On the eve of the Year of the Niú, the animals who won The Great Race, organized thousands of years ago, and their descendants, gathered for a night of festivities. But this day always brought on an unspoken foreignness for the two-headed ox.

The animals had spread out around the world but always returned to the starting line of The Great Race before the New Year.

With Grandmother Niú, the two-headed ox stumbled towards the crowd dancing by the river. Drunken laughter of different depths and tones echoed, fading as it reached the rippling waters of the river. The two-headed ox wanted to join but found her legs unfamiliar with the traditional dance steps.

"It will soon be our year," said Grandmother Niú in Mandarin. "But remember not to dip your head and body in the water when the sun rises."

The two-headed ox trotted towards the tree where Hǔ and their cubs lay alert, stacked: a large pile of orange fur with black stripes. Tù munched on rice cakes, their snow-white round tail shivering. Lóng and their descendants twirled around the tree with their red and gold scaled bodies wrapped around the branches, steamed fish held between their claws. Shé and their descendants slithered among the others.

The two-headed ox breathed in the familiar smell but found her appetite lacking. She realized there were no empty spaces for her to squeeze into, anyhow. She backed away from the crowd, heading for the field where Mǎ and Yáng grazed. Young foals and calves raced but paused to stare at the two-headed ox when she approached.

She tried to form words, but the sentences became muddled in her mind and the thought of speaking tied her tongue. Perhaps another day. She turned her back to the field.

In a plain clearing, Hóu, more human-like than the other animals, Jī, who clucked continuously, and their descendants traded red envelopes with barking Gǒu. The two-headed ox listened to the rowdy exchange. She did not have a red envelope to offer—only the one that her grandmother passed her, but that was for her to keep. She thought it would be intrusive to insert herself, especially empty-handed, and again turned from the gathering.

Zhū arrived last to the celebrations and fell asleep as soon as it finished its meal. The two-headed ox watched from a distance. Zhū’s stocky body rumbled, and their large ears flew upwards, flopping with each breath they took. Zhū's silence was comforting, but still, the two-headed ox did not feel it was her place to join them.

"Why aren't you with the others?"

The two-headed ox turned and saw one of the Shu's descendants.

She shrugged.

"What's your name?"

The two-headed ox thought it was an unusual question to ask—most of the descendants carried the name of the original. But what was more unusual was when she realized that the Shǔ's descendant had spoken in English.

"Gemini," said the two-headed ox.

"Mouse," he offered in return. "I live on the other side of the river."

Gemini looked at the water, still rippling, occasionally splashed onto the grass of the two lands it divided.

"The West?" Gemini asked.

Mouse nodded.

"I return East during New Year."

It was the same for Gemini. New Year was the only time she saw her family. They had been adamant about not travelling West themselves though they pushed her to. A better future awaits you there, they had said.

"What about you?" Mouse asked.

"I was born here, but now I live in the river."

"The river!"

Gemini looked to the distance. Dawn was quickly approaching, and the New Year announced its silent arrival with a sliver of gold peaking over the horizons. The rest of the animals and their descendants were still asleep, but Grandmother Niú watched Gemini from afar, settled amongst the other animals.

"I must return home soon," said Gemini.

"You're not supposed to cleanse yourself today. It's bad luck."

Then after a pause, he added, "I'll come with you."

By the time they reached the river, the sun was directly above them. The other animals had awakened and gathered for their guests' departure.

Mouse hopped onto Gemini's back as her front foot dipped into the water, raising goosebumps on her pelt. It reminded her of her grandmother's words the night before. As Gemini's back foot left the land of the East, she felt the full weight of the river's current, one side rushing to the West and the other to the East, pushing against her body. Her legs trembled, but she withstood its force. Once she reached the middle, she paused and looked back. Grandmother Niú stood with a forlorn expression.

Most who chose to live in the river were washed away quickly. Sometimes, they stepped onto the land of the West without a second thought or stepped back onto the land of the East after further deliberation.

It was difficult to live in between.

Gemini looked around her. The water: a fragile balance of cultures pushed against each side of her body.

Mouse hopped off her back. His feet met the grass on the land of the West. As Gemini stood in the middle of the river with one head craned towards the East and the other towards the West, she began treading in place.

She was not yet ready to settle in the West, but she also knew she could no longer stay in the East. She had spent so many years in the West that the East was no longer familiar. But the East and its traditions were still rooted deeply within her, though buried and often difficult to reach until Grandmother Niú reminded her of who she was near the end of each year.

Although it was the Year of the Niú, she knew that this year would be as difficult as the others.

Previously published in Flash Fiction Magazine.

AUTHOR NOTE

There are two things connected to human identity, for those who believe in their importance, that always fascinates me: horoscopes and the Chinese zodiac. I thought it would be interesting to explore both of these things in relation to my own identity in one story, and this flash piece was the result of that. I often feel like I’m two people in one—or sometimes even several to several hundred people in one—and it’s both an interesting yet confusing and tiring experience. Maybe one day I’ll feel like only one person, but then again, would I regret wishing for this merge?