Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Bloodthirsty Fiend

The words "bloodthirsty demon" seemed to echo through the arena.

No one knew how much blood Lin Fei had in his mouth. He did not even bother to rinse it out; he simply swallowed it all. What the crowd saw was Lin Fei clamping his mouth shut with brutal force, his throat convulsing as he swallowed. His face was crimson, sweat beading across his skin. His hair was disheveled, his gaze ferocious, and the veins all over his body stood out as though every muscle were locked in effort.

Lin Fei’s signal understood by Nelson.

Four minutes remained.

Lin Fei brought the ball up, and by then the entire crowd was still frozen in that dazed state, unnaturally silent.

In that silence, Lin Fei looked savage, murderous, as if he had already stepped halfway into a darker path. That path was another world, and in that world, there was only Lin Fei.

With the ball in hand and his eyes closed, Lin Fei forgot the whole world, even the fourth dimension itself: time.

His frantic movements made it seem as though the men guarding him were standing perfectly still.

If anyone had remained clearheaded, the only thing they might have understood was this: Lin Fei was the only man in the world capable of taking dribbling and one on one play to such an extreme.

At midcourt, Lin Fei was like a butterfly in flight, graceful and unrestrained. When he slammed on the brakes, the sweat on him flew outward with the force of inertia. His hair, soaked through, shone black beneath the spotlights, setting off the chill severity of his face. The scene was so shocking it nearly stunned the eye.

Then it was the Thunder’s turn. Again Durant drew a foul from X, and X had now reached five fouls. Kane was already off the floor, and if there was one more foul, they would have to resort to a substitute forward who barely ever played.

Durant sank both free throws again.

At this point, no one was even thinking about the scoring title anymore. Everyone was thinking about how long that blood-soaked player on the court could keep going. His veins bulged as if ready to burst through his entire body; he fought to suppress his breathing, his throat working thickly. When would it end? When? Was this boy some kind of heavenly being descended among men? Such astonishing stamina, such terrifying will. Many fans covered their mouths in disbelief, unable to imagine how difficult every step must be for the boy running relentlessly up and down the floor.

Lin Fei was still the same. He signaled to his teammates to move faster. Under their screens, he threaded his way through the court. Even with Westbrook constantly shadowing him, Lin Fei still dribbled to the three point line. By then he was utterly mad. Even if an army stood in front of him, he would still shoot without hesitation. As Lin Fei leapt wildly and prepared to release, Westbrook sealed off his line of sight. Lin Fei even shut his eyes and hurled the ball straight into the basket.

He threw it in, sheer force and will! Such a shot was beyond belief.

Truly, he had gone insane.

People began to believe that a demon had appeared on this court, one that craved scoring with the same bloodthirst as a vampire.

On the Thunder’s next possession, Westbrook drove again and drew another foul from X. The Warriors’ defense had been torn open like a sieve.

X fouled out. Kane fouled out. Jobs was already carrying four fouls. The Warriors were sinking into a bottomless hell of fouls.

Someone needed to stand up. No, a god needed to stand up. At that moment, what the Warriors prayed for was not the possession of Jordan, Kobe, or McGrady. They simply watched wide eyed as one boy carved toward an even more unbelievable record.

During the free throws, Nelson called a timeout. A ball boy handed Lin Fei a bottle of water. Lin Fei opened his mouth and immediately vomited a mouthful of blood, unable to hold it back, spitting it far across the floor. Even the doctors were stunned. How had this foolish boy managed to do that?

There had been a chance to call timeout all along. Why hadn’t he? Why not?

Bright red blood stained the floor: the demon’s blood.

Then Lin Fei, without the slightest hesitation, launched another three point shot, with that signature midcourt motion. No one could stop him, no matter who they were.

The Thunder coach realized things were turning badly. The Jordan Rules seemed to have no effect at all on this boy, or on the Warriors.

Lin Fei’s bloodthirsty scoring spree was growing more and more ferocious. No one could stop him. Since he entered the game, he had almost single handedly controlled the team’s offense. He had already hit four straight threes in a row. In just a few minutes, he had casually piled up twelve points. Even if the rest of his teammates scored nothing, the gap between the Warriors and the Thunder would still have been impossible to close. He noticed that Lin Fei was becoming more and more isolated, almost always bringing the ball himself to midcourt or the three point line, facing Thunder defenders and using his speed advantage to create shooting space. The move was virtually impossible to defend.

The coach tried sending two men to trap Lin Fei at once. Lin Fei showed no sign of passing at all. He signaled with his eyes for his teammates to help clear out the defenders, and kept charging forward with all his might.

The fifth three pointer. The sixth. The seventh.

With each one, the entire arena seemed to hold its breath. Lin Fei did have a turnover in between, but no one would remember it.

The eighth. My God, eight made threes in under eight minutes! One more would tie his own record for threes in a single quarter.

By human effort, with forty seconds left in the game, he made his ninth. At that point, aside from Durant, no one on the Thunder had any fight left in them. Durant had scored in those few minutes.

With twenty four seconds left, Lin Fei still had a chance to take the final shot.

That shot would rewrite countless records.

The tenth three of the quarter. The fourteenth three of the game. Lin Fei already had fifty five points. If he hit another three, he would reach fifty eight, while Durant stood at forty. If this shot went in, Lin Fei would surpass everything. Every record would belong to him. But even if it missed, he was still magnificent. Still, it was a pity.

This shot became a duel between Durant and Lin Fei, the two of them matched directly once more.

Durant had height, wingspan, and leaping ability on his side, all those advantages, yet Lin Fei, just beyond the three point line, used a quick dribble to burst toward the free throw line and buried a midrange jumper.

He finished with fifty seven points.

He led Durant by one point, and his season scoring average now led by 0.01 points.

Was this not one of the greatest miracles in NBA history? History alone would render the verdict.

After making that shot, as Lin Fei came down, his body softened as if it were a towel, suddenly slackening.

The doctors diagnosed a mild concussion. His esophagus contained a large amount of the blood he had swallowed. That he was able to keep playing and finish the game was nothing short of a miracle. If he had gone on a little longer, no one knew what serious consequences Lin Fei might have suffered.

The doctors’ conclusion: at least a week of rest.

My God. The playoffs begin in three days.

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