After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 50
Chapter 50
“What’s your relationship with Chu Tinghan?”
An Zhu looked up and was caught off guard by Pei Ji’s piercing gaze. Her heart sank for a moment, and she instinctively ducked her head to hide behind her computer screen, even hunching over in guilt and fear.
She had anticipated Pei Ji would confront her sooner or later, but she hadn’t expected him to arrive so quickly—less than an hour after Chu Tinghan had sent the message from her phone.
Did he take a rocket here?
Hidden behind the screen, she racked her brain for a solution, her anxiety making her break out in a cold sweat.
Seeing her evade the question like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, Pei Ji tapped the desk with his fingers. “Answer me,” he said coldly.
You can’t hide forever.
An Zhu, bracing herself for the worst, slowly lifted her head with a sense of utter despair. She forced an awkward smile and feigned ignorance. “…You know already?”
She hoped to stall for time to formulate a proper explanation, but Pei Ji cut her off. He already knew the answer.
Pei Ji raised an eyebrow. “I heard you call him ‘Brother’ in the voice message. So, you’re his little sister?”
An Zhu struggled to maintain her strained smile, then lowered her head slightly, adding cautiously, “Cousin. We’re cousins.”
Hearing this, Pei Ji’s expression turned even colder. “Why didn’t you ever mention this before?”
Is everyone trying to make a fool of me?
An Zhu felt a chill run down her spine. She had never seen Pei Ji so serious before. He had always been approachable and amiable, but today, his sharp edges were on full display. Her intuition screamed that she might have truly crossed a line this time.
Don’t panic, don’t panic. It wasn’t like she had deliberately withheld the information; she just hadn’t dared to bring it up.
Taking several deep breaths, An Zhu gulped down more coffee to calm her nerves. She blinked her shrewd eyes. “Does it… really matter?”
She saw Pei Ji’s chest rise and fall slightly. He turned his head to look out the window, his cheek twitching slightly—probably grinding his teeth.
She genuinely didn’t understand why Pei Ji was so bothered by this. Did her connection to Chu Tinghan really matter that much?
In her professional life, she had never let personal feelings cloud her judgment. She always kept business strictly professional.
Wait a minute… Could Pei Ji think she signed him—and promised annual contract renewals—because Chu Tinghan pulled strings for him behind the scenes?
That’s so unfair!
Realizing this, An Zhu quickly explained, “Don’t misunderstand! My signing you had absolutely nothing to do with Chu Tinghan. It was all a coincidence. I genuinely saw your talent—it wasn’t because of your connection to my brother.”
With things having spiraled this far, Pei Ji no longer cared about any of it. It was all meaningless. He just had a headache.
His manager was his future ex-husband’s cousin, which meant that Chu Tinghan would inevitably remain a lingering presence in his life—a broken thread refusing to sever completely.
Noticing his grim expression, An Zhu pursed her lips and carefully probed, “Um… you’re not thinking of terminating your contract with me because of this, are you?”
She paused, then added, “I’ve heard you’ve been getting quite close to President Jiang of Huazhang Films lately. If you’re really bothered by this and want to switch agencies, I won’t stop you.”
Pei Ji’s mind was a tangled mess. He didn’t respond.
An Zhu took his silence as tacit agreement. If he’s already decided to terminate the contract, she thought, maybe I can ask about their relationship status? It wasn’t mere gossip; she’d never seen Chu Tinghan so unhinged, even daring to snatch her phone and scheming relentlessly to contact Pei Ji. She was genuinely worried about her brother’s mental state.
“So… what exactly happened between you two? Why did things get so tense?” An Zhu felt like she was treading on thin ice, yet couldn’t help but sigh. “Can’t you just sit down and talk it out? Resolve your differences?”
“My brother can be a bit odd at times, but I assure you, he’s completely serious about you. I’ve never seen him care about anyone else this much.”
