After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 70
Chapter 70
A week ago, the weather forecast had warned of an impending cold wave, predicting a sharp drop in temperature and the potential for heavy snowfall. Yet the past few days had remained stubbornly sunny, with not a single flake of snow falling. It wasn’t until yesterday evening that the long-delayed blizzard finally descended, blanketing the world in a pristine white cloak.
In just one night, the ground had been covered in a thick layer of snow. The string of footprints leading to the villa’s entrance appeared unusually chaotic. It was clear without a second thought how frantic their owner must have been when they rushed here.
Pei Ji recalled his encounters with Chu Tinghan. Aside from their first meeting, nearly all their other meetings had been marred by rain or snow; sunny days were pitifully rare.
The harsh weather seemed like a warning, as if the heavens had been telling him from the start that their relationship was fundamentally wrong.
Looking at the man before him, now covered in snow and rendered utterly disheveled by his own actions, Pei Ji felt increasingly like an unbearable burden.
If not for him, Chu Tinghan would likely be safe and warm in some villa abroad, rather than standing thinly dressed in this blizzard, shivering uncontrollably, his nose flushed red with cold.
The moment Pei Ji saw him, he desperately wanted to pull Chu Tinghan into his arms, ask if he was cold, and ask if it was foolish of him to have flown back from abroad on an early morning flight through such heavy snow, just for him.
He raised his hand slightly, paused in the air for a moment, then let it fall back down.
I promised to leave… I promised to disappear from Chu Tinghan’s world… I promised not to burden him. I can’t break my word…
Not only could he not embrace him, but he had to lower his head, avert his gaze, and force himself to look indifferent, compelling his eyes to look away from Chu Tinghan.
Yet, in his peripheral vision, he could still faintly glimpse the figure he had longed for day and night.
Perhaps it was from working tirelessly overseas, but Chu Tinghan looked much thinner than he had two years ago. The cold wind pressed his thin clothes against his frail frame, making him resemble a withered leaf, ready to crumble at the slightest gust.
Why aren’t you eating properly?
Everyone says you’re thriving abroad, but why do you look like this?
Are they telling the truth, or are they lying?
Were you really unhappy abroad?
Who’s been upsetting you?
Is it the foreign food?
Or should I hire a Chinese chef for you? You need to eat properly first, no matter what…
A thousand words swirled in his throat before he swallowed them back down. He could only press his lips tightly together, his jaw clenched, maintaining his silence.
Seeing his unwavering silence, Chu Tinghan relentlessly pressed him for an explanation.
Why must you leave?
Why won’t you stay?
Why are you abandoning me?
Why…? Answer me!
By the end, Chu Tinghan had lost all sensation. He couldn’t feel the biting wind, and his voice was hoarse and raspy.
The anguished shout made Pei Ji instinctively look up. The eyes that met his were shimmering with tears, the redness of their rims stark against the white snow, piercingly vivid.
Chu Tinghan couldn’t bear to look. He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and after a moment, forced his heavy eyelids open, forcing the corners of his mouth into a weak smile. “You asked me to take care of your dog, right? Two years have passed. Lucky’s all grown up now. My task is complete. It’s time for me to go.”
“…Raising a dog?” As sensation gradually returned, the frigid air seemed to seep into Chu Tinghan’s heart, slowly freezing it. “Do you really think I lack someone to help me raise a dog?”
Pei Ji lowered his gaze to the snow-covered ground. “Then what else? I’m just someone who helps you raise your dog.”
“Are you pretending to be stupid with me?”
No response.
“I know Wu Qian came to see you yesterday. What did he say? Why are you so determined to leave? Isn’t it good here? If there’s anything you’re unhappy about, tell me, okay?”
Still no response.
The endless silence crashed over Chu Tinghan like a tidal wave, swallowing him whole. Terrified by the feeling, he desperately clutched at Pei Ji’s hand, which hung limply by his side. “Little Pei, please say something. What’s really happening? Why do you have to leave?”
Pei Ji yanked his hand free and said in an icy tone, “I’ve had enough. I’m sick of it. Just let me go, okay?”
