Chapter Seventy-One: Competing for MVP, A Perfect Finale to the All-Star Game

In less than three minutes after the opening, all ten players on the court had each scored a basket—it almost felt orchestrated! But this was exactly the kind of spectacle many had hoped to see. Looking at these players now, which of them wasn’t capable of carrying a team on his own? Perhaps only Lin Fei was still green, while the others were all established stars.

“Oh! These young men on the court are truly energetic!” Barkley exclaimed. “But I do wish they’d step up their defense. Real games are decided by defense, but right now, no one’s really playing any.”

The game pressed on. The newly crowned MVP, Rose, felt his first drive—a wild, acrobatic layup—hadn’t quite satisfied him. Since everyone loved dunks, he decided to show one himself. Despite his modest height, Rose was no slouch when it came to dunking.

Dribbling, he faced off against Lin Fei, executing a quick crossover. Lin Fei, having just scored, had relaxed a bit, letting his guard down, and Rose slipped past him with ease, charging straight toward the basket. Kobe had already anticipated Rose’s layup, lurking nearby like a predator. Rose seemed oblivious; seeing his path clear, even Howard stepped aside, which was exactly what Kobe wanted. Rose’s explosive leap and speed were astonishing—he was under the rim in a flash. Confident in his dunk, he hadn’t prepared for a block, believing with Yao Ming and Griffin away from the paint, the rim was unguarded. But then—whoosh—a figure soared in from nowhere, delivering a ferocious block. The crowd saw: it was Kobe! Yes, Kobe! Who said he was old? The awe in their eyes proved Kobe was far from finished; his fierce gaze told the young MVP that as long as he stood, no one would dominate with impunity. Perhaps this Kobe was a bit wild, but this was who he was—the Kobe Bryant with a killer instinct.

Griffin grabbed the blocked ball. The power forward dribbled and, with a few strides, crossed midcourt, heading straight for the rim. Howard was in hot pursuit—two forces of nature, both playing with unbridled passion. If Griffin pulled it off, it would be a thunderous dunk; if Howard timed it right, it would be an epic block. The crowd held its breath as the league’s two best dunkers faced off. Griffin glanced back, aware Howard was on his tail—there were other defenders, but Griffin didn’t even notice them. Howard, catching up, slowed for a step—he knew if he pressed too hard, he’d foul, but by hanging back, he could set up a chase-down block. Griffin, young but seasoned, hit the brakes, spun—Howard, unable to stop, surged ahead. Griffin turned, now facing the basket, and leapt—both hands slamming the ball through. The crowd roared with delight; this kid always put on a show.

For the first time, the West took a two-point lead.

Howard, having just been dunked on by Griffin, was not one to back down.

“Give me the ball!” he barked at Rose, who was handling the ball.

“OK.” Rose, like many, loved Howard’s power dunks.

Howard posted up on the baseline. Rose broke through, drawing the West’s attention, and dished it to Howard. Griffin, mismatched with Yao, now faced him. Howard’s muscles tensed, his body like a tank, every pore bristling with power. Everyone knew: “Superman” was serious now. Many dubbed Griffin the “White Superman” for his dunks rivaling Howard’s. Now, black and white Superman faced off.

Howard didn’t have the ideal position, holding the ball in one hand, signaling his teammates to clear out. In isolation, few in the league could contain him; a basket seemed inevitable—the only question was how. Howard powered in, his lower-body strength overwhelming Griffin, forcing him back a step. Unrelenting, Howard muscled deeper, Griffin resisting with all he had. Howard spun—he was close to the rim now—a quick step, a feint; Griffin bit and leapt, only to realize too late he’d been fooled. As Griffin descended, Howard sprang up, dunking over him with ferocious authority. Landing, Howard struck a pose, fists on hips, displaying his muscles—declaring himself Superman. After all, it was his Superman act that had won him the Slam Dunk Contest years ago, earning the nickname.

The crowd was delighted—Superman versus White Superman, and neither could stop the other.

The league’s great big men had gathered. How could Yao Ming miss out? Though a bit of an oddity in the All-Star setting, among such a blossoming array of stars, Yao shone in his own way. The coach, knowing Yao’s stamina wasn’t what it once was, planned to use him only at the start and end. Now, time was about up—let Yao have another go. Yao posted up low, Howard guarding him. Receiving the ball, Yao spun and faded for a jumper. Howard’s leaping ability was impressive, but against Yao’s signature move, he was powerless, left to watch as Yao sent the ball through the net. The crowd gasped—this was Yao’s trademark: nimble footwork under the basket, a spinning fadeaway. These moves had once made him the league’s top center, and to see him still use them with ease was a marvel.

