Chapter Eleven: The Ultimate Showdown of the Novice

Since joining the league, his status as the top draft pick was dazzling, while the other was an obscure late second-round rookie. From the start, he was in the starting lineup, posting impressive statistics, while the other spent almost half a season warming the bench. Amid a string of terrifying performances, he ascended to the ranks of superstars, while the other burst onto the scene in a single game to become a rising star. If this were a place that valued seniority, he would be justified in saying, “When I made my name, you were still running around in diapers.” Yet now, incredibly, they stood on the same court. Who would be the one still smiling at the end?

Lin Fei’s playing time was almost always fixed at just over twenty minutes per game; sometimes he started, sometimes he came off the bench as the sixth man. Over several games, he averaged fifteen points and three assists, with an astonishing efficiency—field goal percentage at 55%, three-point shooting at 49%, and free throws at 84%, nearly attaining the elite '190 club' status. Only a two-time regular-season MVP like Nash at his peak had reached such levels, highlighting just how remarkable Lin Fei’s efficiency was. What was even more impressive was his ability to break scoring droughts with three-pointers whenever the team faltered, and in these games, he almost always hit three shots from deep.

Yet, the coach, wanting to preserve the team’s competitiveness in the playoffs, was reluctant to disrupt a well-oiled rotation. When Lin Fei was on the court, he scored prolifically, but his teammates struggled to contribute. Conversely, with Curry running the show, the team's offense flowed smoothly. Thus, Lin Fei became the designated clutch player—called upon in critical moments. Nevertheless, none of this could dim his brilliance. Experts agreed: if the coach knew how to fully utilize Lin Fei, he would definitely rank among the top ten scorers.

After a game between the Warriors and the Timberwolves, where Lin Fei and Brulin were nearly neck and neck, a reporter asked Lin Fei if he had the confidence to contend for Rookie of the Year. Lin Fei laughed, “Honestly, it was my good brother, Keynes, who played an outstanding game. He did a great job containing Brulin, which gave me opportunities to attack. He was better than me. I’ve only played four games so far, I’m not thinking about any honors now. I just want to play more minutes each game, shoot more threes, and do my part.” When asked if he would continue to start, Lin Fei shrugged, “Doesn’t matter—so long as we win, I’ll play wherever the coach puts me.”

Arnold was growing weary of the nonstop Rookie of the Year talk. He kept repeating, “We’re all still maturing. Our performance will speak for itself. If anyone wants to challenge me, bring it on. I love a good challenge.” He had watched Lin Fei play and knew how outstanding he was—he looked forward to facing this surging young talent. That opportunity would arrive the very next day.

Lin Fei’s role on the team was becoming increasingly clear: the sixth man. The coach discovered that, whether starting or coming off the bench, Lin Fei’s efficiency was always remarkable. The Warriors’ starting lineup already packed a punch, but the bench was lacking. As a sixth man, Lin Fei fit the mold of a classic bench mob leader, maintaining the Warriors’ offensive momentum—something few other teams could handle. Previously, the Warriors averaged 103 points per game; since Lin Fei’s arrival, that number jumped to 113. The improvement was obvious. Yet another point couldn’t be ignored: previously, the Warriors allowed 105 points per game, now conceding 113—a clear chain reaction.

Home-court advantage worked in Lin Fei’s favor—the crowd was fully behind him. Often, the fans’ cheers for Lin Fei thundered through the arena; in terms of popularity, he had become the fans’ favorite. No doubt, his background played a part—he was Chinese, with a legion of passionate, devoted supporters. Americans knew well the fervor of Chinese fans; the All-Star Game years ago was proof enough. When Yao Ming entered the NBA, his overwhelming popularity ousted the then-dominant “Big Shark” from the starting lineup, and even after injuries, Yao’s fans still voted him in as an All-Star starting center. In this city, Lin Fei’s fan base was exploding at a similar pace. Maybe it was his playing style—though he never dunked and would never embody the violent athleticism Americans loved, Lin Fei’s game was dazzling: lightning speed, uncanny drives, and precise long-range shooting—all deeply appealing to fans.

By contrast, Ridnour was met with a chorus of boos every time he checked in. The local fans refused to embrace him, no matter his leaping ability or thunderous dunks. They supported only their own heroes—and their team leader, Wall, the powerhouse guard.