Truth be told, An Zhu didn’t consider it mere caring; it was more like obsession. If she hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, she would never have believed Chu Tinghan would cancel all his work for one person and remain “sick” to this day.
This was nothing like the workaholic Chu Tinghan she remembered from years ago, the man who used to jet around the world, working tirelessly around the clock.
She had always assumed her brother’s mind was solely focused on his career, never realizing it was simply because he hadn’t met the right person yet.
As Chu Tinghan’s cousin, An Zhu couldn’t help but elaborate on these matters.
Pei Ji, however, was already well aware of everything she said.
The reason he still refused to turn back was likely because he was angry at Chu Tinghan for playing him for a fool. The affection was real, but his mouth was full of lies.
In Pei Ji’s mind, this was far more terrifying than sharing a bed with someone who dreamed of different things. He would never know which of the words his lover spoke were true and which were false, meant to deceive him.
Therefore, no matter how many good words others spoke on Chu Tinghan’s behalf, he would stick to his original decision: he wanted a divorce.
After removing Chu Tinghan from his blacklist, Pei Ji sent a total of three messages:
Pei Ji: When are you free?
Pei Ji: I’ve already signed the divorce papers.
Pei Ji: Let’s go to the Civil Affairs Bureau.
There were no other unnecessary messages.
It took three days for Pei Ji to receive Chu Tinghan’s reply. This time, Chu Tinghan showed none of his previous impulsive irrationality. Instead, he replied with unnatural calm, simply stating:
“I’m free whenever you are. It’s up to you.”
Fearing Chu Tinghan might change his mind if they delayed further, Pei Ji decided to settle things as soon as possible. He immediately booked a table at a Western restaurant for the following afternoon and promptly sent the reservation details to Chu Tinghan.
He expected Chu Tinghan to argue or plead, but to his surprise, Chu Tinghan immediately replied, Okay.
This was a complete reversal from Chu Tinghan’s behavior just days earlier. It was as if the hysterical, near-mad man Pei Ji remembered had been a figment of his imagination.
The other man’s easy agreement and unnaturally calm demeanor only made Pei Ji feel uneasy.
He’d always known Chu Tinghan was the type to bottle everything up inside. Chu Tinghan’s emotions were like a coiled spring, only bursting forth when compressed to its absolute limit—and with no warning, catching everyone off guard.
Sometimes, a seemingly tranquil surface hid a storm brewing beneath, ready to unleash its fury in the next instant.
Wait, why do I even care about this?
What did Chu Tinghan’s current happiness, anger, sadness, or joy have to do with him anymore?
Pei Ji rubbed his face in frustration, forcibly banishing these tangled thoughts from his mind. He then re-examined the divorce agreement one last time.
The following afternoon, Pei Ji arrived at the western-style restaurant an hour ahead of the agreed-upon time.
Located on the outskirts of the city, the restaurant rarely saw much foot traffic. It was a weekday afternoon, and the place was deserted—even the nearby streets were practically empty.
Pei Ji had reserved a window seat. Outside, a row of ginkgo trees lined the street, their leaves already turning yellow. As the wind rustled through them, the leaves brushed against each other with a dry, rustling sound.
From the exuberant green shoots of spring to the golden leaves of autumn, time had slipped by unnoticed, bringing with it the chill of fall.
The four seasons seemed to mirror their emotions with uncanny precision, yet as Pei Ji watched the leaves falling outside the window, he couldn’t bring himself to utter the word “fitting.”
He tore his gaze away from the yellowing ginkgo trees and idly flipped through the divorce agreement, waiting for Chu Tinghan to arrive.
But as the appointed time drew near, Chu Tinghan’s figure remained absent.
Pei Ji was beginning to wonder if Chu Tinghan had changed his mind again.
Unbeknownst to him, Chu Tinghan had actually arrived earlier. He’d deliberately parked a car Pei Ji hadn’t seen before along the roadside, silently observing Pei Ji through the glass.