Timeout! Substitutions! It was time for the bench to shine—they weren’t far behind the starters in ability.

Since the All-Star Game was all about entertainment, players relaxed; sometimes, they even congratulated opponents on beautiful plays.

This All-Star Game was possibly the fastest-paced ever—a feast for spectators. With so many elite players, chances were seized in an instant; scoring was high.

By midway through the fourth quarter, the score remained tight: 138 to 138. Even the players themselves found it unbelievable.

The All-Star MVP was already a hot topic, though no clear favorite had emerged. Many were backing LeBron James, with a triple-double of 18 points, 10 rebounds, and 10 assists. Rose had 26 points and 14 assists; Howard, 12 points and 21 rebounds; Wade, an impressive 20 points, 8 rebounds, 6 assists, 3 blocks, and 3 steals. For the West, Durant had 26 points, 12 rebounds, 3 assists; Kobe, 30 points, 5 rebounds, 5 assists; Griffin, 18 points, 16 rebounds. The MVP would surely come from among them. Lin Fei had 14 points and 4 assists. As was customary, Lin Fei remained on the floor in the final moments, though Yao, though a starter, sat out due to stamina.

With six minutes left, seven players were intensely vying for MVP. The competition was fierce. Would someone surge ahead, as Ray Allen once did—scoring only two in the first half, then exploding with 16 in the second, nearly snatching MVP from LeBron with a string of clutch baskets? Would history repeat itself?

The West inbounded. Lin Fei, handling the ball, habitually passed to Kobe—it had become a custom for teammates to give the ball to “the Black Mamba” in crunch time. Kobe advanced slowly, surveying the court. Now LeBron was guarding him—a matchup LeBron had requested. For years, fans had debated who’d win a Kobe-LeBron duel, but the two had rarely met. Now, the chance was here.

Kobe faked and shot immediately. LeBron’s block attempt fell short. Fans murmured again: was Kobe truly aging? In his youth, he’d have driven to the rim, but now he settled for jumpers. The ball arced toward the basket—bang!—it bounced off the rim, rising high. Howard and Griffin were under the basket, left and right, equidistant. They both leapt—this rebound would be spectacular, no less thrilling than any highlight dunk. It was black versus white Superman again.

Both reached the ball at nearly the same height, hands touching it simultaneously. Howard tried to secure it; Griffin, knowing he couldn’t win the tussle, tipped it outside. Lin Fei was there at the perimeter—a chance! Lin Fei jumped, snatching the rebound. Wade and Rose, ready to contest, saw Lin Fei grab it and immediately switched to defense.

Many had forgotten Lin Fei’s now-distant miracle—scoring 28 points in three minutes. But Kobe remembered—he’d been the victim of that feat.

With the ball, Lin Fei faced Rose and Wade rushing him. He stepped back—he could have driven, as the East’s defense was full of holes, but he didn’t. He retreated beyond the arc, with one aim—a three-pointer, his specialty. Rose and Wade hadn’t closed in yet; Lin Fei shot. Even before it landed, a smile bloomed on his face—he knew it would go in. And it did—a crisp, clean shot. Kobe came over to celebrate, ruffling Lin Fei’s hair. Lin Fei grinned with delight.

Time for someone to step up—LeBron? Wade? Rose? At this moment, anyone could.

The battle grew fiercer. Often, All-Star Games began as exhibitions, but by the end, pride drove players to win.

LeBron took the ball—he was the East’s leader now. Compared to Wade, LeBron was more imposing and renowned; to Rose, he was the veteran; Howard, as a center, was hard to use in these moments; Anthony was also clutch, but similar to Wade. LeBron pushed the pace—hard to believe someone his size could move so fast.

Nearing the arc, the West converged to defend—Durant, whose offense was elite but defense suspect, stood in his way. LeBron forced his way in, knocked down a running jumper. The East trailed by one; LeBron added two more. If the East won, LeBron would be MVP for sure.

