After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 54
Chapter 54
When Pei Ji stepped off the stage after his performance, he only saw Qiao He. He looked around but couldn’t find An Zhu anywhere.
She was so worried before I went on stage, so why has she vanished now? Pei Ji thought, She’s such a responsible—yet irresponsible—manager.
But An Zhu was young and inexperienced, so Pei Ji didn’t mind. He casually asked Qiao He, “Where’s An Zhu? Just you here?”
Qiao He followed him backstage, replying as they walked, “She said there was an urgent work call. She went to return it.”
Pei Ji stopped in his tracks, recalling An Zhu’s words before he went on stage. A sudden premonition gripped him, and he asked anxiously, “Was it the PR team calling?”
An Zhu had rushed off without explaining the specifics of her work. Qiao He scratched his head, looking slightly embarrassed as he truthfully admitted, “I don’t know.”
Pei Ji’s mind flooded with images of tens of thousands of scathing comments. But he felt his performance had been commendable; surely he wouldn’t be torn to shreds by the Heavenly Queen’s fans.
He pulled out his phone, nervously tapping to open his social media app.
The page barely loaded before his eyes landed on the top trending search: “Pei Ji Star Orbit.”
His finger lingered over the trending topic. Though he considered himself mentally prepared, he still hesitated to face the barrage of online criticism and insults.
It was largely due to the excessive “warning shots” An Zhu and Qiao He had fired before he took the stage, leaving him with an inexplicable undercurrent of anxiety.
After a moment, having steeled his nerves, he clicked on the trending topic.
But the next second, he was stunned to find the content vastly different from what he’d imagined. Barely anyone was discussing his singing ability; instead, the vast majority of netizens were focused on him personally.
At first, when people said Pei Ji resembled the legendary diva Li Xiwen from certain angles, I didn’t believe it. But after seeing these screenshots… the resemblance is uncanny!
Especially that side-by-side comparison photo someone Photoshopped—they look like they were carved from the same mold! Pei Ji’s just got sharper, more masculine features.
Their voices and appearances are eerily similar. If I didn’t know Li Xiwen was unmarried and childless, I’d swear he was her son.
Does Li Xiwen really not have a child? I seem to recall rumors from years ago about her secretly marrying Liang Wangqiu and having a son. But she was only twenty-four at the time, too young, and at the peak of her career, so no one believed it.
Actually, when Pei Ji first appeared on that talent show two years ago, some people pointed out his resemblance to Li Xiwen. But everyone just dismissed it as a publicity stunt.
If Pei Ji really is Li Xiwen’s son, he’s kept it hidden remarkably well. How have all the paparazzi failed to capture a single photo of them together?
Stop joking around! How could Pei Ji possibly be Li Xiwen’s son? If he were the Heavenly Queen’s son, someone would have protected him on that talent show two years ago. How could he have been forced to withdraw right before the finale?
The internet buzzed with speculation. Pei Ji was utterly bewildered. He’d merely sung a song on stage, but by the time he stepped off, the world seemed to have changed. Now, netizens were wildly speculating whether he was related to the Heavenly Queen by blood.
Based on just one song, netizens had already declared Li Xiwen, the legendary Heavenly Queen, to be his mother.
Pei Ji found the whole thing utterly absurd. The Heavenly Queen as his mother? He was clearly out of his league.
He dismissed it as another case of netizens blowing things out of proportion, assuming the hype would die down in a few days, and no one would care about his supposed connection to Li Xiwen anymore. He didn’t give it another thought.
Just as he switched off his phone, he looked up and saw An Zhu rushing toward him, a radiant smile lighting her face.
She’s probably relieved that no one’s criticizing my performance online, so she doesn’t have to waste money on PR, Pei Ji thought.
An Zhu stopped abruptly in front of him, her eyes shining with admiration and a hint of worship. She clapped him on the shoulder and exclaimed, “Impressive! I never knew you had it in you!”
Pei Ji froze, and even Qiao He looked utterly bewildered.
What’s so impressive? Is she complimenting my resemblance to the Heavenly Queen?
Looks are inherited, after all. I can’t take any credit for that.
Pei Ji forced a wry smile. “It has nothing to do with me.”
An Zhu clicked her tongue and immediately retorted, “How can you say that? This has everything to do with you!”
