As the solo editor-in-chief of the Succulent Encyclopedia, I’m always gathering and organizing all sorts of plant info—and sometimes I suddenly realize, “Hey, these two are actually the same species, aren’t they?” It’s not like there’s always a clear answer (honestly, sometimes there’s not even a hint!), but thanks to experience and a stockpile of plant knowledge, it hits me like a flash of inspiration—an “aha!” moment. There’s this thrill, like clearing a stage in a game, so—probably just for my own amusement—I’ve started calling these moments the “Identification Game” and post my finds [on X (formerly Twitter)](https://twitter.com/hashtag/%E5%90%8C%E5%AE%9A%E3%82%B2%E3%83%BC%E3%83%A0).
This round-up is a collection of those “Identification Game” victories.
It’s a bit of a “who even wants this?” kind of report about a one-person game, but I hope you’ll enjoy it as a peek into my daily gardening fun and as a relatable “succulent industry thing.”
It turns out this is the most common pattern. These days, China’s become the main hub for mass-producing succulents (though Korea still leads with brand-new breeds), and lots of sellers import directly from China. The tricky part comes when the plant’s Chinese distribution name just gets used in Japan without change.
Apparently, China has a rule that all foreign plant names must first become “Chinese names”—so every variety’s name gets converted into Chinese characters. Since Japanese also uses kanji, those names are often imported here exactly as they are, making the plant look like some totally new variety.
To make it all even messier, since Western sellers (or even Chinese ones, via machine translation) can’t understand the kanji, those names get translated into English. Suddenly, a whole new “species name” is born!
If you search online, you’ll often find sites showing both the original variety name and its Chinese equivalent, or both the Chinese and the new “translation.” Otherwise, you’re left to rely on pure inspiration. Lately, I’ve picked up on some of these patterns and I feel like my puzzle-solving skills are improving (haha).
Probably the clearest example is “Tsukikage” (literally, “Moon Shadow”). In Japan, this is the common name for elegans, and the same name made its way to China. If only they’d just translate “月影” back to “elegans”—but machine translation will turn ‘月影’ into “moon shadow,” and that’s where things go wonky.
The problem? There’s already a variety called “Moon Shadow.” It’s a Mexican Giant hybrid from the UK, first bred in 2018. I wonder if I can ever get my hands on one…
Similarly, the ‘elegans alba’ is called “白月影” (white moon shadow) in Chinese, and you’ll sometimes see it translated into “White Moon Shadow” as a variety name.
We're talking about 厚葉のモンロー E. 'Thick Monroe' . Whether you call it “Sick Monroe” or “Thick Monroe” doesn’t really matter.
In China, Monroe is called “梦露.” For Thick-leaved Monroe, it’s “厚梦露,” which gets shortened to “厚梦.” In Chinese pronunciation, this becomes ホウメン E. 'Houmeng' . Suddenly the whole logic makes sense!
^ “梦” is a Chinese-only character (the bottom of “梵” replaced with “夕”) and is pronounced “meng” in Chinese, which sounds similar to “Monroe”—the same characters used for Marilyn Monroe in China, too.
If you keep going, you’ll spot names like “Thick Dream” or “Wealth Dream” as English translations, which is just…
Hold on! Please don’t “liberally translate” a name that was created only to sound like the original! (lol)
By the same logic, a lot of varieties called “something Dream” these days are probably Monroe-type hybrids (or one of their doubles). I’m honestly too scared to research all of them… (sweat)
So, “Hani” isn’t just “honey” in English; I figured out that in China, it’s called “哈尼” (still not sure what it actually means or where the name comes from). The full Chinese name is “白胖子哈尼.” “胖子” means something like “fat (chubby),” but seems to describe the “thick-leafed” or “plump” look, with no harsh intent.
So all those “White Honey,” “White Fat,” “Fatty White” varieties, and any others in the same style are actually the same thing—just translated in various ways.
“Love” = Ai, “Heart” = Xin, “寿” (shou) = Haworthia retusa. So the Chinese name “愛心寿” boils down to the same as “Love Heart.” This time, it was a complete flash of inspiration—I’d just recently gotten one and took some pictures, so when I saw “愛心寿,” I immediately recognized the face. Solving these is seriously fun!
Echeverias circulating as “Daifuku” or “Xuemeiniang” are probably all the same as “Yukimidaifuku.” Looks like “Yukimidaifuku” got a somewhat tragic translation once it went abroad (sweat).