The West handed the ball to young Lin Fei. Darting among the giants, he displayed his “eel technique”—speed and agility. Even with Rose guarding him, Lin Fei used teammates’ screens to reach midcourt. Everyone was still running; Rose focused on Lin Fei’s dribbling, but Lin Fei pulled up and launched a deep three, wearing the same expression, the same faint smile after releasing the ball—swish! Another three.

Fans on the sidelines dropped to one knee, hands raised in worship. Was Lin Fei about to deliver another miracle?

That shot doused the East’s hopes with cold water.

Once more, LeBron stepped up—he believed he could lead the East to victory.

The Eastern players’ hearts raced, ready for LeBron to erupt. He drove, passed to Wade outside. Wade sliced in, finished the layup. The brothers, so in sync! Just as they’d done in Miami, now on the All-Star stage.

But the East was still down by two.

Lin Fei had the ball again. Now every Eastern player focused on this small guard, playing in his first All-Star Game after only a year in the league. Lin Fei knew this would be tough.

He inbounded, gave the ball to Kobe, then sprinted off the ball to the frontcourt. Rose, flustered, hurried after him—he couldn’t let Lin Fei get a look, especially from deep, where he was almost supernatural. Any lapse, and the game was lost.

But the East paid for over-focusing on Lin Fei. With Wade ready to help, Kobe slipped by and scored an easy layup. That basket owed much to the attention Lin Fei drew.

The East handed the ball to Rose—if they were all young, why let only one player steal the spotlight?

Rose’s quick push disrupted the West’s defense. Lin Fei guarded him at the arc; Rose accelerated, beating Lin Fei, who had to foul—at least it wasn’t an and-one. Rose made both free throws.

Still down two! Lin Fei brought the ball up, knowing he’d be the focus—better to pass to his veteran teammate, Kobe. So he did.

Kobe dribbled up. Everyone knew Kobe was the type who, even if he missed 99 shots, would believe he’d hit the 100th. Most expected him to take the last shot.

Kobe slowed the pace. The West formed a strange formation—Kobe and Lin Fei near midcourt, Durant at the crossroads, Griffin and Duncan down low. Kobe sped up, heading for Durant at the X’s center; Lin Fei cut toward the same spot. As Kobe reached the intersection, Lin Fei crossed his path. Kobe, trusting his instinct, bounced the ball to Lin Fei. The triple cross confused LeBron, Wade, and Rose, tangling their defense. Kobe’s pass was a show of respect—Lin Fei caught it, fired, and scored.

Heavens! As the ball went in, Kobe raised both hands in awe, mouth agape in reverence.

Timeout—the entire West team swarmed Lin Fei, the little guard nearly squashed under their celebration.

The East stared helplessly at the score—30 seconds left, down by five. They needed a quick three and a foul.

Now it was Wade’s turn. Of the Eastern stars, his outside shooting was more reliable than LeBron’s or Rose’s. Wade took the ball, raced up, and with Kobe contesting, rose from behind the arc and drilled a three. That precious shot revived the East’s hopes.

The West inbounded. Rose’s eyes burned like a wolf’s, locked on Lin Fei.

Full-court press. Griffin inbounded to Durant, who passed to Lin Fei—but Rose bodied up, using some subtle tricks—part of the NBA game. With that little move, Rose stole the ball as Lin Fei received it. Seizing his chance, Rose drove and scored, tying the game. The crowd erupted—so the East had Rose too.

But there were still eighteen seconds left—the West’s final possession.

This was their last chance. The East wouldn’t press—they couldn’t risk a foul now.

Lin Fei took the ball, calming himself.

“Believe in yourself.”

Lin Fei turned—Kobe was speaking to him.

Lin Fei blinked, took a deep breath, steadied his rhythm. Dribbling to half-court, he let the clock wind down.

Five seconds. Four. Three. Still no move? The crowd wondered. Suddenly, Lin Fei burst into action. Rose pressed tightly, but Lin Fei slid sideways, then accelerated—a small gap opened, enough for a shot.

The ball soared high—a towering arc. Lin Fei had designed this shot, knowing his lack of height made him easy to block; he faded as much as possible, launching the ball higher. Tonight’s shot was the perfect example.

Swish. The ball dropped clean through.

The whole arena erupted in chants of “MVP!”

This moment belonged to Lin Fei—even with the veterans’ stellar stats.

This moment was his—he proved, with a three-pointer, that he was the game’s true MVP.