Chapter Eleven: My Esteemed Teacher, My Beloved Mentor.

“Minjun, if you get hungry later, just order some takeout yourself.”

Mingyan said as he pulled out a few bills and placed them on the living room table.

He had considered that Minjun would need some change for ordering takeout, so the money he left was a mix of bills and coins, totaling about 100,000 Korean won—roughly 500 Chinese yuan.

“Uncle, I have money here,” Minjun replied, not taking the cash. Her mother had already given her some spending money when she came to Seoul.

“Keep your money for buying things you like. Once you become a trainee, you’ll need money for making friends too.”

Though Mingyan had never been a trainee himself, he was somewhat familiar with certain social customs in Korea. He was genuinely worried that Minjun’s soft, gentle nature might get her bullied once she started.

The little one blinked curiously, “Uncle, are you going out?”

She was getting used to calling him uncle more and more naturally.

“Yeah, just stepping out for a bit. Be good at home, okay?” Mingyan said with concern. “If a stranger knocks on the door, don’t open it, understand?”

“Okay, Uncle.”

Minjun felt a little shy; she thought she was being treated like a child.

Though… the man in front of her really was her uncle, they were only about seven years apart in age.

Fifteen and twenty-two—people might as well call them siblings.

“That’s good. I’ll be back soon. If you run out of money, just call me.” Mingyan had always lived for himself; he’d never known what it was to deeply care for someone else.

But now, with little Minjun around, he found himself quite attached.

“Uncle.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t have your number yet.”

Mingyan slapped his forehead, realizing he’d forgotten that: “Minjun, give me your number first, and I’ll call you.”

Minjun’s phone was actually quite good—a latest model Samsung, probably a new purchase from her older sister before coming out.

“Uncle, my number is…” The little one glanced at Mingyan’s phone.

Her uncle was using an iPhone 6 Plus.

“Why are you staring? Like Apple phones?”

Mingyan noticed the gaze of his niece and asked with a smile.

It was his first time truly feeling like an elder, full of energy with no outlet, secretly hoping Minjun would let him buy her something.

Minjun felt her phone vibrate slightly. “No, Uncle, your phone case looks just like Jisoo unnie’s.”

“Oh, that…” Mingyan flipped the phone over and smiled. “It’s a symbol of friendship. Can’t just change it easily.”

The case had been something Lina insisted on buying after her first paycheck.

Mingyan, Lina, and Kim Jisoo each had one—it was impossible to refuse.

Of course, Mingyan and Kim Jisoo didn’t hesitate at all; when a friend offers a gift, you just accept it. They’d all grown up together as close friends, and a few playful words like “Boss Lina’s generosity” would cheer her up.

“Did Jisoo unnie give it to you?”

“No, someone else.”

Minjun admired her uncle a lot.

She’d only been in Seoul a few days and had already met two beautiful celebrities: Kim Jisoo and Jung Soojung, each with their own charm. She hadn’t expected there’d be more hidden away.

Could it be… her uncle was quite the ladies’ man?

Mingyan had no idea what was running through Minjun’s little head; otherwise, he’d have to give her a proper talk.

He drove to Hwa&Dam Pictures, a company located in Gangnam District.

Among the many entertainment companies in Korea, this one wasn’t widely known because it only had Mingyan as its artist; its main business was television content production, with artist management as a side line.

Or rather, that side business was specifically created for Mingyan.

“Teacher, I can smell coffee from way down the hall.”

Mingyan arrived at an office with Kim Eun-sook’s nameplate, knocked once, then pushed the door open.

“As soon as I heard footsteps, I knew it was you. You’re the only one in this company who’s so carefree,” Kim Eun-sook said, rubbing her forehead in exasperation.

Mingyan smiled, “Well, I have a great teacher.”

Hwa&Dam Pictures was a subsidiary of Studio Dragon under CJ, with the president being the famous screenwriter Kim Eun-sook. This structure was designed to produce more high-quality content.

In Korea, screenwriters held considerable status, and attracting renowned writers wasn’t easy; they needed plenty of creative freedom.

In other words, this company was Kim Eun-sook’s domain.

“Back then, out of so many people, how did I end up picking you, this little rascal?”

Kim Eun-sook laughed and shook her head.

Mingyan’s acting had been nurtured by her. When filming “The Heirs,” this kid had shown exceptional courage, boldly approaching the famous screenwriter with his own ideas, which piqued Kim Eun-sook’s interest.

Coupled with fate during auditions, after the drama wrapped, their mentor-student relationship was solidified.

This wasn’t just empty words; there was genuine affection.

“Maybe it’s because I’m handsome,” Mingyan said, not out of arrogance but simply acknowledging that as a student, his face played a big part—Kim Eun-sook had very high standards for looks in “The Heirs.”

Kim Eun-sook chuckled, knowing Mingyan only acted this way around her; on set, he was always mature and professional.

Such a child was truly endearing—knowing exactly when to act.

Mingyan stood up without hesitation, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat quietly, waiting for Kim Eun-sook to speak.

She asked, “Have you met with the advertisers for the Paldo Bibim Men noodles yet?”

“I went with Wonryong. No big issues.”

After filming “Descendants of the Sun,” Mingyan had become quite influential among Korean actors born in the ’90s and ’95s, attracting many endorsement offers.

However, from “The Heirs” to “It’s Okay, That’s Love,” he was still building his reputation; it wasn’t until “Descendants of the Sun” that he really exploded onto the scene.

“How many deals did you close?”

“Three.”

“Descendants of the Sun” was a phenomenal hit in early 2016, and as the second male lead, Mingyan naturally reaped many benefits.

To give a concrete example, his endorsement fees had already risen to around five to six hundred million KRW.

For reference, Song Joong-ki and Gong Yoo’s endorsement fees were about one billion KRW each.

“Hmm, you’re finally starting to seem like a big-name actor,” Kim Eun-sook sipped her coffee. “So, what brings you here today?”

As a teacher, there was nothing more gratifying than seeing her student succeed.

“Teacher, my niece came a few days ago, right?”

“Yes.”

“I want to enroll her in Hanlim Arts High School.”