After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 68

Chapter 68

“These young people nowadays are so fickle, especially those fresh-faced newcomers to the industry. They fall in love with every new face they see, switching partners faster than they change clothes.”

A few days later, backstage at City A’s music festival, staff members gathered during a lull in activity to gossip. So engrossed were they in their conversation that they failed to notice the cold, stern figure standing not far behind them.

“Hey, Brother Wang, what’s that supposed to mean? Did you hear some fresh gossip about a celebrity couple?”

Brother Wang merely raised an eyebrow enigmatically, refusing to elaborate.

“Come on, Brother Wang, stop being so mysterious! Tell us before the performers arrive. Once their entourages show up, we won’t have a chance to chat at all.”

Adopting a deliberately grave demeanor, Brother Wang leaned in close and lowered his voice. “You all know about that rookie duo who blew up with that web drama, right?”

“Of course! My girlfriend’s obsessed with them. She says the guy’s handsome, the girl’s gorgeous, they were inseparable on screen, and their chemistry off-screen is electric. They’re the hottest couple online!”

Hearing this, Brother Wang suddenly snorted coldly. “Tell your girlfriend to stop shipping them. They broke up ages ago. During filming, they had a ‘workplace romance’ on the company’s dime. But as soon as the drama wrapped, the guy started flirting with the new show’s female lead. The girl even stormed onto his set and caused a scene. Their breakup was a total mess. A month before the web drama premiered, they were still acting like bitter enemies, not speaking at all. Now, all this ‘sweet’ behavior is just acting for publicity. Wait and see—the moment they step offstage after performing, they’ll both be wearing expressions of disgust.”

“Seriously? Their acting must be top-tier then—pretending to be intimate with an ex after breaking up? I could never pull that off.”

Brother Wang straightened his back slightly, clicked his tongue mockingly, and said, “That’s why they’re stars. They’re battle-hardened veterans, yet they can still play the innocent, naive young lovers to a T. In reality, they’ve probably been through countless relationships behind the scenes.”

As he finished speaking, a shadow flickered in his peripheral vision. He instinctively turned his head to see who it was, and the instant his gaze landed, he locked eyes with a pair of cold, emotionless eyes.

The man stood less than five meters away, his vintage-style brown bespoke suit perfectly accentuating his tall, commanding figure.

His fame was immense, his career at its zenith. Every street corner plastered with his advertisements. Brother Wang recognized him instantly with a single glance.

With one hand tucked casually in his pocket, his relaxed trousers should have conveyed ease and approachability. Yet his sharp, piercing gaze made it feel as if a hand were tightening around his throat, making it difficult to breathe and sending a chill down his spine.

Brother Wang sprang from his stool as if shot from a cannon, fumbling into a frantic bow and forced smile. His lips trembled so violently he could barely speak: “T-T-Teacher Chu, y-you’re here so early! You should have told us you were coming so we could have made way for you!”

The moment the words “Teacher Chu” left his lips, the gossipers still seated nearby shot to their feet. They awkwardly shuffled their stools aside, forcing ingratiating smiles as they greeted him one by one.

Chu Tinghan strode leisurely toward them, his long legs carrying him with an air of studied indifference.

Heads bowed in guilty subservience, they desperately tried to shrink into the background, silently praying he would move on quickly.

But as Chu Tinghan reached them, he suddenly stopped, his cold gaze fixing on Brother Wang.

Brother Wang froze, sweat beading on his forehead as the polished leather shoes halted before him. He had no idea which remark had angered this revered figure, so he desperately buried his head, feigning ignorance.

He hoped to bluff his way out, but Chu Tinghan clearly wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“What did you say just now?”

Though the question was delivered without apparent emotion, it sent a chill down Brother Wang’s spine, causing him to tremble involuntarily. He forced himself to speak, his voice wavering: “N-nothing… We were just joking around.”

“Where did you hear that?”