At these words, Chu Tinghan staggered backward, his legs giving way.
Slowly regaining his balance, he straightened up and said, each word deliberate: “No. I won’t let you go.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a black SUV pulled up nearby. Two burly men in black suits emerged, standing like door gods on either side of the villa’s entrance.
They bowed deeply, murmuring in unison, “Director Chu.”
Pei Ji looked up in surprise, his face paling. “…What are you going to do?”
Chu Tinghan raised a hand, gently touching Pei Ji’s cheek, his voice taking on an almost manic tone. “I told you, I won’t let you leave.”
You want to leave? You want to abandon me? Not in this life, not in the next, not in any life to come!
You’re the only person I’ve ever loved. And… you’re the only one who’s ever loved me back.
How could I possibly let you go?
Chu Tinghan stationed his bodyguards at the gate, keeping Pei Ji under constant surveillance. Except for brief morning and evening walks with the dog, Pei Ji couldn’t set foot outside the villa. Even those walks were closely monitored by the guards, who never left his side.
Confined to the villa, Pei Ji wasn’t angry at Chu Tinghan. Instead, he felt utterly helpless, and at times, angry for Chu Tinghan—the kind of anger one feels when someone you care about refuses to reach their full potential.
Of all the people Chu Tinghan could have kept, why him, a worthless piece of trash?
Had Chu Tinghan gone blind?
Everyone else avoided him like the plague, afraid of getting burned. Yet Chu Tinghan insisted on treating him like a treasure.
Not only did he refuse to let go, but he even hired bodyguards to watch over him.
Who would steal a broken stone like me anyway? Pei Ji thought. Even passersby would kick me aside with disgust.
Even the antiques in museums probably don’t get treated this well.
Why not just throw this rock away and replace it with a sparkling jewel?
The answer was obvious: still no.
A few days later, a construction crew arrived. They boarded up the windows on the second floor, but left the first-floor windows untouched.
Pei Ji found this strange. From his perspective, escaping through a first-floor window seemed far more feasible. Why seal the second floor but leave the first floor open?
One morning, while walking Lucky, his greedy little dog darted into a supermarket for a sausage as usual. The supermarket was playing a familiar, popular song. As Pei Ji passed a pair of gossiping aunties shopping for groceries, he overheard their conversation:
“I just love this song,” one of them said. “Back in the day, I saved up to see the Song Queen perform live. Ah… such a shame. By the time I had enough money, she was gone. Truly, beauty is fleeting. She died so young, only in her forties, from illness.”
“Passed away from illness? I heard Song Queen Li Xiwen committed suicide. They say she jumped from a building after suffering a devastating blow. They saved her, but she ended up in a vegetative state and died after lying in a hospital bed for over a decade.”
“…Where did you hear such a far-fetched story?”
“It was all over the internet a few years ago, when that Director won an international award. They said he and Li Xiwen had a child who died young, which drove her to jump. It wasn’t illness at all.”
“Ah… Even celebrities crack under pressure sometimes, huh?”
“Of course! Didn’t another one jump just the other day? She wasn’t very famous, so most people didn’t even hear about it. The poor girl couldn’t handle the cyberbullying and jumped from the third floor. Luckily, they managed to save her.”
In that instant, Pei Ji understood.
The reason the second-floor windows had been sealed wasn’t to prevent him from escaping, but to stop him from jumping.
Heh…
Chu Tinghan was such a worrywart, always fretting about this and that.
Even if he did jump from the second floor, he’d probably just break a leg—highly unlikely to die.
Besides, Li Xiwen was the renowned Song Queen. It was only natural for the world to mourn her passing. But who would care if he died? Most would probably be clapping and cheering.
He’s such an idiot.
The supermarket was vast, with rows upon rows of shelves. Today happened to be the day the owner was restocking, so workers were bustling in and out, carrying crates of goods that piled up inside and outside the store. The scene was utterly chaotic.
The bodyguard following him was currently stationed at the front entrance, waiting for him to emerge. Unfamiliar with the layout, the bodyguard assumed only the front entrance was open, unaware that the owner had, for once, unlocked the back door to facilitate deliveries.
