After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 63
Chapter 63
Pei Ji: “……”
Fine, that expression again. Doesn’t Chu Tinghan ever get tired of acting?
Since Chu Tinghan insisted nothing was wrong, Pei Ji decided to pretend everything was normal.
The rest room suddenly fell into an eerie silence, as if the air itself had frozen.
Lü Yi felt suffocated after just a few minutes inside. He rose and headed for the door, wanting to get some fresh air outside.
Just as he opened the door, another person was about to push it open from the other side.
The person’s hand froze in mid-air before awkwardly withdrawing it. They tilted their head to peer inside around Lü Yi’s obstructing figure.
Lü Yi didn’t recognize this face and, fearing the stranger might be a crazed sasaeng fan of someone inside, he quickly closed the door partway, leaving only enough space for half a person to squeeze through. He observed the stranger’s attire and asked warily, “Who are you looking for?”
The person’s face lit up as if suddenly realizing something. They fumbled in their pocket for their employee ID card and showed it to Lü Yi, explaining hastily, “I’m a staff member here. I’m here to see Teacher Chu Tinghan.”
The ID card was indeed identical to those worn by mall employees.
Although Lü Yi wasn’t close to Chu Tinghan, normally he wouldn’t bother with the man’s affairs. But since Chu Tinghan was Pei Ji’s partner—and a friend’s partner was practically a friend himself—Lü Yi asked cautiously, “What do you need him for?”
Sensing Lü Yi’s suspicion, the man could only ask him to pass on a message: “Could you tell Teacher Chu that the lights in the break room have been repaired? He can go back in now.”
So he’s just a maintenance worker, Lü Yi thought, his guard dropping as he let out a relieved breath. He turned to relay the message.
He hesitated to call Chu Tinghan by his full name, but addressing Pei Ji’s partner as “Teacher Chu” felt equally awkward.
After a moment’s hesitation, he skipped the honorific altogether and simply said, “The lights in the break room across the way have been fixed.”
Though he didn’t mention any names, both knew exactly who he was talking to.
After a moment of silence, Chu Tinghan slowly rose, first straightening his clothes, then walking out with a tight-lipped expression, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
As he stood up, Lucky lazily stretched out his four legs and followed him out, tailing close behind.
Pei Ji watched Lucky abandon him without a backward glance, thinking, All those days of dog food, jerky treats, and dental chews—all for nothing.
Chu Tinghan leaving is one thing, but to steal my dog too? What does that mean?
Lucky looked a little dazed, moving slowly. Pei Ji figured he was still half-asleep, confused about what was happening, and instinctively following the person beside him.
Pei Ji cleared his throat, feigning composure.
Lucky didn’t stop, as if he hadn’t heard.
Pei Ji cleared his throat again, louder this time.
Finally, Lucky heard him, glanced back, then stood rooted in place, looking at Chu Tinghan, who was nearly out the door. He wanted to go forward but couldn’t bear to leave Pei Ji behind. Yet if he didn’t go, he’d lose sight of Chu Tinghan.
Lucky stood frozen in the middle of the room, torn between two loyalties.
Both masters were his dearest people; he didn’t want to abandon either one.
After a few agonizing seconds, Lucky suddenly turned and sprinted back to Pei Ji.
Pei Ji, thinking Lucky had chosen to stay with him, reached out to pat its head with relief. But in the next instant, Lucky grabbed his pant leg and began tugging him toward the door, urging him to follow.
Pei Ji, with lightning reflexes, snatched the fabric from Lucky’s jaws just as it was about to tear.
The suit he wore today was a bespoke creation loaned to him by the brand, worth a fortune. Had he been a second slower, hundreds of thousands of yuan would have drained from his account.
Not that he couldn’t afford it, but losing that kind of money over a torn pant leg still stung.
Sensing Pei Ji’s barely suppressed anger from his slightly furrowed brows, Lucky dared not move, his upturned mouth drooping into an inverted arch. He crouched on the floor, whimpering in abject misery.
By now, Chu Tinghan had already left. Lü Yi stood at the door, still feeling as if this place was cursed, and thought, “I shouldn’t linger here.”
But just as he lifted his foot to step out, Pei Ji called him back.
