After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 61
Chapter 61
Chu Tinghan’s leg had been slashed by a metal prop. After a quick bandage from the on-set medic, Pei Ji accompanied him to the nearest hospital for a tetanus shot.
On the way, Pei Ji was negotiating with the props team. Across the screen, they offered profuse apologies, but Pei Ji couldn’t detect a shred of sincerity.
Apart from the crying-face emojis punctuating each message, the cold, evasive text betrayed their attempts to shirk responsibility.
First, the initial contact claimed they hadn’t set up the prop and referred him to the next person. That person insisted they had merely arranged the set according to the director’s instructions and that everything else was beyond their responsibility. The director, in turn, insisted the props had been inspected and should be safe, then redirected him to the staff member responsible for prop verification.
After an endless cycle of buck-passing, the blame eventually circled back to the Director, who remained unreachable by both message and phone call.
Pei Ji’s fury twisted into sardonic laughter. So, this prop—more intricate than a hunter’s snare—just sprouted legs and wandered into position on its own?
How utterly absurd…
The road ahead was lined with speed bumps. The driver failed to slow down in time, causing the car to violently jolt up and down. Chu Tinghan nearly lost his balance and fell onto Pei Ji, but Pei Ji quickly reached out to steady him.
Chu Tinghan’s bandaged leg accidentally brushed against the seat. He winced, drawing in a sharp breath from the pain.
Noticing Chu Tinghan’s pained expression, Pei Ji instinctively glanced at the wound on his leg. After confirming there was no fresh bleeding, he spoke politely to the driver: “Master, please drive more carefully. We don’t mind going slowly. Thank you for your hard work.”
The driver grunted in acknowledgement and began to slow down.
Pei Ji turned to Chu Tinghan, his voice filled with concern: “Does your leg still hurt?”
Chu Tinghan nodded weakly, indicating that it did, and that the pain was too intense to speak.
Pei Ji’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, his heart sinking with each passing second.
No, this can’t be allowed to stand.
This time it was just a cut on Chu Tinghan’s leg. Next time, who knows what might happen?
Chu Tinghan was a household name, a top-tier singer. Were they really going to let them treat him like this?
Hurt someone and think a flimsy “sorry” in a chat box is enough? Not a single person has dared to take responsibility from beginning to end. Are the Program Group staff all cowards hiding in their shells?
A flimsy apology in a chat window isn’t enough.
If the Program Group won’t take charge, he’ll find someone who will.
Beside him, Chu Tinghan surreptitiously opened one eye, wanting to see what Pei Ji was doing and whether he was even a little worried about him.
Instead, his gaze fell upon Pei Ji, who was talking on the phone with a grave expression.
A sudden buzz erupted in Chu Tinghan’s mind. The pain that had been subsiding surged back, like a burning fire spreading from his leg to his chest, searingly hot.
His thoughts were in such disarray that he couldn’t make out what Pei Ji was saying.
He only caught fragments like “injured” and “program,” as if they were somehow connected to him, yet also completely irrelevant.
Chu Tinghan’s heartbeat gradually slowed, and he forgot the pain in his leg, his entire focus narrowing to the ache in his chest.
Thump… thump… thump…
Each drawn-out heartbeat stretched into an agonizing eternity, slow and tormenting.
“Chu Tinghan.”
At the sound of his name, Chu Tinghan’s head snapped up, turning to look at Pei Ji.
Pei Ji was taken aback, wondering why Chu Tinghan was reacting so strongly.
Chu Tinghan stared fixedly at him, his eyes betraying a mix of anticipation and apprehension.
The moment their eyes met, Pei Ji felt a sudden pang of disorientation. For some inexplicable reason, Chu Tinghan reminded him of Lucky, the dog who had once braved a torrential downpour to find him. Lucky had huddled beneath his car, seeking shelter from the rain, his white fur and round eyes glistening with moisture.
If only I could understand what that little dog was thinking, Pei Ji thought, he was undoubtedly begging me to take him home.
But what emotion was Chu Tinghan trying to convey now? Pei Ji found himself utterly stumped.
The car was headed for the hospital, not home. Could he be in so much pain that he wants me to rush him there?
After what felt like an eternity, Pei Ji finally remembered what he wanted to say. “What do you plan to do about this?” he asked.
He had already considered several solutions, but since Chu Tinghan was the one directly affected, he needed to hear his opinion first.
Chu Tinghan, clearly unprepared for such a question, replied blankly, “…What do you mean, ‘do about this’?”
