After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 69

Chapter 69

The radiant moonlight bathed Chu Tinghan in a soft, silvery glow. Pei Ji’s eyes, previously clouded with confusion, cleared with sudden clarity. He stared blankly at Chu Tinghan’s outstretched hand, then, as if compelled by some unseen force, reached out and grasped it.

Is this a dream? Or an illusion? Is the person before me even real? he wondered.

The touch in his palm was real, carrying the faint chill of autumn. Yet Pei Ji felt no cold; instead, a feverish warmth spread through his limbs and bones, clouding his mind in a hazy fog.

He felt like a tiny moth drawn to a single flame in the darkness, instinctively drawn to Chu Tinghan’s light.

And so, dizzy and disoriented, Pei Ji found himself in Chu Tinghan’s car, being driven back to his home.

But this time, it wasn’t the familiar, rundown apartment complex, but a discreet yet elegant villa.

The villa was fully furnished, with a neat row of plush toys shaped like small animals lined up on the sofa.

The arrangement seemed somewhat childish, strikingly out of place against the villa’s refined decor.

Several potted green plants stood near the window, adding a touch of vitality to the vast, empty space.

This home felt far more welcoming than that rundown apartment complex. Pei Ji suspected this was likely Chu Tinghan’s primary residence.

Pei Ji stood before the door, gazing at the sprawling villa and the clearly extravagant furnishings inside. His legs felt like they were weighted with lead, suddenly rooted to the spot.

During the Lunar New Year, when he and Chu Tinghan had squeezed into that cramped apartment, the disparity between them hadn’t struck him so sharply. But now, he felt the full weight of their vast difference—a gulf as wide as the heavens above and the earth below.

With his current means, he probably couldn’t even afford one of Chu Tinghan’s sofas.

What right does a washed-up, insignificant celebrity have to stand beside the legendary Song God?

Should I even be here…?

Pei Ji hesitated at the door, about to retreat, when he heard a middle-aged woman’s excited, delighted voice from afar.

The voice grew closer. A middle-aged woman with short hair was carrying a watering can. Upon seeing the visitor, she immediately set the can aside, self-consciously wiped her wet hands on her apron, and hurried toward the door, asking with a smile, “Director Chu, is this your friend?”

Chu Tinghan paused for a few seconds before responding with a curt “Mm.”

Hearing this, the middle-aged woman’s smile widened, and she nodded, looking at Pei Ji with satisfaction.

Leaving now would be impolite, so Pei Ji could only force a stiff, polite smile.

The woman enthusiastically ushered him inside, giving him no chance to say he had to go.

Pei Ji sat stiffly on the sofa, pressed against a row of plush toys. The woman stood opposite him, also appearing somewhat nervous.

Her warm, approving gaze inexplicably gave Pei Ji the absurd impression that he was being assessed by his future mother-in-law.

This is too strange, he thought. Did the rain seep into my brain when I forgot my umbrella earlier? How could I entertain such ridiculous notions?

Pei Ji closed his eyes briefly, trying to block out the absurd thoughts.

He didn’t know who this woman was or what to call her. Glancing sideways, he hoped to catch Chu Tinghan’s attention, but Chu Tinghan was engrossed in a serious phone call, likely dealing with a pressing work matter.

Chu Tinghan’s phone had been ringing incessantly in the car earlier, indicating an urgent matter requiring her attention. Reluctantly, Pei Ji had to take the initiative.

“Excuse me,” he began hesitantly, “what should I call you?”

“Oh—” The middle-aged woman’s face lit up with sudden understanding. She chuckled apologetically. “Look at me, getting all excited and forgetting to introduce myself. I’m Director Chu’s housekeeper, Aunt Zhang. You can just call me that if you don’t mind.”

After a pause, she leaned forward slightly, peering at him with anticipation. “…You must be Little Pei, right?”

Pei Ji looked up in surprise, momentarily stunned. “You know me?”

“I’ve heard Director Chu mention your name before. Uhm, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get something ready for you after he finishes his work.” Aunt Zhang had been so flustered by Director Chu bringing someone home that she wandered around the living room in a daze before remembering her duties. She grabbed a watering can and started tending to the potted plants, sneaking glances at Pei Ji as she watered.