A neighbor happened to be at the supermarket too, with Lucky’s best friend dog on a leash. Lucky rushed over to play, completely forgetting Pei Ji’s presence.
A few days earlier, Pei Ji had already given Aunt Zhang detailed instructions on how to care for Lucky. The neighbor was a dog lover, and their home was close to Chu Tinghan’s villa. Lucky knew the way back, so he wouldn’t get lost.
As Pei Ji approached the back door, he glanced back at the little dog he had raised from puppyhood. Though his heart ached, he quietly slipped away.
He hadn’t expected that twenty minutes later, the bodyguards would find him, led by none other than Lucky, the puppy he had abandoned moments ago.
Lucky seemed oblivious to Pei Ji’s deliberate departure, convinced instead that his master had gotten lost. The dog gazed at him with clear, round eyes full of worry.
Pei Ji struggled to escape, tangling with several muscular bodyguards. Unwilling to truly harm him, they seized the opportunity to knock him unconscious.
When Pei Ji awoke, night had fallen. He found himself bound to a chair, his hands tied behind his back, facing a familiar figure.
The room was unlit, save for the pale moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
In the moonlight, Pei Ji sat bathed in its glow, while Chu Tinghan remained in the shadows, hunched over with his head bowed low.
Pei Ji could only see the crown of his head, unable to discern the expression on his face or what troubled his thoughts. He had no idea why he had been tied up or what Chu Tinghan intended to do.
His heart pounding with uncertainty, Pei Ji dared not speak.
After an agonizingly long silence, Chu Tinghan seemed to finally resolve something in his mind. He took a deep breath, lifted his gaze, and froze for a few seconds when he realized Pei Ji was awake. Then, he strode purposefully toward him.
Each step grew more urgent, closing the distance in just three strides until he stood right before Pei Ji.
He asked with rare composure, “Why do you want to leave?”
Pei Ji had lost count of how many times he’d heard that question.
He gave the same cold reply as before: “I’m tired of being here.”
After a tense two-second pause, Chu Tinghan’s breathing suddenly quickened. His chest heaved visibly with the force of his surging emotions, abandoning all pretense of calm and deliberation. All he knew was that this person wanted to leave, and he would never allow it—never.
In the next instant, Chu Tinghan straddled Pei Ji’s lap, pressing his thigh urgently against his own as he leaned forward. He stopped abruptly just as their noses were about to touch, their mingled breath hanging in the air between them.
Locked in intense eye contact, Chu Tinghan scrutinized Pei Ji’s hazel eyes with piercing intensity, searching for the slightest crack in his unchanging gaze—any shred of evidence that he was lying.
But he found nothing.
Pei Ji’s eyes held only panic, no other emotion. And even that flicker of terror quickly transformed into cold composure within seconds.
Impossible… How could this be?
That sweet, innocent junior who swore to take responsibility for him… how could he abandon him like this…?
No, absolutely not.
Chu Tinghan took a few ragged breaths, forcing down the turmoil of his emotions. His brow furrowed in stubborn disbelief as he refused to believe Pei Ji’s words. “That’s impossible! You’re lying to me, aren’t you?”
Pei Ji felt Chu Tinghan’s warm breath ghost across his cheek like a feather—ticklish, feverish, and a chilling premonition. He closed his eyes in despair and jerked his head away, his throat bobbing as he regained his icy tone, coldly uttering, “No.”
Those two words ignited Chu Tinghan’s temper like a fuse. His emotions spiraled out of control, his actions growing bolder. As he lowered his head to find Pei Ji’s lips, he spoke as if possessed, “Little Pei, Junior, you weren’t like this before! You used to smile at me so warmly, so enthusiastically, your ears would blush sometimes. You used to like me, didn’t you? Now… now you don’t like me anymore?”
If Pei Ji hadn’t known Chu Tinghan’s character so well, he might have suspected the man had taken something today.
He pressed his lips into a tight line, turning his head frantically to avoid the man who was coiling around him like a vine. But with his hands pinned behind him, his struggles were futile. In mere moments, Chu Tinghan had seized his chin and, brooking no resistance, forced a kiss upon his lips.
