After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 66

Chapter 66

Before he lost consciousness, a blinding white light flashed before Pei Ji’s eyes, shattering the seal on his buried memories. Everything came flooding back.

Five years ago, after the centennial anniversary celebration during his junior year, Pei Ji had successfully obtained Senior Chu Tinghan’s contact information. Determined to forge a closer connection, he devised new ways to initiate conversations every day.

Perhaps because Chu Tinghan was too busy with work to check his messages regularly, Pei Ji often had to wait long stretches for replies, and even then, the responses were terse—never more than two or three sentences at most.

From his junior to senior year, Pei Ji maintained this lukewarm correspondence with Chu Tinghan for nearly a year.

Lü Yi, noticing Pei Ji’s obvious interest in Chu Tinghan, would occasionally pry about his progress, asking how far he had advanced with the senior.

Pei Ji could only force an awkward smile and stammer, “I guess… we’re friends?”

Or maybe not even friends. Even casual acquaintances replied more promptly than Chu Tinghan did.

Chu Tinghan’s attitude remained frustratingly ambiguous. Sometimes he seemed distant and aloof, while at other times Pei Ji sensed a hint of mutual interest. After all, out of all the juniors in the entire school, Chu Tinghan had only added his contact.

But later, at the end of the first semester of his senior year, Chu Tinghan embarked on his first world tour. His work grew increasingly demanding, and with the time zone differences, Chu Tinghan’s replies became less and less frequent.

Pei Ji’s messages often went unanswered for a week.

Around that time, Pei Ji resigned himself to the idea that their connection had run its course.

After all, how could a rising star like Chu Tinghan, whose career was skyrocketing, ever be interested in a nameless university student like him?

From then on, aside from perfunctory holiday greetings, Pei Ji stopped sending him any unnecessary messages.

He never expected that after nearly two months of radio silence, Chu Tinghan would actually initiate contact again.

It was New Year’s Eve. When he heard the special notification tone he had set for Chu Tinghan, Pei Ji initially assumed it was just a mass-sent holiday greeting. After a moment’s hesitation, he clicked it without any real hope.

As the chat window opened, he instinctively typed “Happy New Year, Senior,” but his finger froze after tapping just one letter.

Chu Tinghan hadn’t sent a generic holiday greeting. Instead, he asked, “Where are you right now?”

Pei Ji’s fingers curled into a fist, hovering in mid-air. He found himself utterly at a loss for words.

After agonizing for a long time, he finally crafted a reply and was about to type it out when the dormitory door suddenly burst open.

It was the winter break, and Lunar New Year’s Eve to boot. Even most students who stayed on campus had gone home for the holidays, and even Auntie, the dorm supervisor, had sneaked off to prepare her reunion dinner.

Who could possibly be here to see me now?

The door burst open with a sudden, loud crash, startling Pei Ji. He whirled around warily, only to find himself face-to-face with Lü Yi, snow clinging to his hair.

Pei Ji frowned in confusion, while Lü Yi stared back, his shock tinged with a dazed expression.

“What are you doing back here?” Pei Ji blurted out.

“Heavens, it’s New Year’s Eve! Why aren’t you home yet?” Lü Yi retorted simultaneously.

Lü Yi paused, then replied first, “Oh, I just came back to grab something. I left the scarf I knitted for my girlfriend for winter at the dorm.”

Pei Ji was speechless for a moment. “I thought a burglar had broken in.”

Lü Yi casually tossed the bag he was carrying onto the desk, brushed the snow off his head, and began rummaging through his cluttered locker. After a moment, he popped his head out, studying Pei Ji thoughtfully. Clearing his throat, he grinned mischievously. “Hey, you’re free today, right? Could you do me a favor?”

Pei Ji glanced at the steaming thermos container Lü Yi had placed on the edge of the desk, guessing it held dumplings. “What kind of favor? Help you eat the dumplings?” he quipped.

Lü Yi shook his head sheepishly, a hint of flattery in his smile. “No, it’s… could you help me deliver some dumplings?”

Pei Ji stared, speechless.