Though not related by blood, Aunt Zhang had been Director Chu’s housekeeper for nearly eight years, caring for him since he was eighteen or nineteen. Through their long association, she knew his character well—cold on the outside, warm within. He maintained a detached demeanor towards everyone, but he treated those close to him with genuine kindness.

As an employer, Chu Tinghan made few demands of his staff. Not only was he easy to work for, but his home was always spotless. Aunt Zhang’s duties in the household were limited to cooking, grocery shopping, and watering the plants.

If one had to find a flaw, it was that he appeared too cold and aloof, like a small animal carrying its shell on its back, always concealing his vulnerable side beneath a hardened exterior. He spoke sparingly, and his emotions were even more tightly guarded. Most of the time, Chu Tinghan wore a stern expression, making him seem utterly unapproachable.

While he had acquaintances who sought him out for fame and fortune, genuine friends were rare.

Apart from Best Actor Zhou Yingjie, Pei Ji was only the second person Aunt Zhang had ever seen enter Chu Tinghan’s home—and Chu Tinghan had personally invited him in, a clear indication of their closeness.

Bringing someone home in the dead of night? Aside from a lover, Aunt Zhang couldn’t imagine any other explanation.

When Chu Tinghan returned from his phone call and saw Aunt Zhang watering the plants, he paused, surprised. “It’s so late, why are you still up?”

“I’m an old woman with light sleep,” she replied. “I heard you go out and woke up. Since I was up anyway, I thought I’d water the plants while I’m at it.”

Chu Tinghan himself had little interest in gardening. The potted greenery by the window had been brought by Aunt Zhang, who said they would add some life to the house.

Chu Tinghan’s gaze shifted from the houseplants to Pei Ji, then froze upon seeing the row of plush toys lined up beside him. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Pei Ji’s attention had been focused on a small plush rabbit. Hearing Chu Tinghan’s cough, he suddenly remembered Chu Tinghan’s sensitivity to the cold and immediately turned, rose, and walked toward him, asking anxiously, “Did you get chilled outside just now?”

Chu Tinghan shook his head, saying he was fine. He then immediately instructed Aunt Zhang to prepare the guest room for Pei Ji.

Pei Ji wanted to decline, but Aunt Zhang had already made up the guest room.

Left with no choice, Pei Ji reluctantly entered the guest room. After the door closed, faint light from the living room seeped through the crack, and he faintly heard Chu Tinghan’s slightly irritated voice, seemingly still working through a business issue. Moments later, Chu Tinghan’s voice faded away, and the light outside went out.

Pei Ji sat on the edge of the bed, darkness engulfing him once more.

In the quiet of night, the mind tends to wander aimlessly. Without any light, Pei Ji felt like a tiny insect lost in the darkness, flitting about without direction.

I really shouldn’t have come here.

He was now a disgraced celebrity, his reputation in tatters. People would cross the street to avoid him.

He couldn’t understand why Chu Tinghan had taken him in at this critical moment. Was it because he was a junior, or did deeper feelings play a role? Pei Ji didn’t dare dwell on such thoughts. He feared nurturing false hope, only to have it dashed.

Whether it was pity, compassion, or some inexplicable emotion, even if Chu Tinghan genuinely felt these things, given Pei Ji’s current status and circumstances, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it.

Pei Ji didn’t sleep all night, sitting stiffly by the bed in the guest room. He would leave at dawn; his own ruin was one thing, but he refused to drag Chu Tinghan down with him.

As the first streaks of dawn painted the horizon, gradually replacing the night with day, the moment the first rays of sunlight touched Pei Ji’s body, he sprang to his feet, ready to leave.

A rustling sound suddenly came from the living room—Aunt Zhang was up.

Remembering her enthusiastic welcome the day before, Pei Ji feared she would stop him again. He quickly closed the door he had cracked open and furrowed his brow, trying to think of a plausible excuse to leave.

Soon after, Chu Tinghan also woke up. Voices drifted from the living room, and as soon as the conversation ended, Chu Tinghan headed out. A few minutes later, he returned, his footsteps hurried. Through the door, Pei Ji faintly heard a pitiful whimpering sound, almost like a puppy.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. Pei Ji just wanted to leave as quickly as possible, before he became entangled with Chu Tinghan. The sooner he left, the better.