Sensory overload stunned Pei Ji, his mind going completely blank for a moment.
He couldn’t fathom why Chu Tinghan was reacting so violently, going so far as to force a kiss—an act utterly out of character for the composed facade he usually maintained.
Chu Tinghan’s kiss was clumsy, more like a savage bite. Between frantic, muffled kisses, he murmured, “You… you don’t like… me anymore?”
As Pei Ji gradually regained his senses, he realized Chu Tinghan had truly lost his mind. Steeling his resolve, he bit Chu Tinghan’s lip harshly. “Calm down!”
The metallic tang of blood flooded his tongue instantly.
Chu Tinghan gasped in pain and finally released Pei Ji’s lips. He raised a hand to wipe his mouth, then glanced down to confirm the blood before his gaze turned vacant.
After a moment, he slowly rose from Pei Ji’s body, his steps unsteady and his spirit adrift, and retreated back into the pitch-black shadows. He slumped into a chair opposite Pei Ji, elbows propped on his knees, clutching his face in his hands, his shoulders jerking with convulsive sobs.
Each shudder of Chu Tinghan’s shoulders resonated with Pei Ji’s heartbeat. With every convulsive twitch, Pei Ji’s heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise, a sharp, aching pain.
How could he not know what Chu Tinghan wanted to hear?
But everything Chu Tinghan longed to hear was the truth Pei Ji couldn’t say.
Those words were etched into his heart; if only they could carve it open, they’d see—
Chu Tinghan, it’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just that I’m not worthy to stand beside you.
Song God Chu Tinghan, who achieved fame at a young age, bathed in glory. I don’t want people to forget your radiance when they speak of you, instead associating you with someone like me—a man marred by scandals and stained with disgrace, someone named Pei Ji.
…I’m simply not worthy of your affection.
But these words could only rot in his gut, never escaping his lips.
They were alone in the villa, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The faint sobs echoed endlessly in the stillness, amplified to deafening proportions.
Each sob struck Pei Ji’s heart like an invisible, dull blade, repeatedly slicing through his chest. Though not fatal, the relentless blows ground the flesh around his heart into a raw, festering mass.
The soul-searing ache made him break into a cold sweat. He could only channel his anguish into brute force, not realizing that with a slight flex of his arm, the ropes binding him snapped.
No wonder I didn’t feel any tightness earlier—this idiot was holding back.
Pei Ji untied the ropes binding him and tossed them to the ground, his emotions growing increasingly complex.
Why do you care about me so much?
What about me is even worth this?
Why can’t you just give up on me and find someone else?
Chu Tinghan, why are you so stubbornly clinging to this withered branch, this rotting tree?
Pei Ji gazed at the disconsolate man across from him, his heart softening despite himself. He sighed softly, stepped forward, and gently stroked Chu Tinghan’s hunched back, whispering, “I won’t leave. I’ll stay with you.”
Chu Tinghan’s trembling shoulders froze instantly. He snapped his head up, his tear-stained eyes locking onto Pei Ji’s. “R-really? Truly?”
His gaze was like that of a little stray cat begging for scraps on the street—Pei Ji feared one more look would break his resolve.
Sigh…
Pei Ji truly didn’t know what to do anymore.
He hated his own weakness and despised the man across from him for treating trash like treasure.
Even when tying him up, Chu Tinghan hadn’t used enough force. It had taken Pei Ji only a few half-hearted struggles to break free.
After Chu Tinghan left, Pei Ji once again sank into endless confusion.
Buzz His phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number:
Don’t forget what you promised.
In less than a second, Pei Ji knew it was Wu Qian, Chu Tinghan’s manager. Only Wu Qian would send him a message like this at this moment, trying to snap him out of his wavering resolve.
The timing of the message couldn’t have been better, reinforcing Pei Ji’s wavering resolve.
He realized he couldn’t leave alone; he couldn’t handle Chu Tinghan, nor his own softening heart.
He needed help. The obvious choice was Wu Qian.
They had been secretly communicating. Wu Qian had promised to distract the guards at the gate and had arranged a car nearby, with the keys hidden in the greenery to the left of the villa. He urged Pei Ji to act quickly.