Pei Ji lowered his gaze to the blood-soaked gauze on Chu Tinghan’s leg, then quickly averted his eyes, unable to bear the sight. “Your leg injury…”
Chu Tinghan remained clueless. “Weren’t we just going to the hospital for a tetanus shot?”
Pei Ji fell silent.
Was he not being clear enough, or was Chu Tinghan’s comprehension failing him?
He patiently clarified, “I meant the injury you sustained while filming the show. How do you want to handle it? Do you want the Program Group to compensate you and issue an apology, or…?”
Before Chu Tinghan could answer, Pei Ji’s phone rang again.
Pei Ji glanced at the caller ID, swiped left to reject the call, and asked again, “Well? How do you want to handle this?”
Chu Tinghan considered carefully. Demanding compensation from the Program Group seemed unlikely. Though the total cost of his miscellaneous medical expenses and lost wages wasn’t particularly high, getting anyone to pay would probably be a losing battle.
At best, the Program Group might cover his medical bills; the rest he’d have to chalk up to bad luck.
After all, several episodes of the variety show remained to be filmed. Burning bridges now would make future interactions awkward. Moreover, as a public figure, suing the Program Group and dragging them to court would only escalate the situation unnecessarily.
If this got out, there’d likely be more people mocking him for overreacting than sympathizing with him.
Having made his decision, Chu Tinghan said calmly, “Have them issue an official apology through their official account—a public apology.”
“That’s all?” Pei Ji was surprised, not expecting him to let it go so easily.
Chu Tinghan smiled wryly. “What else? Should I tear them apart and make it a life-or-death struggle? We’ll still need to work together in the future. We’ll inevitably run into each other. It’s better not to make enemies.”
Pei Ji suspected Chu Tinghan was just putting on a show of magnanimity. He pressed him again, “Are you really only satisfied with a public apology? Or should I make them come here in person and apologize face-to-face?”
Chu Tinghan immediately refused. “No need.”
He was perfectly content with just the two of them. Any additional person would only annoy him.
After a moment, he noticed Pei Ji’s brow furrowing even deeper. Wondering if his response had been too abrupt, he added, “Besides you, the people most worried about me right now—the ones most eager to demand answers from the Program Group—are my fans. This is also to put their minds at ease.”
With that, Chu Tinghan took out his phone and posted a message on his own account to let his fans know he was safe.
Pei Ji repeatedly replayed Chu Tinghan’s words in his mind, sensing something amiss.
What does he mean by “aside from him”? Does he think I look worried?
Regaining his detached tone, Pei Ji asked, “…Me?”
Chu Tinghan immediately understood his meaning and casually corrected himself, “Your Lucky.”
Only then was Pei Ji satisfied, turning his head forward to gaze ahead.
By the time they arrived at the hospital, leaked videos from the variety show shoot had already surfaced online. The footage showed Pei Ji carrying Chu Tinghan down the mountain. Though the image was blurry, the heavy rain washing away the mountain mist still clearly revealed the spreading bloodstain on Chu Tinghan’s leg.
Within minutes, trending topics like “Chu Tinghan Injured” and “Pei Ji Carries Chu Tinghan Down the Mountain” skyrocketed to the top of the search rankings.
That wound looks serious! Anyone know how Chu Tinghan is doing now?
What kind of props did the program group use? How could they create such a massive wound on his leg? Didn’t they test the safety beforehand? Don’t the artists’ lives matter?
Lucky it was just his leg. If it had been somewhere else, the program group would never work in this industry again.
Are the guests lab rats???
What’s happened to Chu Tinghan? Has the Program Group dropped dead? They haven’t uttered a word since the incident—are they trying to sweep this under the rug?!
Meanwhile, Chu Tinghan was receiving a tetanus shot, with Pei Ji standing by his side.
Just as the doctor was about to insert the needle, Pei Ji’s phone rang again. He’d ignored the previous call, but this time he answered.
Chu Tinghan claimed he was afraid of needles and insisted on clinging to Pei Ji’s arm for reassurance. Is he a koala or something? Pei Ji thought dryly, does he need to cling to a long, cylindrical object for security?
Despite his internal grumbling, Pei Ji extended his arm for Chu Tinghan to clutch while answering the call with his other hand.
The Director’s cautious voice came through the line: “Little Pei, uh… I heard from President Jiang that you were accidentally injured during filming. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Where were you hurt? Is it serious?”
See? Pei Ji thought smugly. Sometimes calling in reinforcements works better. They were playing dead a moment ago, and now my phone’s about to explode with calls.
Adopting a nonchalant tone, Pei Ji replied, “Oh, it was my boyfriend, Chu Tinghan, who got hurt. You looked pretty grim on set. I figured it must be serious, judging by your expression.”