Chu Tinghan wasn’t buying it at all. His icy tone now carried a distinct edge of displeasure.

Realizing that playing dumb wouldn’t work, Brother Wang wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and asked, trembling, “W-which part are you referring to?”

They had been discussing newcomers to the industry, never mentioning Chu Tinghan himself. Why was Chu Tinghan so angry?

Could it be that one of those fresh faces was Chu Tinghan’s precious darling?

No way, what are the odds? He had finally indulged in some gossip, only to accidentally criticize the big shot’s precious darling.

Forcing a strained smile, Brother Wang inwardly marveled at the sheer improbability of it all.

After Wang Ge asked his question, Chu Tinghan remained silent for a long moment, standing motionless and staring at him with unfathomable depth in his eyes. No one could tell what he was thinking.

The tension hung heavy in the air, the oppressive atmosphere making it hard to breathe.

Everyone wanted to make excuses and slip away, but they were terrified of angering this capricious overlord. Forced to stand at attention, they inwardly begged for the matter to be dropped.

Perhaps their prayers were finally answered. In the next moment, a figure strode purposefully toward them, greeting Chu Tinghan with a warm smile.

It was Zhou Yingjie, the Best Actor himself. Despite his fame, Zhou Yingjie was down-to-earth and approachable. His arrival brought a collective sigh of relief, and the crowd scattered like scattering chickens.

Zhou Yingjie, mistaking their hasty retreat for fear of him, turned to Chu Tinghan, bewildered. “Huh? I thought I was pretty easygoing. Why’s everyone running away? Am I really that scary?”

As he finished, his gaze landed on Chu Tinghan’s dark, brooding face. He paused, stroking his chin in contemplation. “You know what? Compared to you, I think you’re the one who looks more intimidating.”

Chu Tinghan’s expression softened slightly at Zhou Yingjie’s appearance, but his eyes remained cold and detached, devoid of even a hint of a smile.

Zhou Yingjie was utterly baffled. What’s with all this rain lately? Why does Chu Tinghan always look like a thundercloud?

“Did someone piss you off again?” Zhou Yingjie asked, leaning closer conspiratorially. “Weren’t you just back at school a few days ago to see that junior of yours? So… any progress?”

Bringing it up only made Chu Tinghan’s face darken from a cloudy sky to a hailstorm.

Seeing this, Zhou Yingjie frowned, utterly perplexed.

Could it be… another failure?

Chu Tinghan was riding high in his career, but his romantic life seemed perpetually cursed. Is chasing someone really this hard?

Chu Tinghan had looks, a killer physique, and was a wildly talented and wealthy Song God. Aside from his prickly temper, he ticked all the boxes. Besides, he’d long since learned to disguise that flaw with a charmingly suave facade.

Could this junior be so arrogant he’d turn down the Song God himself?

With so many people around in the backstage corridor, Zhou Yingjie pulled him into the dressing room, slinging an arm around his shoulder like a close brother. “Alright, spill it. Did you score?”

Chu Tinghan shrugged Zhou Yingjie’s arm off his shoulder and took a few steps away, his expression conveying unmistakable disdain. “Why are you meddling so much?”

What else am I supposed to do? Zhou Yingjie thought. Of course I’m concerned about my lonely friend’s love life. I want him to have some warmth in his life.

He wasn’t asking for a bustling romance, just someone who genuinely cared about him.

When they first met, Zhou Yingjie had assumed Chu Tinghan was an orphan—no parents, no family—explaining his aloofness. As trainees, Chu Tinghan ignored everyone, immersing himself in the practice room from dawn till dusk, living more like a machine than a human.

For a while, Zhou Yingjie had even joked that Chu Tinghan’s true love was the practice room itself.

It wasn’t until recently, when Chu Tinghan returned from fashion week and, for the first time, asked him which of the brand’s new season’s clothes looked best and were most suitable for a recent college graduate, that Zhou Yingjie realized the man’s emotions were normal—that he could actually fall in love.