“Don’t go. Come back here,” Pei Ji said, his voice calm, yet Lü Yi couldn’t shake the feeling that the words carried an unspoken threat of reckoning.
As for what reckoning that might be, it was now crystal clear.
The metallic clink of something being picked up reached his ears—undoubtedly Pei Ji had retrieved the necklace with the ring.
He just said he and Pei Ji made it together, then Chu Tinghan stormed off…
Realizing he’d accidentally stirred up trouble, Lü Yi let out an awkward chuckle, turning but not approaching. Playing dumb, he asked, “W-what’s going on?”
Pei Ji first held up the necklace by its chain, displaying it before him, then clasped it back in his palm. “Did we make this ring on the necklace together?”
He phrased the question like a rhetorical challenge.
Even an idiot could grasp Pei Ji’s implication, but Lü Yi’s earlier statement was the absolute truth, every word of it.
After a moment’s hesitation, he offered evasively, “Do you want the real story or the fake one?”
Pei Ji stared at him.
Why does this sound like we have some shameful secret affair?
With a mere flick of his tongue, Lü Yi had managed to make him seem even more tainted than if he’d been dragged through mud.
Pei Ji found it impossible to reason with him. “Just tell me plainly how this ring came to be.”
“What else could it be? Look at the crude, simple craftsmanship—you obviously made it yourself!” Lü Yi inwardly cried out in anguish, feeling utterly wronged.
Pei Ji lowered his head again to look at the ring in his palm, still not quite believing it. “Did I really make this?”
Lü Yi was so exasperated he felt like his head was about to burst into flames. He slapped the back of his right hand against his left palm. “Yes! You made both of these yourself! When we went, we made four rings in total—two for you, two for me. Get it?”
Four?
Four rings???
This revelation caught Pei Ji completely off guard. He paused, bewildered, and asked, “Four?”
Lü Yi nodded vigorously.
Since Lü Yi rarely lied, Pei Ji stroked his chin thoughtfully, staring intently at the pair of rings as he racked his brain for memories.
Why had he made these rings back then?
Who were they for?
And why on earth had he, of all people, gone to a couples’ workshop with his best buddy Lü Yi?
“Holy crap, you don’t seriously remember, do you? It was for my anniversary with my girlfriend back then…”
Lü Yi’s voice gradually faded into the background as his words suddenly fused with a voice from years ago. The two sound tracks slowly merged, the chaotic blur resolving into crystal clarity:
My anniversary with my girlfriend is coming up. I was thinking of making her a small gift. Don’t just mope around at home—come with me! It’ll be a good way to clear your head.
The train carrying memories roared past Pei Ji’s ears, then slowly braked to a stop before him. A carriage door slid open, and fragments of lost memories suddenly surged out, flooding into Pei Ji’s mind.
The scene shifted, abruptly transporting him back to a year ago.
“Hey, why’d you go quiet? I’m talking to you! The scenery outside is gorgeous—don’t hole up at home. Come out and hang out with me!”
Lü Yi’s voice chattered relentlessly over the phone.
Pei Ji held the phone in one hand, motionless as a statue nailed to his computer desk.
A video looped on the screen, but the barrage of comments, layered upon layered, completely obscured the footage.
Growing impatient with the silence, Lü Yi could only hear faint noises coming from the phone. He held his breath and listened intently for a moment, the fragmented sounds gradually coalescing into a familiar melody.
Suddenly, he knew exactly what Pei Ji was watching.
Two weeks earlier, Pei Ji had finally emerged from the shadow of his competition withdrawal and the ensuing online backlash. He had regained his confidence and released a newly written single—a slow, sentimental ballad with a gentle rhythm and poignant lyrics, its style leaning toward warmth and healing.
Though it wasn’t the kind of song that instantly dazzled, it was a thousand times better than the brainless pop songs flooding the internet, its lyrics far more literary and meaningful.
Pei Ji had originally planned to use this song to make his comeback, gradually returning to the public eye.
He didn’t care that the talent show had forced him to withdraw right before the finale, preventing his debut. He could make it on his own.
But he never imagined that from the very moment the song was released, every comment section—whether on the music video or across various streaming platforms—would be relentlessly swamped with vicious criticism.