Silence hung heavy on the other end of the line.
Pei Ji, his patience wearing thin, taunted, “Bad signal? Or is your phone bill overdue? Want me to call you back?”
“No, no,” the voice rushed to reply. “Just a glitch—it’s working fine now.”
The dead man has risen, Pei Ji thought with a sardonic grin. A true miracle. He cut to the chase: “So, what’s your plan to resolve this?”
“Uh…” The Director stammered, unable to formulate a coherent response.
“Glitching again? Maybe I should buy you a new phone?”
“No, no, no need!” An awkward laugh crackled through the line. “This is a serious matter. I need to discuss it with everyone. Once we’ve reached a consensus…”
“Spare me the deliberations. I’ve already devised the solution,” Pei Ji interrupted, his tone commanding. “Come to the hospital and settle the medical bills. Then issue a sincere apology—a genuine apology—to Chu Tinghan and his fans on the official channel. Understood?”
A dull “Ah” drifted back from the other end.
Pei Ji raised an eyebrow. “Not enough? You can add a little extra, if you like.”
“No, no, I’ll have someone handle it immediately. As you wish.”
After a pause, the Director ventured, “Was this arranged by President Jiang?”
Chu Tinghan paused, his gaze dropping to the koala clinging to his arm. “Director Chu arranged it,” he said, his tone incongruously detached.
“Huh?” The director didn’t immediately grasp his meaning, but after a moment of contemplation, understanding dawned. “Director Chu… Oh, I see! Right, I’ll send someone to the hospital to settle the bill immediately.”
Chu Tinghan had overheard the entire exchange, astonished by Pei Ji’s cold tone and dismissive attitude. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.
Once the koala finally released its grip after receiving the tetanus shot, half of Pei Ji’s arm had gone numb. He raised it, flexing his fingers to ease the stiffness. “You probably want to know why I dared to speak to the director like that, right?”
Chu Tinghan nodded.
Explaining the whole story would be too tedious, so Pei Ji cut straight to the core: “Jiang Xuehua, President Jiang of Huazhang Films, is my mother.”
Chu Tinghan froze for a second, then blurted out in disbelief, “Wh-what?”
Pei Ji repeated himself, “Jiang Xuehua is my mother. Did you hear me clearly this time?”
Chu Tinghan echoed like a broken record, “Jiang Xuehua is your mother?”
Pei Ji found this amusing. What was with Chu Tinghan’s reaction? Did he suspect he was lying?
Chu Tinghan pondered for a moment before blurting out, “She’s not your…”
He trailed off, but Pei Ji sensed something amiss from his expression, a bad premonition rising in his chest. “What do you think she is to me?” he pressed, hesitant.
I thought she was your… next home, Chu Tinghan thought, shamefully lowering his gaze.
Pei Ji instantly understood, inwardly marveling at the man’s peculiar train of thought. Does he really think I’m that kind of person?
Seeing that Chu Tinghan was still a patient, Pei Ji decided to let it slide. He turned to leave, saying, “Wait here for a moment. I’ll go borrow a wheelchair.”
In the corridor, a familiar figure brushed past him, heading in the opposite direction. Though he didn’t get a clear look at the person’s face, he couldn’t shake the feeling he recognized them.
Pei Ji paused, turning back to gaze after the figure.
Just then, the figure also glanced furtively back at him. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before the figure whirled around and bolted.
Pei Ji finally recognized him.
Isn’t that Sun Qi, the one who falsely accused me of bullying?
Who would have thought I’d run into him here?
Pei Ji spun around and strode after him, his steps swift and purposeful.
Hearing the increasingly rapid and distinct footsteps behind him, Sun Qi lowered his hat brim and broke into a run.
The hospital corridor was bustling with doctors, nurses, and patients. Afraid of bumping into someone, Pei Ji shouted his name loudly over the crowd.
“Sun Qi!”
In the next instant, Sun Qi froze in his tracks. Seizing the opportunity, Pei Ji swiftly closed the gap, grabbing his sleeve just as he was about to bolt. “Why are you running?” he demanded sharply.
Sun Qi turned around as slowly as a rusty screw, so nervous he could barely stammer, “I… I-my mom’s waiting for me in her room. I need to… need to get back to take care of her.”
Their commotion had drawn curious glances from everyone nearby.
With so many eyes around, Pei Ji, despite wearing a hat and mask, worried about being recognized. For safety’s sake, he needed to move to a more private location.