The two spoke in coded whispers, their conversation as cryptic as an encrypted call. Qiao He stared at them, utterly bewildered. “What are you talking about?” he blurted out, his voice thick with confusion. “President An, can you please stop being so cryptic?”
Even after hearing Qiao He call her “President An” more than twenty times, An Zhu still felt awkward. “Xiao Qiao,” she said stiffly, “can you call me Zhu Zi again, like before? Or Sister An would work too. ‘President An’ sounds so weird.”
Seeing the conversation about to veer off course, Pei Ji swiftly steered it back on track. “Why does this involve me? Where did you disappear to just now?”
An Zhu straightened her posture, cleared her throat, and declared solemnly, “I received… Oh, no, you received an invitation from renowned director Liang Wangqiu.”
Pei Ji looked puzzled. “Teacher Liang makes movies, right? I can’t act. Why would he invite me?”
An Zhu enunciated each word deliberately, her eyes gleaming with pride. “He invited you to sing the theme song for his new film, of course!”
Her eyes sparkled with pride as she spoke, every gesture proclaiming, Isn’t the artist I manage amazing?
Pei Ji thought he must have misheard. He pointed at himself and asked again, “Are you sure you’re looking for me?”
An Zhu replied firmly, “Of course.”
As she spoke, she pulled out her phone to show Pei Ji the call and chat history with Liang Wangqiu’s assistant. “Look, he even spoke to you directly. The time and place are already set for tomorrow evening.”
Pei Ji glanced at her phone screen, where the hotel name and time were clearly displayed.
He frowned slightly, surprised. “So soon?”
An Zhu pondered for a moment, then speculated, “Liang Wangqiu is the most renowned director in the industry. He’s even more sought-after than the hottest idols. I imagine countless people are vying for a dinner with him.”
“I think it’s already a remarkable show of sincerity that someone as busy as him would carve out an entire evening to meet with you,” she said, forwarding the information to him. “This is a golden opportunity you can’t afford to miss. Make sure you arrive on time tomorrow.”
Pei Ji murmured an absent acknowledgment, still finding the situation a bit odd.
Liang Wangqiu commanded immense respect in the industry. Landing a role in one of his films was a lifelong dream for almost every actor. Even wildly popular A-list celebrities struggled to secure even a minor supporting role in his projects.
His films were invariably star-studded affairs, featuring A-list actors and actresses.
How could a renowned director like Liang Wangqiu, who had won so many awards he could barely carry them, possibly take notice of Pei Ji, a newly emerging singer?
Moreover, given Pei Ji’s current status, even promoting Liang Wangqiu’s film for free might not be enough to catch his eye. Why would he suddenly invite him to sing the theme song?
Pei Ji had no connection whatsoever with Liang Wangqiu—they had never even met. Through what channel had Liang Wangqiu become aware of him? Could it have been through the recent live broadcast of the talent show?
Pei Ji was completely baffled.
All these questions would remain unanswered until he actually met Liang Wangqiu the following evening.
The next evening, at six o’clock.
Pei Ji arrived at the agreed-upon hotel half an hour early. Just as he stepped through the revolving doors and glanced up, he caught sight of a familiar figure.
The man was walking out with his head lowered and wearing a hat, obscuring his features completely. Pei Ji hesitated to recognize him, slowing his pace as his gaze lingered on the man. The moment the man lifted his head, Pei Ji finally saw his face clearly.
“…Guan Nan?” Pei Ji called out tentatively.
Hearing his name, Guan Nan instinctively turned around, only to find himself unexpectedly meeting Pei Ji’s eyes. A flicker of panic crossed his face before he quickly lowered his head, feigning ignorance and hurrying away as fast as he could.
Pei Ji knew this hotel was notoriously expensive; a single meal here could easily cost Guan Nan two or three months’ wages. A thrifty person like Guan Nan would never dine here casually. It was highly likely he was with Chu Tinghan.
But just a few days ago, Chu Tinghan had said he had no work engagements and wanted to visit Lucky. Where had this sudden job come from, scheduled for the same time and place as their own meeting?
Isn’t that a bit too coincidental?
Pei Ji thought about chasing after him, but the next moment, Qiao He suddenly appeared from nowhere and grabbed his arm tightly.