The vicious comments scrolled past his eyes at breakneck speed, eventually turning into a full-blown online trial and mockery.
The song he had believed was decent was now being trashed as utterly worthless.
Everyone was calling it bland, unlistenable, rhythmically monotonous… Pei Ji lost count of the endless variations of these insults.
At first, he managed to stay rational, telling himself it was all a planned smear campaign. In these people’s eyes, even breathing was wrong.
But as the relentless torrent of abuse and slander overwhelmed him like a tidal wave, his mind became submerged in murky sewage, losing the ability to think independently. Staring at those absurdly cruel comments, he began to doubt himself: Could there really be something wrong with my song?
Is there something wrong with him?
Are his lyrics and melody truly as worthless as they say?
Over the past two weeks, Pei Ji had grown increasingly withdrawn, his condition deteriorating daily. Even Lü Yi, who hadn’t been in frequent contact, could sense something was amiss.
Realizing this, Lü Yi immediately cranked up the volume, desperate to drown out the noise from Pei Ji’s video. He practically screamed, “Hey, hey, stop watching that! Those online trolls are just bandwagoning against you! They’re just looking for an outlet to vent their anger, without caring about right or wrong. Let me tell you, even though I studied broadcasting, I used to be in a band. Your song is more than good enough for a sweet little tune. Don’t listen to those idiots in the comments—they have no ears! They wouldn’t know good music if it hit them over the head!”
Though the method was crude and abrupt, it worked wonders. Pei Ji’s attention was completely drawn to Lü Yi’s wolf-like howling, and he slowly snapped out of his daze: “What did you say you wanted me to go do with you?”
Lü Yi’s heart leaped with joy at the success of his plan. “Come make rings with me!”
Pei Ji immediately refused. “I’m not going.”
Rings… He might never again have the chance to personally place one on someone’s finger.
Now he had to take the initiative to leave, to stop holding others back from their futures.
“Let’s go. I’ve already made the reservation. Don’t you get bored staying home all the time? I…” Lü Yi’s emotions surged, and he blurted out the truth, “I’m genuinely worried about you. What if you do something rash?”
Over the past few years, Lü Yi and Pei Ji had barely exchanged a handful of words. If it weren’t for hearing about Pei Ji’s situation online and feeling a pang of sympathy, he wouldn’t have bothered with this old friend who seemed to have unilaterally severed ties with him.
Completely out of options, Lü Yi resorted to his trump card: “If you don’t come out, I’ll come find you myself. I’ll drag you out if I have to.”
Lü Yi was more than capable of carrying out this threat. After a moment of silence, Pei Ji relented. “I’ll go.”
Lü Yi had deliberately chosen a quiet weekday for their visit. The shop was empty save for them and another couple.
The ring-making process wasn’t complicated, just a bit time-consuming. The shop owner patiently guided them through each step.
When it came time to cut the silver strips to length, Lü Yi pulled out the ring size he had meticulously recorded in his notes, carefully measuring and marking the lines for cutting with a ruler.
Meanwhile, Pei Ji stared at the stainless steel ruler, his hand frozen, lost in thought.
Seeing this, Lü Yi leaned closer. “Why don’t I borrow a tool from the shop owner to help you measure?”
Pei Ji replied curtly, “No need,” and casually picked a larger number. With a swift, decisive motion, he sliced through the silver bar before Lü Yi could react.
“You’re making it this big?” Lü Yi exclaimed in surprise. “A finger and a half could fit inside that loop!”
Pei Ji shrugged nonchalantly. “Alright, enough about me. Get back to your own work.”
Lü Yi slowly retreated, but after a moment, he leaned back in. “Are you going to engrave anything on it?”
“No.”
“Then you’re not laser-engraving a name either?”
“No.”
“So you’re not shaping it into a perfect circle?”
“No.”
“……” Lü Yi paused, stunned. “Then you’ll at least polish it, right?”
Pei Ji repeated, “No.”
“Ah!” Lü Yi exclaimed, incredulous. “You’re not seriously just making two plain rings, are you? They’ll be less refined than a screw nut!”
Pei Ji shot him a cold glare, his voice dangerously icy. “You’re the one who wanted to make rings, not me.”
Lü Yi realized he had a point and obediently shut his mouth.