Gripping Sun Qi’s sleeve, Pei Ji forcibly dragged him to a deserted stairwell. After slamming the door shut, he lowered his voice and asked, “What was the meaning of that voice message you sent the other day?”
Sun Qi feigned ignorance, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Wh-what voice message?”
“You leaked that drunk voice message to the gossip accounts yourself, didn’t you?”
At his words, Sun Qi’s eyes widened dramatically. He avoided Pei Ji’s gaze, stammering nervously, “Wh-what… what voice message? I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pei Ji’s patience snapped. “Don’t play coy with me,” he snapped coldly. “Do I have to dig up that recording and play it for you face-to-face?”
Sun Qi’s face drained of color. After a moment of stunned silence, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor with a thud, wailing at the top of his lungs, “Brother, Brother Pei, I was desperate! My mother is still…”
“Get up first,” Pei Ji interrupted, reaching down to pull him to his feet.
But Sun Qi’s legs seemed glued to the floor. No matter how hard Pei Ji tugged, Sun Qi stubbornly refused to budge.
Pei Ji was at his wit’s end. He almost wanted to kneel down beside Sun Qi just to match him.
If someone were to catch Sun Qi on his knees, sobbing and pleading before him, Pei Ji knew he’d never be able to clear his name.
Pei Ji chuckled in exasperation, abandoning further attempts to reason with him. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling, letting Sun Qi wail for a while. Once the younger man ran out of tears and awkwardly stood up, falling silent again, Pei Ji surreptitiously opened the voice recorder app before putting his phone away.
Pei Ji lifted his gaze to meet Sun Qi’s. “Did you release the recording?”
Sun Qi remained silent.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” Pei Ji said after a pause. “Why did you do it? We’ve never been enemies, have we?”
After another long silence, Sun Qi replied, “Brother, I had my reasons back then. I was forced into it. The Program Group made me do it.”
Despite Sun Qi’s pitiful act, Pei Ji remained unmoved, his voice flat. “If the Program Group made you do it, why are you turning on them now and trying to take them down?”
Sun Qi fell silent again.
“Didn’t get the money you wanted?” Pei Ji guessed, recalling Sun Qi’s mention of his mother in the hospital. “Since you couldn’t squeeze any more money out of them, you’re using this old incident to blackmail me, right?”
His scheme exposed, Sun Qi neither wept nor argued. “The recording that leaked two years ago was edited. I still have the complete, unedited version. And if you think the recording isn’t credible enough, I also have the original video footage from that time.”
Pei Ji narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you implying?”
A greedy glint flashed in Sun Qi’s eyes. “Three million, and I’ll send you the original audio and video files.”
A slow burn began to simmer in Pei Ji’s chest.
Three million? The nerve! Demanding such a fortune for a mere recording and video—this was highway robbery.
Sun Qi continued, “Cash on delivery. I guarantee I’ll never mention this again. This way, you can completely clear your name.”
Clear my name? If it weren’t for Sun Qi’s scheming, there wouldn’t be any dirt on Pei Ji’s reputation in the first place. He wouldn’t need any cleansing at all.
Yet Sun Qi had the gall to negotiate.
Pei Ji scoffed coldly, his anger intensifying. Raising an eyebrow dismissively, he asked, “What makes you think I’d give you three million?”
Sun Qi frowned, his expression utterly perplexed.
Pei Ji replied calmly, “You’ve seen it yourself—I’ve bounced back even with these rumors hanging over me. Sure, my reputation isn’t spotless, but in time, people will forget about this scandal anyway.”
He paused, then added thoughtfully, “It’s just a matter of time, isn’t it? I can afford to wait, but your mother’s illness… that might not have the luxury of time. You must be desperate for the money, right?”
In the next moment, Sun Qi suddenly looked up, meeting Pei Ji’s deep, fathomless eyes. His face was ashen, and his lips trembled violently.
Pei Ji didn’t want to be too harsh, but Sun Qi had provoked him first. Since Sun Qi had shown no mercy, he shouldn’t expect any in return.
“Sun Qi, you’re the one begging me now, not the other way around. Do you understand?” Pei Ji’s tone was utterly indifferent, as if clearing his name were the least important thing in the world.
After a long silence, Sun Qi gritted his teeth, swallowing his anger as he pleaded in a low, ingratiating voice, “Brother, I’m truly desperate. I’ve racked up debts outside, and the creditors are sitting in my mother’s hospital room right now. Her health was already fragile, and this ordeal is only making it worse. Her condition is deteriorating rapidly. I’m begging you, this three million yuan is our family’s lifeline. Please, have some compassion.”
Pei Ji listened impassively as Sun Qi continued to play the sympathy card and paint himself as a victim.
