Chapter Forty-Four: Thirty Points in a Single Quarter, Dominating the Field

What does a superstar truly need? It’s difficult to say, but outstanding statistics are essential. Lin Fei had already claimed the honor of scoring champion with an average of over thirty points per game, yet it seemed something was still missing. Though he consistently scored thirty points a game, his highest was only thirty-nine—a mark clearly insufficient. Ambitious and young, Lin Fei had become obsessed with chasing numbers.

The next game saw the Warriors facing the Suns led by Nash—a perfect opportunity for anyone wanting to rack up points. The Suns were known for their infamous run-and-gun offense, but their defense was among the weakest in the league. If Lin Fei took the floor, his opponent would likely be Nash. Although Nash was a two-time MVP and multiple assists leader, age had caught up with him; his movements were slower each day. Even at his peak, Nash’s defense was the team’s biggest weakness, often requiring teammates to cover for him. Facing Lin Fei now, Nash would likely be left helpless. Lin Fei understood this well. Yet he might also go up against the Suns’ backup point guard, Brooks, nicknamed “Little Black Bean,” whose style was similar to Lin Fei’s—quick, with accurate outside shooting. Brooks had once been voted Most Improved Player in 2010, back when he played for the Rockets.

As the game began, Lin Fei felt a surge of excitement. Nash had once been his idol, and he eagerly awaited his chance to play. But his wish didn’t come true. Nelson seemed intent on limiting Lin Fei’s minutes; in the first quarter, he didn’t let Cairns or Curry rest, and Lin Fei had no opportunity to get on the court. Frustration brewed—he was the league’s scoring champion, leading in efficiency, yet the old coach kept him glued to the bench. It was understandable; the Suns had grown weaker year after year, living only on memories, while the Warriors’ current roster was more than enough to handle them.

Lin Fei went to speak with Nelson, politely asking, “Hey! When will you put me in?” As he spoke, he suddenly felt he’d been too forward, but Nelson seemed prepared for the question. “When the team needs you,” Nelson replied—a classic answer, giving Lin Fei dignity while providing himself an excuse. Nelson truly was a master of people and affairs. Lin Fei was left at a loss for words.

“Lin, get ready!” Suddenly, Lin Fei heard a familiar voice. His face lit up with excitement—his chance had finally come. At last, he would face Nash. But upon entering the game, he found Brooks was the Suns’ point guard at that moment. “Fine! I’ll force you to bring Nash in!” Lin Fei told himself.

Brooks wasted no time, executing a quick drive and dish to veteran Hill, who nailed the jump shot—leaving Lin Fei slightly embarrassed, as he’d stood like a wooden post, clearly not yet focused.

Switching ends, Lin Fei faced Brooks’ defense and suddenly felt uneasy. It seemed Brooks could read his every move. After four attempted drives and jump shots, Lin Fei managed to shake Brooks but failed to hit any of them. Was Brooks his nemesis? It didn’t seem so—Lin Fei was faster and a better shooter; with some adjustment, he should have prevailed. Even in previous explosive games, facing Nash, the outcome was uncertain. Now, against Brooks, he was inexplicably off.

Brooks, meanwhile, grew bolder against Lin Fei, sinking three three-pointers in a single quarter. His shots were often unpredictable, and Lin Fei’s defense was chaotic, unable to cope with Brooks’ erratic style.

Midway through the second quarter, Lin Fei grew agitated, losing his usual composure. On defense, as Brooks charged in, Lin Fei planted himself firmly but was knocked down, yet the referee called a defensive foul. Lin Fei sneered in disdain—unfortunately, the referee caught him and issued a technical foul. Furious, Lin Fei threw his towel as he left the court; had the referee seen it, he might have been given a second technical and ejected, but luckily he wasn’t. Clearly, growing fame brought a growing temper.

After leaving the court, Lin Fei struggled to regain his calm. How could this happen? Yet, reflecting on his journey, he realized he’d seen plenty of unfairness. Did it really matter now? Was he so concerned with these things after becoming famous? Lin Fei gave himself a silly smile, much like the graceful motion of his signature deep three-pointer—a move that had become his trademark.

Lin Fei’s absence didn’t seem to affect the Warriors at all; both teams played spectacularly. The Suns’ veterans—Nash, Hill, “UFO” Carter—performed unbelievably well, and Frye was especially effective. The Suns tried to use their experience to suppress Lin Fei, but the Warriors, unwilling to be subdued, relied on their young players’ tenacity and energy, repeatedly closing the gap when behind. By the end of the third quarter, the score was tied at 105:105—a rare sight. Yet none of the Warriors’ 105 points were Lin Fei’s, an astonishing fact. The league’s renowned scoring champion had put up a goose egg in three quarters. Lin Fei was anxious; in the past, a scoreless night would be trivial, but now, as the league’s scoring leader? Zero? It was a disgrace—an unacceptable shame for himself and his fans.

In the final quarter, Lin Fei started the period, the scene familiar yet fraught with more worry—he feared he might not score at all.

The Suns opened the fourth quarter with two baskets, while Lin Fei missed his first shot. On his second possession, holding the ball, Lin Fei began to calm himself. He recalled his own court, the hoop, and his dream of soaring.

“Swish!” “Swish!” “Swish!” After adjusting, Lin Fei sank three consecutive three-pointers, breaking free from his previous slump of five missed shots. The Suns’ coach immediately substituted Nash, his secret weapon, trusting him most in difficult moments.

Swish! Clang! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Swish! Clang! Swish! Swish! Lin Fei scored eleven baskets in the final quarter, seven of them from beyond the arc, plus a free throw—thirty points in a single quarter, joining the thirty-point club! This record was rare in the league—the single-quarter scoring record was thirty-three points, held by George Gervin and Carmelo Anthony; David Thompson had scored thirty-two, and basketball emperor Wilt Chamberlain had thirty-one in his legendary hundred-point game. Kobe Bryant had twice scored thirty in a quarter. Now, in his second season, Lin Fei had achieved such an astonishing feat. When he launched his thirteenth shot, the entire arena fell silent, unsure what miracle Lin Fei might create—and, “coincidentally,” the shot went in. An incredible achievement!

After the final shot, Lin Fei raised his hand to the heavens, only the sky understanding the significance—scoreless for three quarters, then erupting for thirty in the last, a feat that dazzled through the ages. This night belonged to Lin Fei!

A true child of destiny—thirty-plus points every game, thirty in a single quarter, undefeated since the season’s start, setting a new record for the Warriors. With this superlative performance, Lin Fei was unanimously chosen as the Player of the Week for the first time, while in the West, it was James. Now Lin Fei felt he could finally stand shoulder to shoulder with superstars like Kobe and James.

But greatness is proven by history. If one is truly great, history will illuminate them; if not, time will gradually erode their brilliance.

Lin Fei seemed to have forgotten that he still had a long road ahead. Yet, it seemed he had indeed forgotten.