He carefully formulated his words and pushed open the guest room door.

The door creaked open, and Chu Tinghan turned at the sound, his gaze landing on Pei Ji’s bloodless face. Pei Ji’s expression was grave, a barely perceptible trace of melancholy in his eyes. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed a sleepless night.

Is something weighing on his mind? Chu Tinghan wondered.

He sensed Pei Ji’s intention to leave. His expression shifted subtly. Just as Pei Ji was about to speak, Chu Tinghan preempted him: “You’re leaving?”

Pei Ji froze mid-step, then nodded silently.

As if guessing his concerns, Chu Tinghan frowned. “The security here is excellent. Paparazzi and reporters can’t get in. No one will be able to take photos.”

Pei Ji lowered his head. “I know.”

But he still had to leave. Better safe than sorry. If word got out that Chu Tinghan had taken him in, the internet trolls would seize the opportunity to twist the narrative.

He had only learned last night that Chu Tinghan’s situation wasn’t much better. During Pei Ji’s time locked away in the survival show, Chu Tinghan’s reputation had deteriorated. Many accused him of tarnishing his image.

If the public were to discover that Chu Tinghan was still involved with that disgraced idol, the vitriol would be unimaginable.

Chu Tinghan stood on an even higher pedestal than Pei Ji, and countless rivals in the industry were eager to tear him down. Pei Ji couldn’t afford to burden him further.

He had to leave.

The biting autumn wind, saturated with morning dew and frigid air, surged through the open window, instantly draining half the warmth from the room.

The vast villa was eerily silent, save for the pitiful whimpers of the little dog, a sound that tugged at Pei Ji’s heart.

After a long moment, Chu Tinghan’s cold voice shattered the silence. He glanced down at the filthy puppy cradled in his arms, then raised his gaze to meet Pei Ji’s. “I’m leaving the country soon for work. I’ll be too busy to care for a newly weaned puppy, and Aunt Zhang has just taken leave. Since you’re leaving too, and no one else is here to save it, I might as well just toss it back where I found it. Let’s see if some kind soul picks it out of the trash again later. Its survival is up to fate now.”

With that, Chu Tinghan cradled the barely conscious pup and turned to leave.

As if sensing its impending abandonment, the puppy’s distressed whimpers grew louder and more desperate.

Pei Ji couldn’t bear to look down at it. Its fur was matted and filthy, soaked through by the rain. A cigarette butt had been burned into the base of its tail. On its tiny, huddled body, there wasn’t a patch of healthy flesh to be found. Even breathing seemed to be a struggle, as if it were about to draw its last breath.

The puppy was in critical condition. If they threw it out now, it likely wouldn’t survive long.

As Pei Ji gazed at the pitiful creature, he inexplicably felt a pang of empathy. This tiny dog, barely half the length of his arm, seemed far more wretched than he himself had ever been.

Just as Chu Tinghan was about to step out the door, Pei Ji couldn’t help but call out, “Wait.”

“…I’ll keep it.”

He could sense the moral blackmail in Chu Tinghan’s words, but he fell for it anyway.

It wasn’t out of any great kindness, but rather because the sight of the puppy reminded him of when his adoptive parents had abandoned him many years ago.

Back then, his adoptive mother had resented him as a burden, while his adoptive father had feared the adopted son would usurp his family inheritance. He only wanted a biological son to carry on his bloodline and harbored a deep-seated distrust of Pei Ji.

How laughable. After decades of living as a family—from raising him since childhood—neither parent had truly considered him their son when they divorced. Neither of them wanted him.

Fortunately, by then he was already grown up. Even if no one wanted him, he could still live well enough. But what about this frail, filthy little dog, on the verge of death? If no one took it in, its only path led to certain doom.

Suddenly overwhelmed by a surge of compassion, he impulsively took the dog from Chu Tinghan’s arms.

Chu Tinghan breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he had finally convinced him to stay.

But to his shock, the next moment he saw Pei Ji holding the dog, stubbornly insisting he was still leaving—and taking the dog with him.

