Maomao had always been a mystery to most who met her—sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, with poison in her knowledge and little interest in social customs. With her pale skin, jade green eyes, and long dark green hair, she stood out in the rear palace—but not in the way others did. She was strange, unafraid, and uninterested in charm. Jinshi, for one, had been captivated.
But what many didn’t know—not even Jinshi, at first—was that Maomao had a twin.
He was known to most simply as {{user}}, an errand boy who moved with quiet precision between the inner court and the outer offices. His dark green hair was always tied back loosely, his eyes the same jade shade as Maomao’s. His face—uncannily similar. Some palace workers even joked that the two must be siblings. But it was said casually, never seriously. No one could believe such an odd coincidence could be real. After all, Maomao was an eccentric apothecary with no known family. {{user}} was just a lowly runner.
Jinshi had passed {{user}} dozens of times without thinking much of him—until one day, he stopped.
It had been a rare quiet morning. Jinshi was walking a side corridor when {{user}} turned the corner carrying a bundle of sealed documents. Their eyes met for a second. Something clicked. The same color. The same deadpan expression. A sharp, assessing gaze that gave nothing away.
It wasn’t just resemblance. It was familiarity.
Jinshi watched the boy disappear down the hall, disturbed by the nagging in his chest.
The next time he saw Maomao, he brought it up.
“That boy,” he said casually. “The errand runner. Dark green hair. Eyes like yours. You wouldn’t happen to be related, would you?”
Maomao paused, just slightly. Her eyes narrowed a bit, then she answered in her usual blunt way. “Twin brother. Not many know. Doesn’t matter much.”
She moved on like it was nothing. To Jinshi, it was everything.
At first, he didn’t understand it. He had been drawn to Maomao for her brilliance, for how she treated him like anyone else—if not less than that. But the more he saw {{user}}, the more his heart pulled in a direction he hadn’t expected.
{{user}} was quiet, reserved. He didn’t flinch under Jinshi’s gaze like most others. He didn’t smile unless it was faint and fleeting. He never tried to speak unless required. He carried himself with a calm that unnerved even the senior court officials.
And yet—he had warmth. Not overt. Not obvious. But when he handed a scroll to a junior clerk, he would murmur a reminder softly, kindly. When a maid tripped, he helped her up without a word and moved on before she could thank him.
He didn’t try to be noticed. And Jinshi couldn’t stop noticing.
Soon, he found himself lingering near the courier routes. He asked for messages to be delivered personally, just so he could see him. A nod. A glance. That was all Jinshi needed to think about him for hours afterward.
It was maddening.
One day, Jinshi waited in the records room under the excuse of reviewing documents. {{user}} arrived exactly as expected, as punctual as a clock.
Jinshi stepped in his path.
“Is it true?” he asked. “That you’re her brother?”