But Pei Ji hadn’t anticipated the escalating coincidences. Just as he was about to make his move, Chu Tinghan arrived.
Though Chu Tinghan appeared unusually calm this time, his actions were anything but.
He strode in, looked Pei Ji directly in the eyes, and declared solemnly, “Let’s get married.”
Pei Ji froze, doubting he had heard correctly. “What…?”
Chu Tinghan spoke with unwavering conviction, as if reminding Pei Ji: “You said you wouldn’t leave. You promised to stay with me.”
Pei Ji frowned slightly.
What does this have to do with marriage?
Why so sudden? We haven’t even confessed or dated properly, yet you’re skipping straight to the final step.
Pei Ji didn’t reply, his gaze complex and unreadable.
Chu Tinghan immediately understood his hesitation. “You don’t want to?”
Pei Ji responded with silence.
Chu Tinghan hurried closer. “Why not?”
Pei Ji stared into Chu Tinghan’s eyes. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Chu Tinghan blurted out. “I know what I’m doing.”
He paused, then enunciated slowly and clearly, reinforcing his words: “I want to marry you.”
Pei Ji’s frown deepened. He pushed Chu Tinghan away. “No.”
Chu Tinghan seized his hand, preventing him from retreating. “Why not? You said you’d stay with me.”
Was that just to placate me? Does it mean nothing now?
Pei Ji tried to break free, but the more he struggled, the tighter Chu Tinghan’s grip became. Left with no other choice, he spoke, his voice laced with exasperation, “Do you even understand what marriage means?”
Before Chu Tinghan could answer, Pei Ji replied to himself, “It means we’ll share honor and disgrace, our fates intertwined, never to be parted again.”
Chu Tinghan grasped Pei Ji’s hand and pressed it to his own chest, speaking with fervent sincerity, “I know. I want this, Little Pei. I want this.”
If this were a wedding vow, and Pei Ji were a different man, he would have immediately slipped a ring onto Chu Tinghan’s finger and tenderly kissed the back of his hand.
But there were no “ifs.” In reality, his status meant he could only bring Chu Tinghan endless criticism and scorn.
Shared honor and disgrace… What honor did he even have left to share with Chu Tinghan?
“Chu Tinghan, you want to marry me? You actually want to marry me? Don’t you know what kind of person I am? I’ve been ruined for two years already, my reputation shattered. Everyone’s been clamoring for me to retire. I’ll never recover. Following me will only bring you shame, not honor. Why do you want to marry me? Have you truly thought this through?”
“I have thought it through. I, Chu Tinghan, want to marry you.” Chu Tinghan gripped Pei Ji’s hand so tightly that his knuckles pressed into the flesh. Through the thin layer of skin and bone, Pei Ji could clearly feel the frantic thudding of Chu Tinghan’s heart.
With a surge of desperate strength, Pei Ji finally wrenched himself free from Chu Tinghan’s grasp. “But I don’t want to share your fate! I don’t want to marry you! I refuse!”
As he spoke, Pei Ji’s eyelids trembled, the rims of his eyes gradually reddening with the intensity of his emotions. A tidal wave of grief surged from his heart, and he bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent his meticulously crafted act from crumbling.
Chu Tinghan stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly seemed to realize something. “…You’re deliberately trying to anger me, aren’t you?”
At these words, Pei Ji’s expression flickered for an instant.
That single flicker was all Chu Tinghan needed to confirm his suspicions. “You’re afraid of dragging me down, aren’t you? You’re afraid that sharing my fate will ruin me, aren’t you?”
Yes, yes, that’s right, Chu Tinghan. If you know the reason, why won’t you let me go? Are you really willing to throw away all the fame and fortune you’ve worked so hard to achieve over all these years?!
Pei Ji thought to himself, never imagining Chu Tinghan would give such a stubbornly foolish answer.
“Let me tell you this: I don’t care. I don’t care about fame or fortune—none of it matters. All that matters is you being Pei Ji. I don’t lack fame, and I don’t lack fortune. The only thing missing from my life is you. I just want you. Baby Little Pei, will you marry me? Will you give me the chance to share your fate?”