What kind of absurd request is this? Does he think I’m a free delivery boy?

Without a second thought, Pei Ji refused. “Order delivery yourself.”

“Aiya…” Lü Yi sighed dramatically, feigning disappointment. “Fine, then I’ll just deliver the dumplings to Senior myself.”

He didn’t leave, though, merely tilted his head and watched Pei Ji’s reaction out of the corner of his eye.

I’ve made it obvious enough. He can’t possibly remain unmoved after hearing the word “Senior.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Pei Ji’s attitude shifted immediately.

“Wait,” Pei Ji said, seizing the crucial information. He eyed Lü Yi, half-buried in the cabinet. “Which Senior?”

So, those two words still work their magic, Lü Yi thought, grinning knowingly. “Who else could it be? The one you’re thinking of, of course.”

Pei Ji pondered for a moment, then asked, “Why are you delivering dumplings to him?”

As far as Pei Ji knew, Lü Yi didn’t even have Chu Tinghan’s personal contact information. They were worlds apart—why would Lü Yi suddenly want to deliver dumplings to Chu Tinghan?

Could it be…? No way. Lü Yi is straight as an arrow. Besides, Chu Tinghan probably doesn’t even know his name.

Lü Yi took it as a casual question and replied without hesitation, “Oh, Professor Zheng and I live in the same neighborhood. I ran into him on my way out today, and he asked me to deliver this for him since he had something urgent come up.”

After a pause, Lü Yi nonchalantly moved the insulated container onto Pei Ji’s desk, regardless of whether Pei Ji agreed. He then went back to search for his scarf, muttering as he rummaged, “Professor Zheng mentioned that Senior Chu hasn’t been home for Lunar New Year in years. This year, his tour happened to bring him here, and since he has a place near campus, he’s staying there temporarily.”

Pei Ji sensed something amiss. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “Senior Chu isn’t going home?”

I’m stuck here because I have no home to return to, he thought. Why isn’t Chu Tinghan going home either?

Lü Yi shrugged it off, “Eh, I guess big stars like him are just too busy. Probably can’t spare the time.”

Lü Yi was thick-skinned and didn’t dwell on details. He certainly wouldn’t waste any extra thoughts on someone as irrelevant to him as Chu Tinghan.

Pei Ji, however, was more perceptive. Plus, he had a crush on Chu Tinghan, so anything related to his beloved carried significant weight in his heart.

Why wasn’t Chu Tinghan going home? His next concert was still more than half a month away, leaving him ample time to celebrate the Lunar New Year with his family.

Was he unable to go, or did he simply not want to?

The thought sent a sudden pang of unease through Pei Ji’s heart. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something must have happened to Chu Tinghan.

No matter how busy someone was, there was no reason not to go home for the Lunar New Year—unless, like Pei Ji himself, they had no home to return to.

Pei Ji had long grown accustomed to his solitary existence, whiling away evenings with video games and streaming videos. But he couldn’t bear the thought of his beloved spending the holiday alone and desolate.

A desolate image flashed through Pei Ji’s mind, and his chest tightened with a sharp ache. He could no longer sit still.

The steam rising from the box of dumplings on his desk had dwindled, and they were growing cold. Pei Ji pressed the back of his hand against the glass to check the temperature; they were still warm. If he hurried, he might still make it in time.

He carefully placed the insulated box into a thermal bag, asked Lü Yi for Chu Tinghan’s apartment address, and immediately set off, clutching the bag.

Heavy snow fell relentlessly, blanketing the world in a vast, white expanse. On this snowy Lunar New Year’s Eve, the streets were nearly deserted.

On the snow-covered path, only a string of resolute, determined footprints stretched into the distance—countless forward steps linked together like a red thread binding two hearts.

Chu Tinghan bought a house near Communication University.

He couldn’t quite explain why he chose this slightly dilapidated family compound over newer developments.

These days, people typically consider factors like location, layout, budget, and amenities when buying a home.

But none of that mattered to him. When he bought this place, his mind was filled with just one person.

That person wasn’t his parents or a friend, but a junior classmate he’d known for barely a year.