“So, which junior did you set your sights on? What kind of person is so hard to win over? If you can’t manage it, just give him a few hundred thousand yuan a month for pocket money! I guarantee he’ll definitely—”

Before he could finish, Chu Tinghan’s gaze suddenly locked onto him.

Under that intense stare, Zhou Yingjie felt an inexplicable wave of goosebumps prickle across his skin.

Chu Tinghan narrowed his eyes, saying each word slowly and deliberately, “This would be an insult to him.”

Zhou Yingjie fell silent, at a loss for words.

This junior has some real backbone, he thought.

Deciding to stay out of it, Zhou Yingjie straightened his clothes and prepared to return to his dressing room.

Just as he opened the door, a sudden burst of chaotic footsteps echoed down the corridor outside, sounding like a large group.

Moments later, the group swept past him. Each member was tall, leggy, and strikingly handsome, appearing to be young men in their early twenties.

The group surged forward with overwhelming momentum, led by the most striking figure of all. His features were sharply defined: prominent brow ridges flowed seamlessly into a high, straight nose, and a clear jawline framed a face of exceptional beauty. While such sharp, angular features often conveyed aggression, this man possessed a pair of soft, amorous peach-blossom eyes. These eyes tempered the severity of his bone structure, creating a harmonious balance between sharp angles and tender allure. Even in the fiercely competitive entertainment industry, this face would rank among the most handsome and charismatic.

Curious, Zhou Yingjie asked his assistant, “Are they newly debuted rookies? I’ve never seen them before. Which management company are they with?”

The assistant pondered for a moment. “They’re new artists from Huanyu Media. I heard that General Xu from Minghua Entertainment jumped ship to Huanyu and immediately signed over a dozen recent college graduates, planning to enter them in audition shows. They’re probably here today to get some exposure and build their popularity.”

Zhou Yingjie pressed, “Do you know their names?”

The assistant shook his head. “Not the exact names, but I vaguely remember one of them being a Communication University graduate, and he might be the band leader.”

Band leader… Hmm, didn’t Chu Tinghan also form a band when he was in college? That’s quite the coincidence.

“Hey, Chu Tinghan, isn’t Communication University your alma mater?” Zhou Yingjie said, turning to strike up a conversation with Chu Tinghan. But as he turned, he found Chu Tinghan had already materialized beside him, silent and unnoticed.

Zhou Yingjie blinked in surprise. “Wow, you’re fast! What do you think of these guys? There’s even a junior of yours among them, and like you, he’s also a band leader. What a coincidence! I’m telling you, don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Maybe switch things up?”

Chu Tinghan followed his gaze and spotted a familiar figure. Remembering that man’s distant smile from their last encounter, his heart sank abruptly.

Zhou Yingjie, oblivious to the storm brewing on Chu Tinghan’s face, continued rambling, “I think the leader at the front is pretty good-looking. After the show, I could ask around for his contact info for you.”

“No need.”

Chu Tinghan cast one last, lingering glance in the direction they had gone before lowering his gaze and silently returning to his seat in the lounge.

He already had the man’s contact information. They had talked for hours, and just when he thought love was on the horizon, the other man had suddenly become unusually polite and distant, addressing him as “Teacher Chu.”

…Teacher Chu.

He still preferred hearing him call him “Senior” with a smile.

After a long silence, Chu Tinghan suddenly asked, “Do they all lose interest so quickly?”

His voice was so soft, laced with a sigh, that Zhou Yingjie didn’t quite catch it. “What did you say?” he asked, confused.

Chu Tinghan lowered his eyes. “Nothing.”

He must be a fool to take those joking rumors from the group seriously.

Before this, he had never liked anyone else, and of course, no one had ever truly loved him either.

He didn’t even know what liking or love was supposed to feel like. How could he possibly judge whether the other person liked him or not?

Perhaps he had misinterpreted everything.