“Look at you, silent again. I guessed right, didn’t I? You’re leaving because you’re afraid of dragging me down, aren’t you? Fine, if you’re so worried about dragging me down, why did you send that anonymous email? Those three songs inside—you wrote them, didn’t you? If you’re gone, whose name am I supposed to put in the songwriter credits? Do you really not even want credit for your own masterpiece?”
“Stop worrying about me so much, okay? I don’t think you’re a burden. Marry me, and I’ll help you turn things around. I’ll pull you out of this mess. You could never drag me down.”
“Even if you somehow did, it wouldn’t matter. I can turn public opinion around once, I can do it again and again. But what about you? If you leave, will you ever come back?”
This was the first time in his life Pei Ji had ever heard Chu Tinghan speak so much in one breath, every word a blood-soaked confession from the depths of his heart.
Pei Ji tilted his head back, covered his face, and let out a weak, self-deprecating laugh.
You fool… the biggest fool in the world!
What are you even after? What’s so special about me that makes you pour your heart out like this…?
After a moment, Pei Ji’s trembling left hand reached out to gently stroke Chu Tinghan’s cheek. He gazed into those tear-reddened eyes, filled with deep affection, with a complex, inscrutable expression, and murmured, “Don’t be so foolish…”
“Love stems from novelty, but novelty never lasts more than a few years…”
The next words plunged Chu Tinghan into an icy abyss. He heard Pei Ji say, “I haven’t liked you for a long time.”
Pei Ji didn’t believe his feelings for Chu Tinghan were mere novelty, nor did he think Chu Tinghan’s affection for him stemmed from it either.
But he feared that one day, Chu Tinghan would come to regret their relationship, just like his foster parents. After raising him for over a decade, they ultimately regretted it, callously abandoning him with neither willing to take him in.
With Chu Tinghan, he wasn’t afraid of being abandoned. He was simply terrified of seeing the same regretful, disgusted look on Chu Tinghan’s face every day—the look his foster parents had worn.
That feeling was too agonizing; he never wanted to experience it again.
“I don’t like you anymore, Chu Tinghan. Please let me go, okay?”
The three words “I don’t like you anymore” pierced Chu Tinghan’s chest like a dagger.
If you don’t like me, then who do you like?
Is it Lü Yi, who was always by your side in college, practically inseparable from you?
Or is it someone else entirely?
He didn’t press the issue of her feelings further, a flicker of anger surfacing. “Fine, very well. You don’t want anything to do with me? Heh… fine. From now on, whether you live or die is none of my concern!”
He spun around in fury, but as he reached the door, about to storm out of the villa, he stopped abruptly. After a moment of silence, all the strength seemed to drain from his body as he muttered weakly, unable to tell whether he was deceiving himself or not, “There’s a knot in your heart. I’ll wait for you to untie it.”
After Chu Tinghan left, Pei Ji sat motionless through the night, listening to the relentless ticking of the clock.
Just as dawn was about to break, he received a message from Wu Qian.
Wu Qian: The guards at the door have been dismissed. Chu Tinghan’s flight leaves early this morning; he’s returning overseas and won’t be back for a while. This is your best chance to keep your promise.
A few minutes later, another message arrived.
Wu Qian: I know you’re reluctant to leave his side, but you’ve already gained more than enough. Let me be frank—he paid off your breach-of-contract penalty a long time ago: sixteen million. I think that’s plenty.
Pei Ji gripped his phone tightly, staring fixedly at the number.
Sixteen million…
Sixteen million? Is Chu Tinghan stupid and rich? I’m not even worth a fraction of that. Why would he spend so much on me?
He already owed Chu Tinghan an unpayable emotional debt, and now this massive financial burden had been added.
Sixteen million… how could he ever repay it?
Even if they tore me apart and sold me off piece by piece, sixteen times over, they still might not make enough to cover that debt.
How am I supposed to repay this…?
Buzz. His phone vibrated again. Thinking it was Wu Qian urging him to leave, he numbly rose and headed for the door, glancing at his phone as he walked.