It was strange, really, how he’d developed feelings for a junior four years younger than himself.

At first, he attributed it to the novelty of the junior’s unique aura and dazzling presence.

Novelty fades quickly, and he assumed the feeling wouldn’t last long.

Then, half a year ago, while attending Fashion Week abroad, countless handsome male models paraded past him, yet none left any impression.

He couldn’t even be bothered to look closely at their faces. All he could think was how good those clothes would look on Pei Ji.

Snapping out of his reverie, Chu Tinghan suddenly chuckled.

Hmm, freshness… Perhaps a freshness that could last a lifetime.

From then on, Chu Tinghan felt as if someone had taken up residence in his heart. No matter what he did, thought, or pondered, his mind would unconsciously gravitate toward a certain person.

Passing a clothing store, he’d think, This understated yet stylish look would suit him perfectly. Watching a band perform, he’d muse, Their lead singer doesn’t have half the voice he does.

As time went on, the situation grew increasingly absurd. Whenever a young couple strolled by hand-in-hand, Chu Tinghan would find himself pondering for a full two seconds whether this person preferred holding hands or interlocking fingers.

Though Pei Ji’s shadow wasn’t physically present in Chu Tinghan’s world, it felt as though he was everywhere.

If he could, Chu Tinghan would have rushed straight to Communication University to charm this junior named Pei Ji. But alas, his profession was too peculiar, and he had a notoriously strict manager.

Uncle Wu, his manager, had strictly forbidden his artists from dating during their peak years, even one-sided infatuations. Any hint of romantic sparks would be ruthlessly extinguished with a cold dose of reality.

Suppressing his racing heart, Chu Tinghan feigned indifference. After immediately reading Pei Ji’s message, he forced himself to turn off his phone, resolving to reply days later.

This method, though self-torture, proved remarkably effective. His manager simply assumed Pei Ji was an inconsequential junior, never suspecting anything more.

To avoid arousing suspicion, Chu Tinghan never initiated conversations with Pei Ji. Even when his urge to share was overwhelming, he would merely open their chat window, stare at it for a moment, and then close it.

Normally, Chu Tinghan could restrain his urge to confide, but today, for some inexplicable reason, his longing surged forth like an unstoppable spring. He desperately wanted to see Pei Ji.

Especially on this special New Year’s Eve, Chu Tinghan’s first thought wasn’t of family or friends, but of a frantic desire to see him.

So, for the first time, he broke his own rule and sent Pei Ji a message asking where he was. As the message sent, he thought: No matter how far he is, I’ll catch the first flight to him.

But he never expected that instead of a reply from the person he longed to see, he would receive a call from the last person he ever wanted to hear from.

Those parents who saw him as a money-making tool had likely never truly loved him.

His good mood shattered instantly by the deafening ringtone, Chu Tinghan’s face darkened.

After the phone rang for an eternity, he answered with deliberate slowness.

His mother’s voice came through the line, sounding genuinely concerned.

“Tinghan, it’s the New Year. Your father and I miss you, but we know you’re busy with work and can’t come home. Don’t worry about us out there, and don’t get homesick. Focus on your career—work is everything at your age. I heard your tour started recently. The neighbors were saying they couldn’t get tickets…”

“Is there anything else you wanted today?” Chu Tinghan interrupted coldly, unwilling to prolong the conversation.

He’d heard these same platitudes countless times from his parents. His ears had grown calluses from the repetition.

Every call followed the same script: hollow, formulaic expressions of concern. After all these years, they hadn’t even bothered to vary the phrasing.

And the audacity to claim they missed him? How laughable.

From his days as a young trainee living far from home to now, when had his parents ever truly thought of him or cared about him?

When he was young, they’d paid him no heed, calling only once a week. Even then, they never asked if he was eating well, staying warm, working too hard, or if he was happy. Instead, they relentlessly pressured him to train harder and secure a spot in the debut group. Now that he’d surpassed all expectations, debuting as a top-tier singer, they’d suddenly abandoned their cold, critical demeanor and adopted a sham of caring, as if they were the most understanding parents in the world.