It was entirely possible that the man only saw him as a kind and respectable senior, nothing more. There was no deeper emotion involved.

“Why did you enter the industry?”

When the director of the audition show asked this question on camera, Pei Ji hesitated for a split second.

Why enter the industry? Of course, it was for a certain someone.

The answer hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.

So he forced a smile and gave the most cliché answer possible: “Because of my dream.”

When this interview clip was included in the promotional trailers before the show’s premiere, many netizens criticized him for being insincere.

They said his answer was too vague, too ambiguous, too cliché.

Pei Ji initially agreed. After all, it was just a spur-of-the-moment lie he’d made up to avoid the real answer.

But later, upon deeper reflection, he realized that the answer actually reflected his true feelings.

Once, his dream had been to become a household-name singer-songwriter, a long-term goal. But now, his dream had unknowingly transformed into a position where he could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with a certain someone, focused solely on the present.

He wouldn’t have believed this before—the idea that a single person could be the driving force behind all his hard work.

When he strived, he wasn’t thinking about his own future prospects, but rather—I like him, I love him, I want to be with him for a long, long time. But the gap between us is too vast. He’s in the heavens, I’m on earth. I need to attain a more dazzling status to pursue him.

So he clawed his way upward with all his might, accepting every job his manager threw at him—good or bad—as long as it put his face out there, as long as it got him exposure, as long as there was even a sliver of a chance to catch fire. He’d take any role, no matter how insignificant, from the most obscure character in a film or TV drama to being a mere extra in a variety show’s background.

After a few months of being just another face in the entertainment industry crowd, his company suddenly convened a meeting with its youngest male artists to ask about their talents.

At the meeting, Pei Ji cradled his guitar and sang a song he’d written in high school.

Afterward, the boss kept him back alone, praising his songwriting and saying they planned to debut him as a singer-songwriter.

Overjoyed, Pei Ji pulled out all his years’ worth of hard work and poured himself into making an album.

But a month later, the boss suddenly told him to put everything on hold, claiming his current popularity was too low and it would be too hard to make a splash with just one album. They told him to join an audition show to build a following first. Only after successfully debuting on the show with a large fan base would it be the perfect time to release his solo album.

Halfway through producing his album, the project was abruptly shelved. Pei Ji could clearly see that the promises about gaining popularity on an audition show were just empty promises from his superiors.

Though bitter, he had no choice but to obey his superiors’ orders, abandoning the half-finished album and focusing all his energy on the audition show.

During the first recording, his exceptional looks and overwhelming talent earned him the highest A-Rank.

Later, when filming the show’s theme song, the Program Group deliberately placed him at the very center of the hundred trainees. In past audition shows, the Center Position had always been both highly coveted and intensely controversial. Whoever stood there faced relentless scrutiny from netizens, who dissected every move with microscopic precision, unleashing a torrent of criticism and abuse. Yet when Pei Ji took the Center Position, no objections arose. His overwhelming popularity and undeniable talent made him the undisputed People’s Choice Center—a clear first in every category.

Pei Ji’s stage performances grew increasingly stunning, his popularity soaring higher and higher. Just when everyone believed his high-ranking debut was inevitable, the latest episode stunned everyone.

The once-humble and polite man had undergone a sudden and drastic personality change. He repeatedly wore a cold expression before the cameras, treated his teammates with disdain, and spoke in an imperious tone, brooking no dissent.

The moment the episode aired, individual clips of Pei Ji went viral across the internet, shocking netizens and sparking a barrage of criticism.

“Pei Ji’s tone was so aggressive! You’d think the other contestants owed him millions.”

“He didn’t smile once in this episode. He kept his face cold the whole time, ignoring anyone who spoke to him. Acting like a big shot before he’s even debuted!”

“How can he be such a different person? Is this even the same guy?”

“Were all those polite and humble acts Pei Ji put on earlier just an act?”

“He played the role so well before! If I hadn’t seen this episode, I would’ve been completely fooled.”