But when he saw the message on the screen, he froze.
It wasn’t from Wu Qian, but from his foster mother, Jiang Xuehua.
Jiang Xuehua: Aji, I’m back in City A. Are you doing okay?
Jiang Xuehua: Mom misses you. Want to grab a bite sometime?
Over all these years, the one thing Pei Ji couldn’t understand was Jiang Xuehua’s feelings toward him. She had raised him, playing the role of mother and son for over a decade. Yet after divorcing his foster father, she claimed raising him wasn’t her intention, that she never wanted a son like him, and cruelly abandoned him. But then, years later, this long-lost mother reappeared in his life, checking in on him every few months, sending him guitars, flowers—just like now, announcing her return, claiming she missed him, wanting to see him.
This maternal affection was laced with complex emotions, utterly awkward no matter how you looked at it.
Pei Ji couldn’t tell if Jiang Xuehua hated him for wasting her youth, resented him for trapping her in a family, or if there was still a sliver of genuine maternal affection hidden beneath it all.
But none of that mattered now.
The most pressing thought occupying his mind was the division of assets following his foster parents’ divorce, as they each embarked on their own separate ventures.
When he graduated from university, Jiang Xuehua had promised to gift him a spacious apartment in City A’s downtown core—a property valued at several tens of millions, precisely enough to repay Chu Tinghan.
He had refused it back then, but now… he had no choice but to ask if her promise still stood.
At this thought, Pei Ji let out a self-mocking laugh.
He hadn’t wanted to do this; he despised owing favors to anyone. But he owed Chu Tinghan far too much. Since love could no longer repay the debt, he had to settle it with money.
As for Jiang Xuehua’s apartment, he would repay her later.
If not for this desperate situation, he would never have resorted to robbing Peter to pay Paul—especially since the “Peter” was the very thing he had stubbornly refused to accept all these years, making his past insistence seem utterly ridiculous.
But none of that mattered. As long as he could repay Chu Tinghan, he would do anything.
Pei Ji hurried out, found the car keys hidden in the landscaping, and drove off to find Jiang Xuehua.
At City A Airport, Chu Tinghan pushed his luggage forward absentmindedly, the plane ticket in his hand already crumpled from his grip.
His pace slowed until he finally stopped in a corner of the lobby, unable to let go of a certain someone. He pulled out his phone and dialed the familiar number again.
Beep… beep… We’re sorry, the number you’ve dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later…
This was the tenth time he’d called Pei Ji this morning, and each call had gone unanswered, vanishing like a stone dropped into the sea.
The phone screen showed it was half-past six in the morning. The winter sun had yet to rise, and through the airport’s glass, Chu Tinghan could see the sky remained dark.
Just hours earlier, he and Pei Ji had had a heated argument. The unanswered calls left him torn between wondering if Pei Ji was deliberately ignoring him or simply still asleep, unable to hear the phone ring.
Though he hated to admit it, Chu Tinghan suspected the former was more likely.
Regret washed over him. He shouldn’t have said such harsh words yesterday, especially not that callous remark: “Whether you live or die is none of my concern.”
If Pei Ji were to die one day, Chu Tinghan’s heart would die with him, its beating forever stilled.
He knew that in his world, he could do without anything… except Pei Ji.
With less than ten minutes until boarding, baggage check-in and security hadn’t been completed. Wu Qian watched Chu Tinghan, who stood frozen, staring blankly at his phone, lost in thought.
But nothing mattered more than rushing through security and boarding now. Time was running out; if they didn’t move, they’d miss their flight for sure.
Wu Qian patted him on the back. “Xiao Chu, let’s go! We’ll miss the flight if we don’t hurry.”
Chu Tinghan remained motionless. Under Wu Qian’s puzzled gaze, he dialed Pei Ji’s number again.
He wanted to say that yesterday’s words hadn’t been his true feelings. He only wanted Pei Ji to live well, to live well with him.
He wanted to apologize for letting his emotions get the better of him yesterday, for saying things he didn’t mean.
This trip abroad would keep him away for a while, and they might not see each other for a very long time.
As Chu Tinghan listened to the endless ringing, the warmth drained from his body.