Chu Tinghan couldn’t understand why Pei Ji was so determined to leave. Wasn’t it better to stay here, away from the paparazzi and reporters, without the fear of being evicted by a landlord?

Just like that day when he heard Pei Ji’s polite yet distant “Teacher Chu,” he never quite grasped what Pei Ji was thinking.

Pei Ji looked terribly unwell, a stark contrast to the vibrant, spirited frontman he had been on stage. Chu Tinghan worried he might do something reckless and blocked the door, refusing to let him leave.

Chu Tinghan spun a thousand excuses and told ten thousand lies just to keep him there. Finally, Pei Ji relented and agreed to stay.

Pei Ji’s eyes, hidden in the shadows of his disheveled hair, said, “How much is the rent? I’ll transfer it to you.”

“What?” Chu Tinghan blinked in surprise, not expecting him to care about such things.

“I’m renting your place. I won’t stay for free.”

Chu Tinghan found it absurd. Everyone else would have snatched up such a windfall without a second thought, yet Pei Ji insisted on paying.

Afraid Pei Ji might bring up leaving again, he hastily made up a random number.

Chu Tinghan assumed Pei Ji was joking around, not thinking clearly. To his surprise, every month thereafter, a sum of money would be regularly transferred to his bank card—even more than the amount he’d initially quoted. Pei Ji was paying rent.

Chu Tinghan had no intention of accepting the money, so after each video call updating Pei Ji on the puppy’s progress, he would transfer the funds back under various pretexts: buying medicine, snacks, or other supplies for the dog.

Since he didn’t have Pei Ji’s bank card number, he could only use WeChat transfers. But Pei Ji never accepted a single payment.

Perplexed by where Pei Ji was getting the money and worried he might be struggling to make ends meet due to the rent, Chu Tinghan began sending packages of daily necessities under flimsy excuses like “addressing errors” or “ordering the wrong items online.”

After the umpteenth delivery of another large package, Pei Ji finally snapped. He told Chu Tinghan he had savings and didn’t need the charity. As for the puppy, he could afford to care for it himself.

What he didn’t reveal was that the money came from selling his car.

After selling his car, Pei Ji’s two biggest expenses were rent and a cutting-edge sports camera.

His reason for buying it was simple. During a video call, Chu Tinghan had mentioned the video quality was a bit blurry—Lucky became a fuzzy white blur when he ran. Chu Tinghan also lamented being too busy abroad to appreciate the crape myrtle trees in their neighborhood.

Lucky was the name Pei Ji had given his puppy. Stroking the poor creature, curled into a bagel shape as it received an IV drip, he’d said he hoped it would be luckier than him.

Chu Tinghan initially found the name too common, but after hearing its meaning, he didn’t argue.

Lucky was a good name, just like the crape myrtle flowers in their neighborhood.

Crape myrtle flowers?

Pei Ji, preoccupied with preventing Lucky from eating random things during their daily walks, had never even noticed the crape myrtle trees in their neighborhood.

He took Lucky on a search around the complex and finally found the trees, but it was still early spring, before they had begun to bloom.

He figured Chu Tinghan might have gotten mixed up in his busy schedule and forgotten the blooming season, or perhaps he was simply homesick after being abroad for half a year.

So he decided that if Chu Tinghan couldn’t come home, he would bring home to him.

When taking pictures of the puppy, he always kept his distance, making sure to capture as much of the scenery around Chu Tinghan’s home as possible, sending him glimpses of his hometown through Lucky’s photos.

Hidden beneath the puppy’s clear, innocent childhood lay a deep, unspoken affection.

Every day, he walked the dog at fixed times, regularly sent Chu Tinghan updates with “Lucky’s Growth Diary,” and video-called him to report on Lucky’s progress. Before he knew it, he had completely forgotten the messy business from his time on the talent show.

His thoughts now revolved solely around his mischievous puppy back home and Chu Tinghan, far away.

From then on, his phone included a weather forecast for another region. Every morning, the first thing he did upon waking was check if it was sunny or if there was thunder and rain. The second thing he did was leash up the bouncy, door-scratching Lucky and take him out for a walk.

