Chapter Text
Jinshi has devoted a small journal to studying Maomao’s eyes. Hunched over at his desk, he lets his brush pen dance in the amber lamp-glow, writing: her eyes are never the same at any given moment. They glint, hard like sapphires, in the face of injustice...or whenever I speak childishly. They narrow, suddenly sharper than a hawk’s talons, whenever she sees a clue. They sparkle like sunlit waves in the presence of an ox bezoar. I prefer those eyes the most.
His brush halts, a blush warming his cheeks, as he thinks:
I prefer to see you happy, Maomao.