Who needs this belated, self-serving love anyway?

Mother Chu visibly startled at his openly icy tone, then forced an awkward laugh. “Do we only call you when we need something? Can’t your parents even miss you on New Year’s Eve?”

Chu Tinghan had no patience for playing the loving son. Ignoring the question of whether they missed him, he asked coldly, “You know my time is precious. Just get to the point. What do you want this time?”

Mother Chu had put the call on speaker. Before she could reply, Father Chu, who was listening in, suddenly erupted in anger. “How dare you speak to your mother like that?! Is that how you address your elders? After raising you all these years, it was all for nothing, wasn’t it?”

Hearing this, Chu Tinghan sneered coldly.

Raised? When had they ever treated him like a son?

Ever since his father broke his leg in the heavy snowstorm on the day he was born, he had never considered him a son.

In Father Chu’s heart, he was nothing more than a cursed misfortune that had crippled him. His hatred ran so deep that he named him on a whim, inspired by the howling wind, swirling snow, and approaching winter outside his window: Tinghan, “Listening to the Cold.”

From childhood onward, Father Chu trained him like a machine—no room for emotion, no time for rest, only results mattered.

The day a talent scout selected him, he saw a smile on his stern father’s face for the first time. He thought he had finally become the son they wanted, finally earned the long-lost love his pampered younger brother received so effortlessly.

But instead, his parents abandoned him like trash at a distant entertainment company, leaving no place for him in their home.

While the other trainees received visits, concern, and encouragement from their parents, he alone had nothing but endless demands and harsh discipline.

The human heart’s emotions and hopes eventually wear thin. After repeated disappointments, Chu Tinghan long ago understood that he had never held a place in his parents’ hearts.

He was nothing more than an investment to them—a low-risk gamble they hoped would yield high returns.

Chu Tinghan had considered cutting ties completely, refusing to indulge their endless demands, but reality wouldn’t allow it.

His parents would storm his company, his father berating him as an ungrateful wretch who didn’t know how to repay kindness, while his mother would feign helplessness, weeping pitifully, and even his seemingly clueless younger brother would join in the wailing chorus.

As a celebrity, reputation was paramount. To be branded an unfilial son would shatter half his career.

Helpless, he could only resign himself to despair.

Now, for instance, he could calmly ask his parents how much money they wanted this time.

Father Chu, whose skin was thicker than tree bark, continued his relentless tirade. Mother Chu, finding his language too vulgar, finally switched off the speakerphone, held the phone to her ear, and hesitantly began, “You know your brother isn’t academically inclined. We want him to study art, just like you did back then—music. We’ve already found a teacher, but we still need a good piano for the house.”

Chu Tinghan clung to the last thread of his patience. “Stop beating around the bush. How much do you want? Just tell me.”

Mother Chu chuckled softly. “It’s not that expensive, just 150,000 yuan.”

150,000 yuan?

Did they think his money grew on trees?

Chu Tinghan immediately retorted, “He’s just starting out. We don’t even know if he’ll stick with it. Why does he need such an expensive piano?”

His biased mother, of course, had an excuse ready: “He’ll learn better with a better instrument.”

Chu Tinghan suddenly laughed—a scornful, absurd laugh.

When he was a child, he had only a second-hand piano worth just over 5,000 yuan. Yet now, his mother could casually ask him for 150,000 yuan to buy one for his younger brother without batting an eye.

“But the teacher said your brother’s just a late bloomer. He’s actually very talented, and with a good piano—”

Chu Tinghan had had enough. The mere sound of their voices gave him a splitting headache. He hung up the phone mid-sentence.

As dusk deepened, the room grew dim without the lights on. Only the desolate moonlight slanted through the window. Chu Tinghan walked to the window and stood there, trying to calm himself by gazing at the view. But outside, a biting wind howled, driving heavy snow into a relentless blizzard. The world was a stark, blinding white.

He looked up again. The apartment buildings across the way were already dotted with twinkling lights.

Outside the window, a dazzling sea of lights glittered, fireworks exploded in vibrant bursts, and every home buzzed with festive cheer. Inside, however, only an endless chill and desolate silence prevailed. He had neither friends nor family, having always been utterly alone.