Chu Tinghan wasn’t sure what he was hoping to see by watching for so long.
Was he hoping to see Pei Ji looking as forlorn as he felt? Or was he hoping that the document in Pei Ji’s hand wasn’t a divorce agreement, but just an ordinary piece of paperwork?
Pei Ji found himself rather foolish at times, always clinging to hopes that could never come true.
It had been this way in the past, and it remained so now—a flaw he seemed incapable of overcoming.
He had always known he was on the wrong path, but he couldn’t bear to step out of the fabricated dream. Unwilling to let go, he could only wait for the other party to awaken and release his hand.
When the wristwatch hands aligned with the appointed time and the phone screen flashed that glaring string of digits, Chu Tinghan finally emerged from the car, his steps deliberate as he approached Pei Ji.
Pei Ji was genuinely surprised to see him appear. He had half-expected Chu Tinghan to renege and not come.
With a cold expression, he wordlessly pushed the divorce agreement toward Chu Tinghan.
Chu Tinghan pressed his hand on the document but didn’t open it. Instead, he took out his phone and tapped the screen a few times, as if sending a message to someone.
Seeing this, Pei Ji’s lips curled into a sneer.
Looks like he doesn’t care much either. Still has time to text others before signing the divorce papers.
But in the next moment, it was Pei Ji’s phone screen that lit up, a notification popping up on the lock screen.
Senior Husband: Do you have an electronic copy of the divorce agreement?
Chu Tinghan glanced up at him, a hint of surprise in his voice. “Why haven’t you changed the nickname?”
Pei Ji stared at the conspicuous four characters, momentarily stunned.
He’d changed the contact name back then, when Chu Tinghan had been jealous and unhappy, just to appease him.
At the time, Chu Tinghan had asked with feigned nonchalance, his tone dripping with bitterness, why his contact name was just his dry, factual name.
Pei Ji found the question absurd. Most of his contacts were listed by their real names, with only a few exceptions.
Chu Tinghan then let out a flat “Oh,” and added, “So I’m not even special enough to be an exception?”
The expression and tone made it sound like he was asking, Exactly how many fish are swimming in your pond?
Flustered, Pei Ji sincerely asked, “Then what should I change it to?”
He had never been in a relationship before and truly didn’t know what was expected of him.
He searched online and found a dizzying array of overly saccharine contact names. After scouring the entire web, he rejected every single one—they felt completely incompatible with Chu Tinghan’s personality.
Later, he secretly checked Chu Tinghan’s contact for him and discovered it was listed as “Junior Husband.” Reasoning that matching Chu Tinghan’s style couldn’t hurt, he changed his own contact name to “Senior Husband.”
It was just as cloying as the online options, but who cared? Chu Tinghan liked it.
At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it. But now, as he signed the divorce papers, those four words burned like a brand in his mind. He even wondered if he’d been possessed back then to indulge Chu Tinghan’s childish games.
Oh, right—he’d almost changed Lü Yi’s nickname to “My Good Brother.”
For some inexplicable reason, Chu Tinghan had insisted he remove Lü Yi’s nickname and just use the default “Lü Yi.” But Lü Yi’s default nickname was particularly absurd:
“Mom said if the nickname’s too long, fools will try to pronounce it.”
“……”
By the time he realized what he was reading aloud, it was too late. Chu Tinghan’s face darkened for a moment before he said dryly, “Just leave it as it was.”
Pei Ji had nearly burst with joy.
Snapping back to reality, Pei Ji couldn’t help but feel he must be insane to have indulged Chu Tinghan’s ridiculous whims.
Across from him, Chu Tinghan was still waiting for his reply.
Pei Ji picked up his phone again. “Forgot. Thanks for reminding me. I’ll change it now.”
Chu Tinghan: “……”
Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up after all.
With a resigned shrug, Chu Tinghan lowered his head to examine the divorce papers. Most of the terms seemed reasonable. It was clear that while Pei Ji was ignoring him now, he probably didn’t hate him as much as Chu Tinghan had feared.