Perhaps puppies truly could heal the soul. Gradually, he began to forget the scars left by the talent show, his mood lifted, and he started writing songs and composing music again.

Over nearly two years, he wrote five songs in total: three for Chu Tinghan and two for himself.

But even after finishing them, he hesitated to show them to Chu Tinghan, fearing imperfections. So he refined them tirelessly, revising them again and again.

Eventually, he finished producing one of his songs and released it on a music platform.

He never imagined that the moment his song was released, a torrent of vitriol would come crashing down on him.

Old scandals resurfaced, and the mud of past controversies was once again hurled at him. From his character to his music, the antis mercilessly dissected every flaw, leaving nothing unscathed.

Online, everyone clamored for his permanent withdrawal from the entertainment industry.

His world, once vibrant with color, faded again into a hopeless monochrome.

Pei Ji sank once more into a murky abyss, his despair even deeper than before.

He felt he might never recover in this lifetime.

Whenever a flicker of ambition sparked within him, an invisible, massive hand would emerge from the shadows, crushing it ruthlessly, leaving him no room to struggle.

Meanwhile, Chu Tinghan, through relentless effort, had finally salvaged his reputation and was thriving overseas.

Two years later, the city’s streets were once again plastered with Chu Tinghan’s advertisements. The man on the billboards seemed even more dazzling than before.

Late one night, Pei Ji stood before Chu Tinghan’s colossal, nearly twenty-meter-tall luxury jewelry advertisement. He felt Chu Tinghan was brighter than the moon, yet even more unattainable.

Chu Tinghan deserved to be surrounded by dazzling, precious gemstones like those in the advertisement—not a broken, filthy stone like him, forever mired in mud, emitting only a foul stench and devoid of luster, impossible to cleanse.

Lucky had grown up, and Aunt Zhang had returned. It was time for him to leave.

Lost in thought, he walked back to Chu Tinghan’s house, intending to pack his belongings and disappear from Chu Tinghan’s world forever.

But he hadn’t expected to find someone standing at the door. The man turned at the sound of his footsteps, offering a polite smile.

Pei Ji recognized him immediately—Wu Qian, Chu Tinghan’s manager.

The moment he saw Wu Qian, Pei Ji knew why he was here.

After a brief pause, Pei Ji said, “Please come in.”

Inside, Wu Qian sat on the sofa while Pei Ji poured him a glass of water and set it down.

Wu Qian hesitated several times, his gaze fixed on Pei Ji, struggling to find the right words.

Pei Ji cut to the chase, knowing exactly why Wu Qian had come. “You’re Chu Tinghan’s manager, right? What can I do for you?”

Wu Qian took a sip of water before asking, “How did you and Chu Tinghan meet?”

“We were classmates,” Pei Ji replied.

Wu Qian nodded slowly, pondered for a moment, then glanced upstairs toward Chu Tinghan’s bedroom and asked, “Do you know where all those stuffed animals in his room came from?”

“That’s a strange question,” Pei Ji thought, puzzled. He couldn’t understand why Wu Qian was asking this.

He had only caught a glimpse of a wall lined with plush toys in Chu Tinghan’s bedroom one day while Aunt Zhang was cleaning, but he hadn’t given it much thought.

He shook his head honestly.

Wu Qian sighed, as if reminiscing about the past. “I bought the earlier ones. Most of the rest were his own. Do you know why?”

“Because he had no family—or rather, his family was like vampires. I first met him when he was only seven or eight years old, a trainee at some obscure company. His parents were never around. I was baffled how they could so carelessly abandon such a young child in a foreign land, not even visiting him during holidays.”

“I remember it was Mid-Autumn Festival. All the other trainees’ children had gone home for the holiday, leaving him alone in the dormitory. I initially thought his parents’ flight must have been delayed, so I called them. But they simply said they were busy and hung up, as if he were a foundling they cared nothing about. Seeing such a young child left all alone tugged at my heart, but I was also eager to return home to see my own parents and couldn’t stay with him. So, I rushed to a nearby store and bought him a few dolls to keep him company.”

“His parents visited him only a handful of times. Most of the time, he was like a child without a home, no one to care for him, no one to keep him company. I didn’t know how to comfort him, so I just bought him plush toys for every holiday, pretending they were his family.”