“Two years ago, you saved me once on that audition show. Back then, my popularity was low, and I was on the verge of elimination. You were the one who brought me back. Since you’ve already saved me once, can’t you save me a second time?”
Hearing this, Pei Ji froze, stunned by this revelation from the past. He had, in effect, rescued a viper from the cold.
If he could rewind time and choose again, he would have forfeited the chance to resurrect anyone else rather than select Sun Qi, this ungrateful wretch.
“Brother Pei, you’re the best! Please have pity on me. If you think three million is too much, I can lower it further… two hundred and ninety…”
“Sun Qi,” Pei Ji cut him off, unable to bear another word. “If you truly believe playing the victim to earn sympathy works, you shouldn’t be begging me here. You should be praying to the bodhisattvas in a temple.”
As his words hung in the air, Pei Ji’s phone rang abruptly. He glanced at the screen—Chu Tinghan was calling.
He’d been gone too long; Chu Tinghan must be worried sick, unable to find him.
He had recorded everything he needed. There was no point wasting another second on this treacherous little weasel; every moment spent in his presence made him sick to his stomach.
Leaving with a curt “Do what you will,” Pei Ji turned and strode away without hesitation.
Sun Qi was left alone in the stairwell, the vast silence amplifying the biting wind that seeped through the door crack, its chill penetrating to his very bones.
“Where did you go just now?” Chu Tinghan asked Pei Ji as soon as he entered the room.
“Oh, I ran into an old acquaintance and chatted for a bit,” Pei Ji replied, pushing the wheelchair in front of him and patting the backrest to signal him to sit down.
With Pei Ji’s help, Chu Tinghan settled into the wheelchair, tilting his head to ask again, “What acquaintance?”
Pei Ji hesitated. Afraid that worrying Chu Tinghan might hinder his recovery, he quickly fabricated a lie. “Just an old classmate. He’s here for treatment too.”
Chu Tinghan nodded, but his expression remained unconvinced.
As they rode the elevator downstairs, their faces were reflected in the metal doors. Chu Tinghan stared intently at Pei Ji’s reflection for a long moment, noticing the persistent furrow in his brow. When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, Pei Ji even forgot to move forward.
Chu Tinghan’s suspicions deepened. Sensing Pei Ji was hiding something, he pondered for a while before finally voicing his concern. “That wasn’t just a classmate you met, was it? What really happened?”
Pei Ji sighed inwardly, realizing he couldn’t hide anything from him.
Lying to Chu Tinghan wasn’t easy, so Pei Ji resorted to a half-truth: “I ran into Sun Qi earlier. I bought the complete audio and video recordings of the bullying incident from him. Barring any unexpected complications, I should be exonerated within a few days.”
Only then did Chu Tinghan believe him, earnestly discussing strategies with him.
The next day, Pei Ji took the recording he had made himself to his manager, An Zhu.
After listening to the recording, An Zhu’s face was a mask of shock, and she nearly stuttered: “Y-you… where did you get this recording?”
Her voice was crystal clear in the recording, and Pei Ji suspected the shock had rendered her brain unable to process the information.
“I recorded it myself, of course.”
An Zhu clutched her chest, taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, and slowly asked, “He asked you for… three million?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t agree.”
An Zhu blinked thoughtfully for a moment, then added anxiously, “What if he claims this time that you forced him to say all those things? That you bribed him with money, and the other party is actually the innocent one? What then?”
As if on cue, the moment An Zhu mentioned Cao Cao, he appeared.
The next second, an email popped into An Zhu’s inbox. Without a second thought, she knew it was from Sun Qi.
After reading the message, An Zhu told Pei Ji, “He’s now demanding 2.6 million yuan and threatening to ruin your reputation if we don’t pay up.”
Far from being intimidated, Pei Ji chuckled.
Puzzled, An Zhu asked, “What’s so funny?”
“I’m laughing at how he thinks netizens are fools. Does he really believe they’ll swallow whatever he feeds them? If he keeps flip-flopping and changing his story, all their sympathy and trust will vanish completely.”
Even with death staring him in the face, Sun Qi still thought he could squeeze money out of Pei Ji. Pei Ji found his naivete pathetic.
An Zhu pressed, “So, what’s your plan? Are we just going to let him keep causing trouble?”
As if! Even if Pei Ji had the patience, the netizens would have grown tired of the drama long ago.
Pei Ji had already prepared his countermove. He said coldly, “Tell him that if he keeps flip-flopping and repeatedly contradicting himself, trying to play both sides for money, his words will become utterly worthless.”