Aeoniums are super popular in China, and there are lots of brand-new Chinese varieties. The tricky bit: when a variety only ever had a Chinese name, there’s no reference for later English translations—so everyone ends up translating it a slightly different way.
I’m not even sure if this one actually originated in China, but with the kanji “舞天姫,” you’ll spot it as Dancing Beauty, Dancing Fairy, Dancing Fairy Beautiful, Dancing Girl, Dancing Tianji, just “Sky Dancer” (maybe that’s just “舞天”?), and many more. Of course, none of these are officially confirmed as the same variety, so it’s possible they aren’t—but honestly, my head starts spinning just thinking about it (laugh).
Sometimes, in an effort to be extra “correct,” names end up getting mixed up and spread incorrectly—a real naming accident!
The official scientific name for elegans is “Echeveria elegans Rose”—but the “Rose” here just names the person who discovered/classified it. (Mr./Ms. Rose.) So, if you order elegans seeds and the pack says “Echeveria elegans Rose,” and then a seller lists the plant for sale under that entire name, it easily gets misread as “a variety called ‘Rose’ from within elegans”.
I feel like there are plenty of cultivar names out there that started because someone mistook the scientific name’s author for a variety name. For example…
If you want to know more about scientific naming, check out this column:
# And merging with the “月影 ≠ Moon Shadow” issue from earlier, I even found a variety nicknamed @Moon Shadow Rose. That’s one creative stretch! But truthfully, it doesn’t really look like elegans, so—who knows what’s going on anymore?
All of these seem to be basically the same. Originally, “Mexico Rose” was kind of a nickname for elegans. After spreading into Asia, it started to refer to specific selected plants, and then became “Cila” or “Sina.”
Incidentally, some sources claim “Cila” is “a selection that’s thicker-leaved, squarer, and more compact than regular elegans,” so there may be some slight differences. But even Mexico Rose currently sold in Japan seems to be the same as Cila.
Honestly, the woody stems and overlapping leaves look much more like a crassula than an echeveria. Looks like the two got accidentally lumped together in Korea.
Here are some cases where I thought two plants were different, but now simply can’t tell them apart. (Just so you know—if plants look the same even when grown in different environments, that’s just chance; it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the same species! You should keep them in the same environment to really check. Even better if you try a couple different environments.)
Anyway, in the world of cultivar naming and plant variety law, the basic rule is that “if you can’t spot clear differences, it’s not a new variety = if you can’t tell them apart visually, they’re treated as the same.” So even if two varieties have different origins, if you can’t see a difference, it’s fine to treat them as the same. For PUKUBOOK, though, please note: we only treat them as the same—we don’t claim they’re 100% identical. This isn’t that kind of encyclopedia…
I genuinely thought White Lover and White Lotus were different at first. But after growing them for a while, they became entirely indistinguishable…
These two also looked different at first, but after keeping them together, I can’t tell them apart. I’d show you proof photos—“look, same plant!”—but I’ve actually lost track of which is which, so now all the labels are gone!
I’m nervously waiting to see if these two will end up looking identical too…
I originally got this one as “pulidonis,” but noticed it had bumps, which seemed odd. Later, when I searched, I found something called “Christmas Bump” that looked identical. When I asked the seller, they casually replied, “Yeah, they’re the same.” I’m not sure if it’s okay to identify them so easily, though (sweat).
There’s a rumor going around that “Luoshen” and “Miul” are the same plant. If that’s the case, maybe “Miul” got renamed when it entered China.
Also, there’s “Rococo,” which has a similar-sounding name. I have a hunch it might be the same, but don’t have enough proof yet.
Overseas, Sensation is called “Echeveria Sensation Amabelli.” Could they really be the same? You might think, “But they’re so different!”—but that’s just because they’ve been grown in totally different conditions. If you look up Sensation, it actually gives off Amabile vibes. Maybe I’ll find the answer if I get an Amabile and grow it side-by-side.
Alongside editing the encyclopedia, I also do small sales of split-up mail-order succulent lots, so now I’m even more obsessed with figuring out “which of these are actually the same?” Some cases need detective-level research or flashes of inspiration, but a lot could be cleared up with a quick online search. If you’re a vendor, please—just this once—try Googling first (sweat).
Well, it’s fine with me, I guess, since it just means more “Identification Game” puzzles to enjoy!
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