“Has Pei Ji lost his mind? Why would he expose his true nature before the audition show is even over? Does he not want to debut?”

“If you’re going to put on an act, at least see it through! How arrogant is he? Does he really think his fans will blindly support him and guarantee his debut?”

“I used to like him, but now I see what kind of person he really is. I’m switching to the anti-fan side.”

Although all the trainees had to surrender their phones before the audition show, they weren’t completely isolated. Rumors from the outside world still filtered through in whispers.

After news broke that Pei Ji’s public image had collapsed, those around him began to regard him with a mixture of peculiar expressions.

Some were watching the drama unfold with detached amusement, others gloated with schadenfreude, and a few offered insincere words of comfort.

Pei Ji ignored them all, his daily life a monotonous shuttle between the practice room and the dorm.

Following the penultimate performance, Pei Ji’s ranking plummeted ten places, teetering on the edge of the debut lineup. Despite his plummeting popularity, his exceptional performance that night earned him one of the precious revival slots.

These opportunities were rare and invaluable for every trainee on the verge of elimination.

So, after the performance, many trainees approached Pei Ji, pleading for him to use the revival slot on them.

Among them was Sun Qi, his dormmate.

One day, Pei Ji had just returned from the practice room. As he opened the dorm door, Sun Qi dropped to his knees before him with a resounding thud.

A surveillance camera hung outside the door. Given the rumors already circulating online about Pei Ji’s cold demeanor and diva-like behavior, this scene would undoubtedly send his public image crashing to rock bottom.

Pei Ji quickly closed the door, then reached out to help Sun Qi up.

But Sun Qi’s knees seemed welded to the floor, refusing to budge. He sobbed, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded, “Brother, please, I’m begging you. I’m ranked the lowest right now. If you don’t save me, I’ll definitely be eliminated this time. I don’t want to leave! I want more exposure—more exposure means more money. I desperately need the money; my mom’s in the hospital waiting for me to pay for her surgery. Please, help me.”

Pei Ji couldn’t pull him up and could only stare helplessly down at Sun Qi, who continued to sob at his feet.

“Brother, you saved me once before. If you chose me last time, you can definitely choose me again, right? Please save me one more time! I really can’t leave. If I’m eliminated, I’m finished.”

Pei Ji wasn’t a saint. He’d resurrected Sun Qi last time purely because, among the trainees facing elimination, Sun Qi had the best overall potential and worked the hardest in practice.

In the brutal hierarchy of audition shows, every revival opportunity was precious. Pei Ji made his choices with meticulous care, always prioritizing objective criteria over subjective factors.

If crying and playing the victim could bypass elimination, it would be grossly unfair to the other trainees.

“Brother, you know I’ve always been the best to you. You know my situation. I wouldn’t dare steal your debut spot. I just want more screen time and to earn more money. You have to choose someone anyway, so why not me? I can help you.”

Pei Ji grew increasingly irritated by Sun Qi’s wailing, which sounded like the world’s most unbearable noise.

He lowered his gaze to glare at Sun Qi, his voice cold: “If you think playing the victim will earn you a second chance, go outside right now, kneel before the fans, and beg them for more votes. Begging me here is useless.”

Sun Qi crawled forward on his knees and grabbed Pei Ji’s pants leg. Pei Ji flung him off and recoiled two steps in disgust.

In the next instant, Sun Qi’s sobbing abruptly ceased, replaced by a twisted grin. He hunched over as he scrambled to his feet, then suddenly slammed his head against the nearby wardrobe.

A large lump immediately swelled on Sun Qi’s forehead. Pei Ji, startled by his actions, instinctively reached out to stop him, but Sun Qi, as if possessed, completely lost control, relentlessly ramming his head against the wardrobe doors, then began slapping himself violently.

