Chapter Seventy-Five: Blazing Fury

However, as the game wore on, Lin Fei’s state seemed to deteriorate more and more. By the end of the third quarter, his performance could only be described as barely passable—perhaps just scraping a passing grade at best. But then again, that might be because so many people expected so much more from him.

Truth be told, Lin Fei’s passing had reached a certain level by now, but he was still far from the standards of a top-tier playmaking guard. His game was built around speed, but when it came to the other two essentials of passing—precision and accuracy—he still hadn’t reached that realm. One could even say he hadn’t even glimpsed that level.

Lin Fei took the ball and passed to a teammate. The Warriors’ off-ball movement was dizzying to watch, a blur of motion that left the crowd wide-eyed. The ball came back to Lin Fei, and with just two exchanges they were in the frontcourt. Now holding the ball, Lin Fei surveyed the floor: all the Warriors’ players were stretched out near the three-point line, leaving the paint relatively open. Lin Fei pushed hard off his foot, accelerating straight to the free-throw line—the very spot where he’d been trapped in a double-team the last time and forced into a defensive dead end. This time, at least, no one was there. From here, a floater would do nicely. Seizing the opportunity, Lin Fei shot without hesitation. But just as the ball left his hands, Gasol, moving almost parallel to Lin Fei, twisted his body and swatted the shot away.

Some fans on the sidelines stomped their feet in frustration. The paint was never meant for Lin Fei—why did he insist on forcing his way in there? The truth was, Lin Fei himself had no desire to venture inside. He was a small guy, after all, and entering the paint felt like a child intruding on grown men, destined only to be bullied. Yet every top star had to learn to attack the rim; this was a principle proven time and again in the league. Especially in crunch time, breaking through and drawing fouls might be the most reliable way to score. Lin Fei was still experimenting, trying to see if he could score without relying on outside shots or fast-break layups, but judging by how things were going, the results weren’t ideal.

Nelson had seen enough and pulled Lin Fei from the game, sending in Keynes as his replacement. Keynes was matched up against Gay, and he knew how to work with every teammate on the floor, never taking reckless shots. In Nelson’s mind, Lin Fei’s shot selection had always lacked rhyme or reason; in chaotic situations, Lin Fei was undoubtedly one of the best in the league, but in structured, “proper” basketball, he was prone to struggle. No matter how many points he racked up, some deficiencies simply couldn’t be made up for by scoring alone.

The game grew more intense. At the start of the fourth quarter, the Warriors led by ten—a margin that left Nelson feeling fairly comfortable. “Put Lin Fei back in!” The fans at the sidelines began to chant.

The fans are gods, and Nelson understood that well.

He decided to send Lin Fei back in. After all, the playoffs were approaching, and a player like Lin Fei would be invaluable then. Now was a good time to let him find his rhythm. Nelson pondered.

Reflecting on it, Nelson had played a central role throughout Lin Fei’s journey: from nearly making Lin Fei the core of the team, to watching him drift into mediocrity, to Lin Fei’s stunning All-Star MVP triumph. Lin Fei’s highs and lows always seemed to be at Nelson’s discretion. At first, Nelson went all out in building Lin Fei’s status within the team. But as Lin Fei’s stats soared beyond Nelson’s expectations, he began to worry that this rapid rise would disrupt the team’s tactical balance, and so he subtly suppressed Lin Fei’s position within the squad. Whatever the case, Nelson’s approach was always shrouded in mystery.

Lin Fei took to the court to a thunderous ovation, the crowd awash with number 43 jerseys—his supporters.

With the ball in his hands, he was guarded by the Grizzlies’ defensive lynchpin, Gay.

“Come on! Let’s see what you’ve got!” Gay taunted the young challenger. In terms of ability, Gay was no pushover; he was the highest-paid player on the Grizzlies. When the team signed him, many experts were skeptical, but Gay proved himself on the court as a true multimillion-dollar star. Now, it was his time to be tested.

Lin Fei had faced plenty of big-name players—Gay was hardly someone to be intimidated by. He took a step back, then accelerated, but Gay’s size made it impossible for Lin Fei to get past him on pure speed. Lin Fei switched tactics, going between the legs, but Gay used his massive frame to step back and block off Lin Fei’s driving lane. Forced to the side, Lin Fei took a single step, then rose up from beyond the arc—swish.

Lin Fei glanced back at Gay. Gay flashed his middle finger, pretending not to notice.

Truth be told, trash talk, cheap shots, even scuffles—they were all part of the NBA’s fabric. These provocations only underscored the intensity of the sport. Many of the league’s greatest stars were masters of trash talk—Jordan, Reggie Miller, Garnett, Kobe—all of them had showcased the art’s full brilliance. Lin Fei rarely received “FUCK”-level treatment, but today he did.

Lin Fei responded with a calm smile, seemingly unfazed. Any man might have been tempted to slap that grin off Lin Fei’s face, to curse him for not being a real man. But Lin Fei faced the insult with rare equanimity.

The Grizzlies went on offense, giving the ball to Gay. Gay drove hard, forcing the Warriors into a defensive switch. Now it was Lin Fei directly facing him. Gay powered up for a layup, but Lin Fei didn’t meet him head-on, instead shifting to the side. Gay barreled into him, knocking Lin Fei to the floor. The referee’s whistle blew, and as it did, Gay tossed up a floater—the ball dropped in.

Blocking foul on Lin Fei, plus the basket!

Lin Fei lay on the ground, clutching his chest with his right hand. What happened? The referee hadn’t seen it, but Lin Fei knew—when Gay went up for the layup, he’d swung his left elbow, a clear technical foul. Yet not only had the referee missed it, he’d also called Lin Fei for a blocking foul.

Lin Fei got to his feet, furious.

“That was a technical! He hit me with his elbow!” he shouted at the referee.

The referee shot Lin Fei a cold look and slapped him with a technical foul.

Speechless. Absolutely infuriating. Damn the referee! Lin Fei swore inwardly. For some reason, this call ignited a fire in him as never before.

It was Lin Fei’s first technical foul in the NBA. He’d always conducted himself like a gentleman on the court, his sunny smile radiating charm. But today, he’d finally lost his temper.

Nelson came over and spoke to him. “The only thing you can do now is win the game!”

The radiance usually on Lin Fei’s face vanished, replaced by a steely coldness. Sweat trickled down his stern features, and in that moment, he looked like a professional killer. It was hard to believe how quickly Lin Fei could change.

Ice cold—that was Lin Fei’s demeanor now. Yet deep inside, a furious blaze had been kindled.