Chu Tinghan flipped to the last page, picked up the pen, hesitated, then set it down again, turning to look at Pei Ji.
“Is there anything you’re not satisfied with?” Pei Ji asked.
Chu Tinghan clasped his hands on the table, enunciating each word clearly: “I can sign the divorce agreement, but I have other conditions.”
Pei Ji pondered for a moment before nodding slightly, signaling him to continue. He would decide whether to agree after hearing the full proposal.
Chu Tinghan’s tone was neutral, yet it carried an unexpected firmness: “Lucky can stay with you, but only if you promise to let me see him at least twice a week.”
This wasn’t an unreasonable or extreme request. After all, Chu Tinghan was also Lucky’s owner, and the dog clearly enjoyed playing with him. Even though their relationship had broken down and they were divorcing, Lucky was innocent and deserved a happy dog life.
Without hesitation, Pei Ji replied, “Agreed.”
Only then did Chu Tinghan pick up the pen again. He stared at the divorce agreement for a few seconds before slowly signing his name, each stroke deliberate and precise.
Afterward, they went to the Civil Affairs Bureau.
Six months ago, when they came to register their marriage, Chu Tinghan had thrown a tantrum and abandoned Pei Ji halfway there. This time, Pei Ji refused to ride in the same car, driving himself. Before pulling away, he stopped by Chu Tinghan’s car, tapped on the window without bending his waist or turning his head, and said flatly, “To the Civil Affairs Bureau.”
If Chu Tinghan’s gaze hadn’t been fixed on him the entire time, he might not have even realized Pei Ji was speaking to him.
Pei Ji drove ahead, with Chu Tinghan following slowly behind.
Ironically, they encountered nothing but red lights the entire way, as if fate itself were conspiring to prevent their divorce.
But red lights always turn green eventually, merely wasting a bit more time.
Upon arriving at the Civil Affairs Bureau, Pei Ji encountered the greatest obstacle to their divorce yet. He had always assumed that once he got Chu Tinghan to agree, the process would be smooth. He never imagined that with the skyrocketing divorce rates, they’d have to scramble for an appointment slot just to file.
Securing a divorce appointment was ten thousand times harder than snagging concert tickets, yet without one, divorce was impossible.
Pei Ji: “……”
He finally understood why Chu Tinghan had tricked him into marriage—it was so difficult to divorce.
Not only was securing an appointment nearly impossible, the entire process was bewilderingly complex. Pei Ji stared at the divorce process flowchart for what felt like an eternity before finally deciphering it.
After a long moment of speechless frustration, Pei Ji left the Civil Affairs Bureau, wedding certificate in hand, exactly as he’d brought it.
He’d only stepped out of the Civil Affairs Bureau twice in his life, both times clutching marriage certificates. Anyone who didn’t know better would assume he’d committed bigamy during his second marriage.
Pei Ji stopped walking, sighing in exasperation. “I’ll find a scalper later and see if they can get us a reservation number.”
Chu Tinghan froze at those words, momentarily mistaking Pei Ji for talking about the concert.
“Scalper” and “reservation number” seemed utterly incongruous with divorce.
He blinked, then mumbled a faint acknowledgment.
Though the divorce hadn’t gone through, the agreement was already signed. All that remained was securing a reservation number.
A young couple passed by, divorce certificates clutched in their hands. Judging by their tense atmosphere, their relationship had clearly fractured beyond repair.
They didn’t exchange a single word, their mutual loathing barely concealed, as if even breathing the same air as the other disgusted them.
The moment they exited the Civil Affairs Bureau, they split apart, going their separate ways.
Witnessing this scene, Chu Tinghan couldn’t help but imagine himself in their place, his mood instantly plummeting.
Could he and Pei Ji end up like this?
Would Pei Ji ever look at him with such loathing?
He didn’t dare to think further, his steps gradually slowing.