As he self-harmed, Sun Qi tore his throat raw, wailing, “Brother Pei, I was wrong! I was wrong! I’ll never do it again! I shouldn’t have disobeyed you! Please forgive me! Save me! Don’t eliminate me! I don’t want to leave! I don’t want to go! I still want to compete! I want to debut! Help me…!”

The commotion Sun Qi created was deafening; the entire dormitory reverberated with crashes and clangs.

Pei Ji’s mind went blank for a moment as he stared, dumbfounded, at the disheveled figure before him.

He’s gone mad. Sun Qi is a complete lunatic.

No…

Wait, why was he crying while laughing?

A few minutes later, Pei Ji finally grasped Sun Qi’s true intentions. He wanted to reach out and stop the self-harm, but feared being framed for abuse. He considered opening the door and escaping the madman, but worried the lunatic would chase after him and bite him.

Trapped between these impossible choices, Pei Ji was paralyzed. At the same moment, frantic pounding erupted on the door, as everyone outside anxiously demanded to know if Sun Qi was okay.

He stared at Sun Qi’s eerie grin, his blood turning to ice.

It’s over… everything’s over.

He’d fallen into Sun Qi’s trap. No, perhaps it wasn’t a trap at all. He simply hadn’t imagined he was living alongside a rabid dog.

Without even thinking, he knew that today’s events would be twisted and manipulated before being posted online, turning him into a complete villain.

Sun Qi’s cries were so heartbreaking! And the sounds… like someone was smashing his head against the wall! Terrifying!

I couldn’t even finish listening. Pei Ji’s tone was terrifying. Sun Qi said he didn’t want to be eliminated, probably just wanted Pei Ji to comfort him, but Pei Ji actually told him to kneel and beg the fans? Does he have no empathy? So cold!

Why does this audio sound so choppy and disjointed? It’s so weird. Some parts don’t even flow properly, and Sun Qi’s words are all jumbled. Was this audio really unedited?

How are there still people defending Pei Ji?! Sun Qi’s management company just released a statement saying he’s been mentally unstable since his mother’s serious illness. When he’s having an episode, he often speaks incoherently. The sounds of impact and violence are so obvious, and Pei Ji’s cold tone is crystal clear. With all the evidence right there, how can anyone still refuse to believe it?

“This has blown up completely. Pei Ji’s reputation is utterly ruined. We could tolerate his diva behavior before, but bullying his teammates? That’s the last straw. If someone like that still gets to debut, their connections must be insane. Let’s wait and see how the Program Group handles this.”

“The Program Group just announced Pei Ji’s forced withdrawal from the competition!”

“This is the fastest the Program Group has ever acted. The scandal broke yesterday, and they’ve already dealt with him today.”

“Seriously? The finale is less than two weeks away, and they’re kicking him out now?!”

“Sigh… Even though Pei Ji’s character is trash, I still feel a pang of regret. After all, I voted for him and genuinely supported him. If he hadn’t done these things, the Center Position would have been his for sure. Now all I can say is: he brought this on himself.”

The day Pei Ji withdrew from the competition and returned to his Management Company was in late autumn. Thick clouds churned overhead, and fine raindrops splattered haphazardly.

In the office, Manager An Zhu and General Xu were locked in a heated argument. An Zhu gasped for breath in her urgency, but General Xu remained cool and composed, as if he were debating a raving madwoman.

Pei Ji sat nearby, the cacophony of the argument punctuated by a faint, familiar melody.

It was a song he had composed himself.

The tune and lyrics remained unchanged, but the singer had changed.

In that moment, everything he couldn’t understand suddenly clicked into place.

He had been nothing more than a pawn—a tool the Program Group used to generate hype, ready to be discarded once his usefulness waned. He was also a pawn in General Xu’s hands, a stepping stone for others’ ambitions.

The promise of producing an album for him was a blatant lie. They had merely wanted to steal his ideas, shamelessly claiming ownership of years’ worth of his hard work.

As for himself… a pawn drained of all value likely faced only one fate: being shelved and abandoned.