Little Pei… my dearest junior… my darling… could you come to the airport to see me off…?
Or just let me hear your voice…
But why aren’t you answering the phone?
Are you angry with me? That wasn’t my intention at all. I missed you so much while I was abroad, I thought of you constantly, but I never imagined we’d only end up arguing. Can’t we just talk calmly for once? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you smile.
Why won’t you answer? Please… just talk to me.
“Xiao Chu, security checks close in five minutes. We really don’t have time. Can’t we talk on the plane? If we miss this flight, we’ll miss the award ceremony. This award has never been given to a foreigner before—the organizers are making an exception for you. You have to go! If we’re late and can’t attend the ceremony in person, won’t that be a slap in the face to the organizers?”
Chu Tinghan ignored him, stubbornly dialing Pei Ji’s number for the twelfth time.
Wu Qian grew frantic and shouted his full name, “Let’s go, Chu Tinghan! How long are you going to keep acting like this?!”
The thirteenth time…
The fourteenth time…
The fifteenth time…
After dialing for the sixteenth time, the call finally connected after a few tense seconds.
Chu Tinghan was overjoyed, pressed the phone to his ear, steadied his emotions, swallowed his grief, and was about to speak with a cheerful voice when a completely unfamiliar voice suddenly cut him off.
The line crackled with chaotic background noise, the faint wail of an ambulance siren piercing through. The person spoke urgently, “Are you the patient’s family? He’s been in an accident… a car crash…”
In an instant, the world seemed to go silent, leaving only the amplified wail of the ambulance siren echoing in Chu Tinghan’s mind.
His grip loosened, and the phone clattered to the ground.
After a stunned pause of two seconds, he finally regained his senses. He dropped to his knees in a panic, scrambling to retrieve the phone and frantically pressing it back to his ear. “How badly is he hurt? Which hospital are you taking him to…?”
Hearing the word “hospital,” Wu Qian immediately sensed something was wrong. “What’s happened?” he demanded.
But Chu Tinghan seemed deaf to Wu Qian’s words, continuing his disjointed conversation with the person on the other end of the line.
Moments later, he hung up, his face as white as paper, his eyes hollow and lifeless.
Wu Qian hesitated before asking, “…What happened?”
“He’s in trouble. I need to see him.” Chu Tinghan’s gaze refocused. He dropped his suitcase and strode toward the airport exit, oblivious to everything around him.
Wu Qian grabbed his coat, refusing to let him leave. “Calm down! What can you even do there? Are you a doctor? The doctors are there—he’ll be fine! Your priority right now is getting on that plane with me to accept the award overseas. Don’t you know what you’ve been working toward these past two years? Are you really going to throw away the award, your reputation, everything—just for him?!”
“I don’t want any of it anymore. I only want him. I only want Pei Ji.” Chu Tinghan’s eyes burned with an unprecedented stubbornness as he ripped off his coat and charged back toward the gate, determined to reach Pei Ji.
Wu Qian chased after him, blocking his path. “Can’t you just think straight for once?!”
The next moment, he saw Chu Tinghan’s eyes brimming with tears, his expression utterly devastated. His legs buckled, and he nearly collapsed into Wu Qian’s arms.
Silent tears streamed down Chu Tinghan’s cheeks. His throat tightened, and he could only manage broken, faint words: “Uncle Wu… you don’t understand… I really can’t live without him… Uncle… please, let me go back to him, please?”
Wu Qian propped up Chu Tinghan’s limp body, his heart twisting with conflicting emotions. If he could, he would drag out those two degenerate parents and beat them senseless.
If not for their twisted, abnormal upbringing, how could Chu Tinghan have become like this?
In the end, Wu Qian couldn’t bear to see the child he’d raised for nearly a decade reduced to such utter despair. After a moment’s hesitation, he sighed, “Alright, I’ll go with you.”
A few hours later, Chu Tinghan’s award was accepted on his behalf by studio staff stranded overseas.
Meanwhile, the Song God Chu Tinghan, who should have been basking in glory at the international awards ceremony, posted an enigmatic message on his official account:
—You took away my heartbeat.