By the time Pei Ji’s figure was about to disappear ahead of him, Chu Tinghan snapped back to reality and hurried to catch up.
“Wait, where are you living now?”
Pei Ji was about to open the car door when he suddenly heard Chu Tinghan call out to him.
He paused, turning to look at Chu Tinghan with a scrutinizing gaze.
Chu Tinghan said, his expression unchanging, “Lucky is living with you now.”
Pei Ji frowned, unsure what he meant.
Chu Tinghan continued, “I need to visit him twice a week, so I should at least know where he lives.”
His tone implied, I just want to see Lucky, it has nothing to do with you.
After a pause, Chu Tinghan added thoughtfully, “Or would you prefer home deliveries?”
Pei Ji: “……”
Without a word, he got in the car and drove off.
A few minutes later, Chu Tinghan received a location ping and a text message:
Pei Ji: Let me know in advance if you’re coming.
Chu Tinghan: ?
What does that mean? Does he need to prepare when I visit?
He’s there, the dog’s there, but Pei Ji isn’t.
Is that how it’s going to be?
During the day, Chu Tinghan remained largely composed. But as night fell, and the pale moonlight streamed through the window, it struck him with full force: he was truly divorcing Pei Ji.
There was no room for reconciliation, no chance for the person who had left this home to ever return.
His world instantly lost its color, leaving only a bleak, colorless monochrome.
In moments of sorrow and loss, people often yearn for the past, and Chu Tinghan was no exception.
He plugged a USB drive into his computer, which contained a video Pei Ji had sent him years ago.
Back then, Chu Tinghan had been blacklisted and frozen by his Management Company in China, leaving him no foothold. He had been forced to seek opportunities abroad, entrusting the newly rescued, near-death puppy Lucky to Pei Ji’s care.
This decision served two purposes: to ensure Lucky’s well-being and to help Pei Ji.
Ever since being falsely accused and facing public backlash, Pei Ji had been in a terrible state, living in a daze.
Chu Tinghan feared that if he continued to drift aimlessly, he would eventually break down emotionally. Even the most dazzling jewel would lose its luster if left untended.
So he hoped Lucky would divert Pei Ji’s attention, keeping him from dwelling on the rumors online and exhausting his emotions over those distressing matters.
The Samoyed truly lived up to its reputation as the “smiling angel.” Once recovered, Lucky spent every day amusing Pei Ji with his comical antics.
Chu Tinghan wanted to know how Pei Ji was doing but feared he might lie. So, he arranged for Lucky to give Pei Ji a “mission”: to record daily videos of Lucky’s life and report back.
Pei Ji initially filmed with his phone, but later, for some unknown reason, he switched to a dedicated vlogging camera.
Chu Tinghan guessed it was because Pei Ji wanted to capture Lucky’s childhood in higher resolution.
Chu Tinghan saved all these videos on a USB drive and would watch them whenever he felt down.
He opened one video after another, turning up the volume. The quiet room was instantly filled with Pei Ji’s voice, as if Pei Ji were still by his side.
Today is October 3rd. Lucky has fully recovered, and the fur we shaved off has grown back. Don’t you think he looks even cuter than before? Once it grows a bit longer, we can get him a stylish trim. What style do you think suits a Samoyed best? I could send you some pictures—you pick…
Today is October 10th. You’re probably wondering why there’s no puppy in this video. Let me show you where he is—somehow he managed to squeeze behind the sofa! No matter how much I call, he won’t come out. Lucky, come out! Stop scratching the sofa…
It’s October 24th today. The sky is gloomy and it’s pouring rain outside, but Lucky insisted on going out to play. When I refused, he started barking at me. Sigh, I had no choice but to put his raincoat on and take him out. I just gave him a bath yesterday, so I bet he’ll be a muddy little mutt again by the time we get back…
I’m uploading an extra video today, hope you don’t mind. We just got back from our rainy walk—look, he’s covered in mud! Such a little mud pup. The aunt next door has poor eyesight; she mistook him for a mop from a distance…
It’s November 1st today, and I have big news! After a whole month, Lucky finally learned to shake hands! Yesterday, I was consoling myself that it was his breed—maybe Lucky was just a bit slower than other dogs. But today he learned to shake hands and roll over! Let me show you. Lucky, come here…
It’s November 3rd today, and I take back everything I said two days ago. I regret it! It would have been better if I’d never taught Lucky to shake hands, roll over, or sit. Today, I took him out for a walk, and a kid passed by holding a grilled sausage. Lucky froze in his tracks and immediately started rolling over and shaking hands like a whirling dervish in front of the kid. Now the whole neighborhood knows we have a greedy little dog…
As Chu Tinghan watched video after video, he felt as though the past few years had been nothing more than a dream.