But he refused to accept this fate. Would he just let himself be butchered? He wanted to turn the tables on his own, but every post he made was blocked, every attempt at clarification vanished into the digital abyss.

The internet was flooded with endless abuse, accusations, and baseless slander.

For the first twenty-odd years of his life, Pei Ji had never touched a drop of alcohol. But on the day he stumbled out of the Management Company building, dazed and defeated, he found himself inexplicably buying a case of liquor at a nearby supermarket.

The late-night streets were deserted, not a soul in sight. Only withered yellow leaves drifted along the road, carried by the muddy rainwater toward lower ground.

He sat on the curb, his mind numbed by the alcohol, staring blankly at the empty bottle in his hand for a long moment.

I wonder… would it hurt to smash this over my head?

A few minutes later, he abruptly set the bottle down.

Smashing this over my head might not hurt that much, but it would definitely leave me disfigured. And being disfigured… that would be pretty ugly.

I’m already a failure. My face is the only decent thing I have left. If I ruin that, Senior might not even want to look at me anymore.

The thought brought a self-mocking laugh to Pei Ji’s lips.

How absurd.

Not only have I failed to amount to anything, but I’ve also reduced myself to this wretched state—neither man nor beast.

If Chu Tinghan saw me like this, he’d probably be so disappointed…

Or maybe disgusted, even repulsed.

Either way, he’d never be interested in me again, let alone smile at me.

…Forget it. I’d rather not see him at all.

Better to jump into the lake than let Chu Tinghan see me like this.

Just as he was thinking this, he heard a car door slam in the distance. Someone got out and started walking toward him, their footsteps growing faster with each step, even crunching through the fallen leaves.

Pei Ji first caught sight of the exquisitely crafted, expensive leather shoes in his peripheral vision. Instinctively, he looked up—only to be met with the face he’d longed to see day and night.

Chu Tinghan, the senior he’d always admired, stood right before him.

A reunion should have been joyful and exhilarating, but Pei Ji’s heart felt frozen, numb to everything but the bone-chilling cold.

It was a bone-chilling cold, making everything seem absurd and laughable.

Fate’s playing another cruel joke on me. When I least want to see him, I meet the person I most yearn for.

Strangely, the moment Chu Tinghan appeared, the relentless rain that had persisted all day suddenly stopped. The thick clouds parted, and brilliant moonlight poured down.

Pei Ji tilted his head back to look at him, his pupils dilated, revealing a trace of confusion.

I should look away. I can’t let Chu Tinghan see me in this wretched state.

Despite himself, he couldn’t resist the urge to peer through the blinding moonlight, trying to discern the expression on Chu Tinghan’s face.

Was it disappointment? Disgust? Or even hatred…?

But he was wrong.

Chu Tinghan’s brow was furrowed, and in his trembling eyes, Pei Ji glimpsed a flicker of genuine concern.

How could that be?

I must be hallucinating. I’m going crazy.

A raindrop slid off a sycamore leaf overhead, landing squarely on Pei Ji’s eyelid. He blinked, feeling the cold, damp sensation, and lowered his gaze.

As he began tidying the scattered debris around him, intending to leave, Chu Tinghan suddenly spoke.

“Little Pei.”

“Junior.”

Pei Ji froze instantly. His limbs felt as stiff as rusted hinges, utterly immobile.

Perhaps Chu Tinghan doesn’t despise me as much as I thought?

He wanted to defend himself, to argue that he could accept not being with Chu Tinghan and endure the online slander, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Chu Tinghan seeing him as tainted.

I want to tell him it’s all lies, that I’m not the despicable person they claim. Can’t you just not hate me…?

But before he could utter a word, Chu Tinghan seemed to have already heard his unspoken plea. He reached out gently and wiped the raindrop from Pei Ji’s eyelid, his voice soft yet resolute.

“I believe you.”

“It’s cold and windy. Come home with me.”