Qiao He frantically dragged him toward the private room. “Bro, where are you going? We’re going to be late!”
Pei Ji tried to shake off Qiao He’s grip, which was tighter than a rope. “I just need to see someone…”
Before he could finish, Qiao He cut him off, panicking, “No time! An Zhu said Director Liang is already in the room. If you don’t go now, this golden opportunity might slip through your fingers!”
Qiao He launched into another tirade about how rare such opportunities were, refusing to let Pei Ji go.
Pei Ji glanced back and realized Guan Nan had vanished without a trace.
He’s gone. No chance to ask him now.
Forget it. What does it matter where Chu Tinghan is? Why should I care? As long as he’s not in the same room as me, I don’t give a damn.
Pei Ji finally relented and followed Qiao He’s blurring footsteps, striding purposefully toward the private room.
An Zhu paced anxiously outside the door, waiting for them. As soon as she saw Pei Ji, she rushed over.
Sweat beaded on An Zhu’s forehead. “You’re finally here! Director Liang has been waiting inside for ten minutes already.”
Hearing this, Pei Ji glanced at his watch. It was still twenty-seven minutes before the scheduled meeting time. Not only was he not late, he was nearly half an hour early.
Pei Ji frowned. “Why is he here so early?” He’d expected a big shot like this to arrive right on time, if not late.
An Zhu was equally surprised. Lowering her voice, she said, “I don’t know either. And his expression is so serious—he seems to be taking this collaboration even more seriously than we thought.”
She paused, as if remembering something, and abruptly stopped walking, blocking Pei Ji at the doorway.
Thinking she had more instructions, Pei Ji asked, “Is there anything else I should know?”
An Zhu glanced back to confirm the door was tightly shut, ensuring no one inside could hear them. With evident effort, she said, “No matter what happens in there, you must not leave. Stay until the very end.”
The request was bizarre. Pei Ji paused, recalling Guan Nan’s panicked escape. A sudden sense of foreboding gripped him. He asked in a low voice, “Who’s inside?”
An Zhu didn’t answer, repeating instead, “First, promise you won’t leave without permission.”
Easy to enter, impossible to leave. Pei Ji realized this wasn’t just a regular hotel suite, but a dragon’s lair.
He had a hunch who was inside. After a few silent seconds, he said calmly, “I’m not one to break my word. I won’t leave. You can trust me.”
Hearing his reply, An Zhu finally breathed a sigh of relief and, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped aside to let him pass.
Pei Ji pushed open the door, and they entered the private room one after the other.
A screen stood in the room, perfectly concealing the figures within. Though Pei Ji couldn’t see them, he could hear their voices.
Two voices filled the room. One was chillingly familiar, a voice he knew all too well.
It was Chu Tinghan.
Fate truly was a peculiar thing. Just moments ago, Pei Ji had been praying at the door not to be in the same room as Chu Tinghan, and now he was about to sit at the same table with him.
Could the heavens be so deaf in their old age that they misheard my “no” as a wish? Pei Ji was momentarily speechless.
Seeing him hesitate, An Zhu grew anxious and whispered from behind, “You promised me earlier!”
Behind the screen, Liang Wangqiu grew impatient waiting for Pei Ji to approach. He abruptly stood up and strode toward the entrance.
The next moment, An Zhu saw Liang Wangqiu standing less than three meters away, scrutinizing Pei Ji. Beside him stood Chu Tinghan, his expression composed, a polite smile gracing his lips.
An Zhu immediately snapped to attention, forcing a bright smile and bowing slightly. “Director Liang, it’s an honor to finally meet you!”
Liang Wangqiu’s gaze remained fixed on Pei Ji. He merely nodded faintly in acknowledgment.
Following his gaze, An Zhu stiffly turned to look at Pei Ji beside her. The man acted as if Liang Wangqiu weren’t even there, offering neither a respectful greeting nor even a glance in his direction. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Chu Tinghan, but with an unsettlingly cold expression—less like rekindled affection and more like a cold assessment.
An Zhu cleared her throat pointedly, trying to prompt Pei Ji to greet Liang Wangqiu.
But in the next moment, Pei Ji abruptly turned and began walking toward the door.
An Zhu’s heart nearly leaped out of her chest. Stumbling over her own feet, she lunged forward to block his path.
