t have taken out all my anger on you.”
Pei Ji’s heart churned with conflicting emotions. He didn’t blame her, yet he couldn’t simply brush the past aside.
He closed his eyes in pain, struggling to regain his composure. When he spoke again, his voice was low and heavy. “You wanted a clean break back then, without me as a burden,” he said hoarsely. “I understand that, but I can never accept it.”
After speaking, he continued walking forward, immediately followed by the sound of hurried footsteps behind him.
“Ah!” Jiang Xuehua cried out. Her high heels, combined with the slippery hotel tiles, had betrayed her, causing her to twist her ankle.
Hearing her cry out, Pei Ji wrestled with his conscience, unsure whether to turn back.
Jiang Xuehua hissed in pain, struggling to her feet. In a voice bordering on begging, she pleaded, “Can you forgive your mother? I’ve come back for you. Will you come home with me?”
Home?
Pei Ji suddenly felt his life had become a cruel joke.
Having just lost one home, another was being offered to him. Was the heavens mocking him?
A passing waiter noticed her discomfort and rushed over to help. “Ma’am, do you need assistance?”
Jiang Xuehua’s gaze remained fixed on Pei Ji, desperately hoping he would turn around. But Pei Ji remained unmoved.
She lowered her head in defeat, feigning to ask the waiter to call a doctor.
But in the next moment, a pair of strong, capable hands suddenly appeared in her field of vision.
Without her noticing, Pei Ji had turned back and walked over to her side. He took hold of her arm, saying to the waiter, “I’ll take care of it.”
Jiang Xuehua stared at him in disbelief. “You… you’ve forgiven me?”
“I never blamed you. I just couldn’t accept your methods,” Pei Ji said irritably, his mind in turmoil. He didn’t want to discuss this further. “You’re over fifty now. Your bones can’t take this kind of strain anymore.”
After a pause, he added, “Where’s your car? I’ll drive you home.”
Jiang Xuehua burst into tears of joy and quickly handed him the car keys.
Since Jiang Xuehua had mobility issues, Pei Ji borrowed a wheelchair and pushed her home.
As he was about to leave after dropping her off, Jiang Xuehua suddenly called him back and maneuvered her wheelchair to retrieve a photo album from her bedroom.
Flipping through the album, she said, “I took your photo album with me all those years ago. Every picture of you, from childhood to adulthood, is in here. I sometimes take it out to look at them.”
Her voice suddenly caught, and she seemed on the verge of tears.
Pei Ji felt a pang in his heart.
She was the one who said she didn’t want me back then, and now she’s holding my photo album, saying she misses me.
Perhaps some people are born with complex emotions, refusing to express them when they should, only to regret their silence when it’s too late.
“Look at this one—you got second in your grade that year. I was actually quite proud of you…”
Pei Ji curled his lips slightly.
Really? He didn’t remember any of that. All he recalled was the tense atmosphere at the dinner table, everyone criticizing him for not being first.
There was no point reminiscing about the past. Pei Ji didn’t want to relive the past with her, but Jiang Xuehua pulled out the photo. Her hands trembled with emotion, causing the photo to slip from her grasp and fall to the floor.
She bent down to pick it up and noticed writing on the back. Flipping it over, she discovered handwritten lyrics.
Pei Ji froze. He had always believed the original manuscript of that song had been accidentally lost. He never imagined it would be here.
At that moment, a music program was airing on TV, featuring Xu Wangxuan promoting his new song.
Pei Ji watched as the lyrics displayed on the television gradually aligned with the handwriting on the back of the photo. Every character matched perfectly.
If he could have previously dismissed it as mere coincidence, the current alignment was far too precise to be normal.
Jiang Xuehua, equally perceptive, furrowed her brow deeply. Finally, her expression turned serious as she declared her intention to investigate thoroughly.
Seated in her wheelchair, she wheeled herself to the study to make arrangements for the investigation by phone.
Pei Ji sat alone in the living room, observing her current living space. The decor was minimalist, with only the most basic furniture. The entire home was starkly black and white, reflecting an extreme minimalist aesthetic.
The place felt empty and cold, just like his first residence in Chu Tinghan’s home.
At that thought, Pei Ji suddenly froze. Why did Chu Tinghan come to mind just now?
His phone lay on the table. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked it up, unlocked it, and searched for a particular contact. But after a long pause, he set the phone back down, untouched.
Realizing what he had almost done, he let out a self-mocking chuckle.
Perhaps it’s just my sentimentality, or maybe I simply can’t accept being deceived.