How ironic, he thought, that in this vast world, not a single place could open its arms to warm him.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He couldn’t feel the cold; he had long grown numb to it.

Moments later, his phone screen lit up. It was a message from Father Chu, saying that the front-row tickets to his concert were being resold by scalpers for tens of thousands—150,000 yuan meant nothing to him. The only reason he hadn’t given them was because Tinghan didn’t understand gratitude.

Chu Tinghan immediately switched off his phone and tossed it aside in exasperation.

Gratitude? If familial affection could truly be measured in money, he had already repaid them tenfold over the years.

Chu Tinghan’s anger twisted into bitter laughter. Everything around him felt gratingly wrong. In a fit of rage, he swept the cold rice off the table, sending dishes and bowls crashing to the floor.

The room erupted in a cacophony of shattering porcelain as plates and bowls crashed to the floor, scattering shards of pottery and cold rice across the floor.

The silence lasted only a few minutes before the phone rang again.

Chu Tinghan assumed it was another call from his nominal parents. A splitting headache pounded in his skull, and he didn’t want to answer. Yet the caller persisted, ringing his phone again and again, relentlessly.

The deafening ringing made his heart ache. Unable to bear the stabbing pain any longer, he answered without even glancing at the caller ID.

Not wanting to hold the phone close, he put it on speaker.

A brief silence followed, then a slightly embarrassed chuckle. A timid voice, soft and gentle, called him “Senior.”

Chu Tinghan’s mind suddenly buzzed.

What did he just call me? Senior… Senior?

Chu Tinghan froze, disbelieving his ears. He immediately lowered his gaze to check the phone display.

The caller was Pei Ji.

Chu Tinghan picked up the phone in disbelief, examining it closely again and again. He hadn’t misheard or misread—it was indeed Pei Ji on the other end.

His mind went blank. He wanted to respond, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something, rendering him speechless.

After a moment of silence, Pei Ji’s voice came through the speaker again, carrying a hint of laughter that felt like a warm current flowing into his heart.

“Happy New Year’s Eve, Senior,” Pei Ji greeted him. He had initially wanted to ask which building Chu Tinghan lived in, but, fearing he’d sound too forward, he opted for a polite greeting first.

He waited for what seemed like ages, but there was no response. Thinking the call had been disconnected, he glanced at his phone, only to see the call was still active.

Hesitantly, he pressed the phone back to his ear.

A moment later, a faint, trembling voice finally came through the line:

“…Happy New Year.”

The tone was flat, devoid of emotion, but the final syllable trembled uncontrollably.

Pei Ji froze, sensing something was wrong. Anxiety welled up within him. “What’s wrong?”

The other man coughed, his voice returning to normal. “Nothing. It’s snowing heavily, the signal might be weak.”

Pei Ji hummed skeptically. After a few seconds, he asked again, “Which building do you live in? Which unit…”

Before Pei Ji could finish, Chu Tinghan seemed to realize something. He suddenly rushed to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the other end of the living room and yanked open the curtains.

A dazzling, snow-white moonlight flooded the room. Outside, heavy snow swirled in the air, and beneath the warm orange glow of the streetlights stood a lone figure.

Though the blizzard blurred his vision, Chu Tinghan immediately recognized him.

The biting wind abruptly stilled, and a warm, amber light enveloped Pei Ji like a gossamer veil, the glow tinting even the falling snowflakes a soft orange.

Chu Tinghan stared, mesmerized, realizing for the first time that winter’s white snow could feel warm.

The tears he had painstakingly suppressed suddenly burst forth like a broken string of pearls, cascading uncontrollably down his cheeks.

Chu Tinghan’s gaze cut through the swirling snow, locking onto Pei Ji’s figure. As if sensing his stare, Pei Ji’s head snapped up, and in the next instant, their eyes met unexpectedly.

Pei Ji froze for a moment, then his lips curved into a smile brighter than summer sunlight. He waved at Chu Tinghan. “Senior, could you open the door for me?”