With their backs to the others, An Zhu grabbed Pei Ji’s sleeve, pulling him back. She leaned in close, her lips barely moving as she hissed through gritted teeth, “Work is work, life is life. Don’t let personal feelings interfere. We can’t afford to cross Liang Wangqiu.”
Unexpectedly, Pei Ji chuckled softly, gently disengaging her hand. He strolled casually to the door, pushed it open slightly, and remarked coolly, “The door wasn’t properly latched.”
An Zhu: …?
What’s going on? What kind of show are they putting on?
His gaze had been so chilling just moments ago, yet now he’s curling his lips into a smile as if nothing had happened.
An Zhu’s skin crawled. No wonder my brother and Pei Ji used to be a couple, she thought. You’d be hard-pressed to find a third person in the world who could smile so warmly at their soon-to-be ex-husband during a divorce.
Thank goodness she knew the truth behind their charade; otherwise, she might have mistaken them for cordial business partners.
An Zhu’s smile faltered, her expression twisting into a strained grimace.
When it came to acting, she couldn’t hold a candle to the polished performances of these two.
Glancing up again, she saw they were still locked in a mutual, unwavering stare, identical, bloodless smiles playing on their lips.
If this were a movie scene with special effects, crackling arcs of electricity would be arcing between their eyes, she thought.
After a tense moment, Pei Ji broke the eye contact first. He turned to Liang Wangqiu, his smile widening into a respectful greeting. “Director Liang, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the group moved behind the screen and finally took their seats.
Only then did Pei Ji realize there were only five of them in the spacious private room.
Logically, representatives from the film’s various investors should have been present at this dinner.
Yet, apart from Director Liang Wangqiu, not a single representative from the film production team had attended.
Pei Ji didn’t consider himself a universally acclaimed singer yet. How could they entrust Liang Wangqiu to handle everything alone?
Did the director-general really wield such absolute authority?
This dinner felt far more complicated than he had imagined.
Liang Wangqiu broke the silence first. “Little Pei, relax. We’re just having a casual meal and a chat.”
How could I not be nervous? Pei Ji thought wryly. I’m trapped between my scheming future ex-husband and a renowned director with ulterior motives.
Pei Ji arched an eyebrow, forcing his tense facial muscles to loosen slightly. He managed a smile and nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Knock, knock. A waiter knocked on the door and began serving the dishes.
Once the food was laid out, the three began eating and conversing. Liang Wangqiu occasionally peppered Pei Ji with questions.
But these questions were peculiar. Despite having invited him to sing the film’s theme song, none of the questions pertained to it. Instead, they delved into personal matters: his favorite foods, dietary restrictions, hometown, family size, childhood scars…
“What do your parents do for work?” Liang Wangqiu’s questions came like a relentless barrage, one after another.
The more Pei Ji answered, the stranger the questions seemed. But, out of politeness, he answered earnestly, “They’re in business.”
Hearing this, Liang Wangqiu’s hand paused mid-chopstick, and he asked, “Does anyone in your family work in music?”
Pei Ji had heard this question countless times. Almost everyone who heard him sing would ask the same thing, sharing the same belief: an ordinary family couldn’t possibly produce a child with such innate talent.
He gave his standard reply: “No.”
Liang Wangqiu pondered for a moment before picking up his teacup and taking a sip. “Have you lived with your current parents since you were a child?”
The moment these words left his lips, everyone at the table froze momentarily.
The question was unsettling. Most people would ask if he had lived with his parents since childhood, but Liang Wangqiu had specifically asked about his current parents.
…Current?
It was as if he already suspected Pei Ji had another set of parents in the past.
An Zhu felt a chill run down her spine. Chu Tinghan’s brow furrowed deeply. And Pei Ji himself was caught completely off guard.
He barely managed to maintain his composure. His lips twitched slightly, and it took him several long seconds to pretend he hadn’t heard clearly. “Pardon me, what did you say?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
Seeing his reaction, Liang Wangqiu inwardly regretted his hasty words.
He had been too eager, letting his words betray him.
The child looked too much like Xi Wen, even the curve of his lips when he smiled was identical.
The possibility that his son, lost for over two decades, might be standing right before him made it impossible for him to remain calm.