After Pei Ji had seamlessly joined the silver rings, he stopped working on them.
He sat by the window, watching the endless stream of cars outside, his thoughts drifting far away.
His reputation was now in tatters, leaving him in the mud while Chu Tinghan soared in the heavens—worlds apart.
Given his current status, he would only bring endless scorn upon Chu Tinghan, dragging him down into the mire.
I’ll likely never have the chance to give a ring like this in my lifetime anyway, he thought. If I can’t give it, why bother making it at all?
Superfluous.
The two unpolished silver rings lay forlornly on the table, their luster dulled even in the sunlight.
When Pei Ji left the house, he hadn’t intended to take them, yet he inexplicably found himself clutching the rings in his palm.
As he passed a trash can, he considered tossing them in, but his fingers felt as heavy as lead, frozen in place, unable to loosen their grip.
Thus, he clenched these ring-like yet not quite rings all the way home, each attempt to let go failing.
By the time he returned, his hand was white-knuckled, the imprints of the rings etched deep into his palm.
He placed the rings on the table before him and stared at them for a long time.
Minutes ticked by, the sun gradually sinking in the west. After sitting motionless for what seemed like ages, Pei Ji suddenly let out a self-mocking laugh.
Didn’t I say I didn’t want them? Why did I take them back?
Didn’t I say I’d let go? Why am I gripping them so tightly my fingers have turned white?
A gift destined to never be given, an affection destined to never blossom, a pair of life trajectories destined to never converge—all of it was wrong.
Knowing the outcome, why can’t I just throw them away? What’s the point of keeping them? To become a burden to Chu Tinghan?
He flung the rings into the trash can.
Half an hour later, Lucky discovered someone squatting by the trash can, their hands trembling as they rummaged through it.
Normally, Lucky would be scolded for digging through the trash, but the dog’s instincts drove him to nudge the person away—lest they too get scolded.
Yet as Lucky approached, he suddenly froze, his tail drooping.
Pei Ji’s eyes were rimmed with red. “Lucky, you have the sharpest nose. Can you help me find them? Can you help me find where they fell? Please?”
Lucky sensed Pei Ji’s overwhelming sadness and burrowed into his arms, nuzzling and nudging him in an attempt to comfort him.
Perhaps Lucky truly lived up to his name as a lucky star.
Just two minutes after Lucky nestled close, Pei Ji finally found the pair of silver rings at the very bottom of the trash can.
He carefully cradled them in his hands and carried them to the sink, where he gently rinsed them under a trickle of water.
Thrown away, yet retrieved; dirtied, yet washed clean.
Pei Ji found a silver chain and strung the two rings onto it. The chain was long enough that when worn around his neck, the rings would dangle discreetly against his chest, utterly concealed unless he removed his shirt.
If I can’t bear to part with them, then I won’t.
Unless I speak of it, who will know these are rings?
Unless I mention it, who will know of my relationship with Chu Tinghan?
If I withdraw from this relationship, who could use the stigma I carry to drag Chu Tinghan down with me?
If he severed ties with Chu Tinghan now, they would be strangers, with no connection between them. He would no longer be Chu Tinghan’s burden, the obstacle to his career.
They would simply be ordinary alumni, with no further entanglement.
The two silver rings around his neck were nothing more than ordinary decorations, utterly devoid of emotional significance.
Yes, that’s right.
When Chu Tinghan returned home, he would…
“Pei Ji,” Lü Yi said, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “You’ve been staring at that necklace for ages. What’s on your mind?”
Pei Ji snapped back to reality, jolted out of his reverie.
Lü Yi continued to protest his innocence: “I told you, I swear on my life—those two rings have nothing to do with me.”
He expected Pei Ji to remain skeptical, but to his surprise, Pei Ji simply hummed in acknowledgment.
Lü Yi froze, stunned. “You finally remember?!”
Pei Ji picked up the rings again, his heart in turmoil.
Should I wear them or not?
If I wear them, how do I explain it?
If I don’t, where do I put them?
Besides, he already had one necklace around his neck.
He picked them up and set them down, hesitated for a long time, and finally put them back around his neck.
Wear them. Just treat it as a new fashion trend. Layering is in style—why not layer jewelry? After all, people will only see the thin chain, not the rings themselves.