“When I spoke to his parents on the phone, all they asked was whether he was working hard on his training, whether he listened to his superiors, and whether his chances of debuting were high. After hearing his parents’ words, I suddenly felt so sorry for the boy. I told him, ‘If you’re sad, just cry,’ but he replied, ‘I have no tears. I can’t cry.'”

“At that moment, I thought, ‘This kid has such a steely heart. He’ll definitely debut. Maybe then his parents will finally visit him.’ But fate had other plans. The company thought his singing was too good, too dazzling for a group setting—it would overshadow the others. So they kept delaying his debut, hoping to push him for a solo debut later. But as they stalled, the company went bankrupt, all the trainees left, and I moved to a new company. He was barely fifteen at the time.”

“The next time I saw him was a year later. He had signed with Minghua Entertainment, and through a strange twist of fate, I became his manager again. One day, I noticed a bruise on his body and asked what happened. He quickly covered the purplish mark with his clothes and casually said his dad had scolded him for not debuting yet and hit him with a disciplinary ruler.”

“Sigh… you’ve been in this industry long enough to know what Minghua Entertainment is like. They’re only interested in exploiting their artists, which is why Xiao Chu was forced to go overseas to develop his career. In the past two years, his luck has finally turned. He managed to gain some recognition abroad, won his lawsuit against Minghua Entertainment, and started his own studio as his own boss. Major domestic platforms are now eagerly offering him opportunities again, and his future looks incredibly bright.”

“He’s had a rough road since childhood. It hasn’t been easy for him. He may indeed lack emotional warmth, but I don’t think that’s all there is to life. You…”

“I’m just someone who’s taking care of his dog. What emotional connection could there be?” Pei Ji said with a detached smile.

The sound of their conversation woke Lucky from his deep slumber. The groggy Samoyed slowly stood up, his tail wagging languidly as he padded over to sit beside Pei Ji. Pei Ji reached down and gently stroked the dog’s head.

Wu Qian stared at the sleepy-eyed Samoyed, momentarily stunned. “…You have a dog?”

Pei Ji shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, so? What else could we be to each other?”

Wu Qian’s brow furrowed deeply. “Are you serious?”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

Wu Qian, flustered and unsure of what to say, exchanged a few awkward pleasantries before leaving.

As soon as Wu Qian was gone, the suppressed pain surged back like a wildfire, searing Pei Ji’s heart.

Darkness suddenly descended over Pei Ji’s vision. He stood there for a long moment, one hand pressed against his chest, the other bracing against the wall.

He had always known that Chu Tinghan’s rise to his current position hadn’t been easy, but he never imagined it would be this difficult—a relentless journey through thorns and brambles, across mountains of blades and seas of fire.

And those parents… they were even worse than his own foster parents.

If he had known all this, he should have left from the very beginning. He shouldn’t have stayed here, and he certainly shouldn’t have become a burden to Chu Tinghan.

Pei Ji returned to his hotel room in a daze, pulled out his suitcase, and began stuffing clothes into it haphazardly.

Midway through packing, a pair of pleading eyes suddenly appeared in the suitcase, belonging to Lucky, his small dog.

As if sensing his departure, Lucky had burrowed into the suitcase, hoping Pei Ji would take him along.

Pei Ji froze, staring into Lucky’s pitiful eyes. If I leave, what will happen to Lucky? He’s so mischievous and hard to care for. Who could look after him properly if I’m gone?

Aunt Zhang had gone home yesterday to care for her grandson and wouldn’t return until tomorrow morning.

Just one more night. I’ll wait until Aunt Zhang comes back tomorrow morning, give her instructions, entrust Lucky to her care, and then I’ll leave.

The next morning, instead of Aunt Zhang, he found Chu Tinghan standing before him, travel-worn from his urgent flight back from abroad.

It was the dead of winter, with frost clinging to the trees nearby and snow blanketing the ground. Chu Tinghan stood shivering in a thin suit tailored for performances, his lips purple with cold, his voice trembling as he demanded, “What did Wu Qian tell you?”

Chu Tinghan struggled to control his voice, but every syllable still shook uncontrollably. “You’re leaving… aren’t you?”