Liang Wangqiu sighed inwardly, realizing he’d let slip too much. He chuckled awkwardly and abruptly changed the subject, steering the conversation toward the preparation of a dish on the table, clumsily evading the question.
Pei Ji ate his meal in a haze of confusion.
Throughout the entire meal, Liang Wangqiu had relentlessly questioned him about his personal life, especially his childhood before age three. Each question seemed both probing and subtly suggestive.
As they stood by the roadside watching Liang Wangqiu’s car drive away, An Zhu was still dazed by the barrage of questions.
“Pei Ji, what do you think Director Liang was getting at?” An Zhu asked, her brow furrowed.
Qiao He chimed in, “Yeah, none of those questions had anything to do with the movie! Do you think he was just messing with us?”
These questions plagued Pei Ji as well, leaving him equally baffled. He shook his head, admitting honestly, “I have no idea either.”
After a moment’s pause, he suddenly remembered the uninvited guest in the private room and glanced at An Zhu. “Why didn’t you tell me he would be there today?”
Though Pei Ji didn’t explicitly name him, An Zhu knew exactly who he meant. She explained, “I only found out he’d be there when I arrived myself.”
Pei Ji raised an eyebrow, his face clearly conveying “I don’t believe you.”
An Zhu was Chu Tinghan’s cousin—blood thicker than water. Pei Ji couldn’t help but suspect she might be using her position for personal gain.
An Zhu sighed, her face etched with worry. “Ah… I’ll be straight with you. My brother introduced you to Director Liang. Originally, Director Liang wanted him to sing the movie’s theme song, but he turned it down and passed the opportunity on to you.”
She paused, realizing her phrasing was off, and quickly added, “Ah, not exactly ‘passed it on.’ It’s just… he felt you were a better fit for the song, so he recommended you instead.”
“If someone had told me before that Chu Tinghan—the workaholic—would ever hand over an opportunity like this, I wouldn’t have believed them. But now I do, because it was for you.”
“To be honest, I think my brother treats you remarkably well. He’s never shown this kind of attentiveness to our parents, his younger brother, or anyone else. I can tell he genuinely likes you.”
“I’m not trying to get you two back together or anything. But Chu Tinghan is still my brother, so naturally, I have to say a few good things about him.”
“I used to idolize him. Who wouldn’t worship the Song God, the superstar? But then I realized he’s got plenty of flaws—a terrible temper, a cold exterior. The hero’s halo shattered in my heart, leaving him nothing like those packaged, seemingly flawless celebrities.”
“But everyone has flaws, right? I don’t know the full extent of the rift between you two, but I know my brother can be impulsive and extreme. Still, his love for you is genuine. Can’t you be the bigger person and give him a break?”
“Huh? Hey! Hey, hey, hey?!” An Zhu turned to find Pei Ji had vanished. A glance ahead showed him already in the car. “Wait, you…”
“Are you getting in or what?” Pei Ji lowered the car window, his face etched with impatience.
An Zhu thought, I can’t meddle in their mess.
One won’t listen, and I’m too scared to reason with the other.
Deflated like a punctured balloon, she trudged to the car, opened the door, and slumped into the seat. “Let’s go,” she said in despair.
Pei Ji sat in the front passenger seat, while An Zhu and Qiao He sat in the back. Qiao He nudged her. “What were you muttering about by the roadside earlier? The moment the driver and I pulled up, Pei Ji hopped in—like Sun Wukong hearing Tang Sanzang chanting scriptures.”
An Zhu, utterly defeated, retorted, “Mind your own business—”
Before she could finish, her phone screen suddenly lit up, displaying a new message notification. She unlocked her phone and read the message, falling silent afterward.
Could she just pretend she hadn’t seen it?
Speak of Cao Cao, and he appears. Couldn’t it have waited a bit longer?
Unfortunately, Qiao He was still pressing her about whether she had another new job.
An Zhu forced herself to perk up, managing a weak “Mm-hmm.”
Hearing this, Pei Ji, who had been sitting stiffly in the front passenger seat, silently staring out the window like a statue, finally moved. He turned his head and asked, “What kind of job?”
An Zhu mechanically replied, her mind elsewhere, “The Youth Star Factory program group wants to invite you to their after-party.”
Before Pei Ji could even nod, she added flatly, “Chu Tinghan will be there too. I’m telling you this time—it’s your decision whether to go.”