Now the dream had ended. Pei Ji and Lucky were both gone.
Lost in thought about his experiences, Chu Tinghan forgot to close the video.
The sound gradually faded, the screen went black, but the progress bar continued to advance.
Assuming the video had ended, Chu Tinghan dared not watch the next one. He turned to gaze out the window at the moon hanging high in the sky.
He didn’t realize the video was still playing, nor did he hear the faint static that suddenly crackled from the computer, which had been silent for so long.
After the rustling static subsided, a clear, bright voice suddenly filled the room.
“Ahem… uh… how have you been lately?”
The voice jolted Chu Tinghan awake, and he instinctively turned his head to find its source.
He thought Pei Ji had returned, but there was no one at the door.
If Pei Ji hadn’t come back, why was his voice echoing in the room?
Chu Tinghan frantically searched every corner of the house, but the person he longed for wasn’t there.
Panic, unease, and agitation welled up inside him. He thought he had finally cracked, hallucinating.
Then his gaze fell upon the computer screen, and he found the source of the voice.
He’d always assumed the black screen signaled the end of the video, so he’d never paid attention to the extra time at the end. Busy with work, he’d always close the video abruptly after watching the main part.
He never imagined the screen’s darkness would fade, but the progress bar wouldn’t reach the end, and the sound would continue.
Pei Ji had hidden his concern for him at the very end of each video, but Chu Tinghan had never noticed.
If he hadn’t spaced out this time and forgotten to close the video, he might have remained oblivious forever.
Chu Tinghan trembled violently, his mind reeling. With trembling hands, he clicked open video after video, laboriously dragging the progress bars to the end.
In an instant, those years of undiscovered words flooded over him like a tidal wave.
“I saw the weather forecast—it’s supposed to rain where you are tomorrow. Remember to take an umbrella…”
“It’s getting colder. Bundle up and don’t catch a cold. Oh, and I bought you a few scarves…”
“Today’s the winter solstice. Will you be able to eat dumplings over there?”
“I just heard about the earthquake in your area. Are you okay?”
“Is it snowing where you are? The roads must be icy and slippery—be careful out there…”
“The end of the year is coming up. Where are you planning to spend the holidays? Lucky seems to miss you a lot…”
“Happy New Year, Chu Tinghan.”
“Spring is here. The flowers are blooming, and the puppy has grown up. When are you coming home?”
From autumn to winter, from winter to spring, he had never missed a single installment. Yet, due to his own negligence, it took him two years to belatedly discover this hidden concern at the end of the videos, transforming into a love across time zones.
Chu Tinghan wasn’t afraid of being cursed, hated, or resented. His only fear was being cared for.
Drip. After suppressing his tears for days, they suddenly spilled down his cheeks like pearls from a broken string, each drop falling one after another.
Before this, he had actually convinced himself to let go. But now, he regretted it.
Chu Tinghan wiped the tears from his cheeks and composed himself.
Whether it was annoyance or hatred, he didn’t care about the process, only the result. As long as he could be with Pei Ji, everything else was insignificant.
He absolutely refused to let go.