The game began with the Wizards quickly seizing the initiative. Ridnour played actively in the paint, scoring at the rim and grabbing rebounds. In his matchup against Warriors’ big man Jobs, Ridnour held a clear advantage, stifling Jobs’ performance, particularly his shooting. Throughout the first half, the Warriors’ interior offense never found its rhythm, managing only seventeen points inside by halftime—the rest came from the perimeter. The halftime score stood at 61–55, the Warriors trailing by six. Ridnour posted eleven points and seven rebounds at the break, dominating the paint, including three tomahawk dunks—a testament to the Warriors’ porous defense.

Lin Fei entered the game seven minutes into the first quarter and played until halftime, contributing seventeen points on five-for-three shooting from deep—yet recorded no assists. Ridnour, meanwhile, had four assists, often posting up down low. The Warriors, wary of such a powerful interior presence, frequently double-teamed him, leaving shooters open on the perimeter—where the Wizards had threats like Wall waiting. Thus, Ridnour’s assists came easily.

If Lin Fei had wanted to rack up assists, he could have forced the defense to stretch, drawing defenders and kicking out to open teammates, but tonight he didn’t try. He was gripped by a fierce desire to prove himself—a feeling every young man has experienced.

In the second half, the Warriors adjusted their defense, focusing on denying entry passes to Ridnour. Starved of touches, his offensive impact waned, though his rebounding remained formidable. He excelled on the offensive glass, twice grabbing boards over Crowdeson and slamming them home. However, the Warriors started the third quarter with Curry, whose orchestration kept the offense humming. They poured in forty points in the third, overturning the deficit to lead 95–91 heading into the fourth.

At the start of the final period, coach Nelson boldly deployed Curry and Lin Fei together in a dual point-guard lineup—a rare move in the league, especially at such a critical juncture. Yet neither Lin Fei nor Curry disappointed. With two minutes remaining, Curry had already tallied five assists in the quarter, three of them to Lin Fei, all converted into three-pointers. Passing to Lin Fei was simply too easy—he would drift far from the basket, often hanging out near midcourt.

With two minutes left, the score was 113–109, Warriors up by four. The Wizards attacked: Wall brought up the ball at blazing speed, leaving Curry struggling to keep up. Ridnour sprinted to the basket, Wall lobbed it high—a pass only a monster could reach, but miraculously, the Wizards had just that. Ridnour soared for the alley-oop and slammed it down, howling to the rafters. Wall patted Ridnour’s back—“Keep it up, little brother, it’s on us.” These two franchise cornerstones would surely carry the Wizards’ hopes before long.

Down by two, every possession was critical. The Warriors’ most reliable option for a clutch shot was obvious: Lin Fei.

The Wizards’ defensive intentions were clear—they double-teamed Lin Fei, determined not to let him touch the ball. Left with no choice, the ball swung to Eikes. Lin Fei sprinted, with Wall shadowing him every step. Effectively, the Wizards had three defenders guarding the remaining four Warriors. Lin Fei never touched the ball; Eikes’ shot missed badly—a wasted possession, and the Wizards came away with the rebound.

Wall quickly pushed the ball upcourt, but unlike Lin Fei, he didn’t go one-on-one—he waited for his teammates to get into position. In crunch time, the Wizards relied on their two first-overall picks.

Passing is all about basketball IQ and vision, and Wall had both in spades. Facing his defender, Wall attacked from the forty-five-degree angle beyond the arc. Ridnour set a high screen, Wall drove inside, then kicked it back to Ridnour, who threw it back over the defense to Wall. With teammates cutting, the Warriors’ defense was in disarray. Wall forced a layup against Lin Fei, who kept up with quick footwork but lacked the strength—Lin Fei hit the floor, called for a defensive foul. Two free throws, both good. With under a minute left, the game was tied.

The Warriors called timeout. In a surprising move, the coach subbed out Lin Fei, having seen how exhausted he was.

Regrettably, this rookie showdown would not last until the final buzzer.

Lin Fei finished with twenty-seven points, no assists, two rebounds. Ridnour had nineteen points, thirteen rebounds, seven assists—a resounding victory.

The outcome of the game was now irrelevant. For the final, decisive shot, Lin Fei was not on the floor. The coach had his reasons, but from Lin Fei’s perspective, every issue was his own responsibility.

That was who he was—a man who always looked for the fault in himself, and one who knew how to face his own shortcomings with clear eyes.