After the win against Russia, the Chinese media was in full-on praise mode for Lin Yi. He sat quietly, reviewing the China vs. Russia game, letting the spotlight pass him by. He still carried the words of his idol in his mind: "To gain everything, you must give everything and conquer everything."
Sun Kuangzhu, who had been planning to sneak out for a party, suddenly found himself grabbed by Big Yao.
"You've won two games, and now you're getting cocky?" Yao's voice was calm but firm. "Take a good look at the stats. How many points did our perimeter players actually score in these two games combined?"
Big Yao wasn't that angry—this was a teaching moment. The men's basketball team had clearly let overconfidence creep in after beating strong opponents like Spain and Russia.
Yao knew the perimeter players' abilities even better than Lin Yi. He knew that if any sliver of complacency and laziness crept in, their shooting efficiency would tank.
As Coach Gong had said after winning the Asian Championship in Changsha back in 2015, "Now isn't the time to celebrate—it's time to keep pushing."
Yi Jianlian sighed and sat down next to Lin Yi. "Lin… you're honestly the most incredible player I've ever seen."
Lin Yi blinked. When he looked up, the perimeter players stood there, heads bowed, looking guilty.
He clicked his tongue. No wonder Kobe admired Yao—like him, Yao couldn't stand teammates slacking or losing focus.
Lin Yi remembered the Beijing Olympics training camp, when Sun Kuangzhu had almost been scolded to tears. In Athens 2004, Yao had even thrown a towel across the sidelines in frustration. Winning wasn't just about talent—it was about hunger.
Lin Yi didn't interrupt. He remembered what Yao had told him before the tournament: during the Olympics, Yao would be the "bad cop."
Lin Yi's job? The good cop.
Wang Zhizhi sat down beside Lin Yi and gave him a pat on the back. "Lin, it's because of you we beat Spain and Russia."
His words weren't just for Lin; they were a reminder to the standing perimeter players.
Under Yao's increasing piercing gaze, any excuses vanished.
"Look at the post-game coverage," Yao continued. "The media says we don't even need guards anymore because we have Lin Yi. Do you get why he's popular? Because he's strong enough to earn it."
"Now, look at yourselves. In two games, how many points did our four big men score? And how many did the other eight perimeter players score together?"
"I don't care if you're a veteran or a rookie. Remember what this jersey stands for—the honor of the Chinese National Men's Basketball Team."
"If any of you can say to me, 'Yao, I don't need you to score, go rest,' then fine, I'll pass you the ball. But you won't, will you?"
He turned to Sun Yue. "You played 70 minutes across two games… scored 2 points. That's one point per game. How are we supposed to praise that?"
"Sun Yue may still contribute on defense, but what about the rest of you? Some of you can't even manage the basics—catching the ball, sliding laterally. I'm not afraid to call it out."
By the time Yao finished, 18-year-old Ding Yanyuhang was quietly sobbing.
Lin Yi felt a pang of relief. At the Knicks, Chris Paul was the enforcer. Lin was more of a guide.
When Yao finally stopped, he winked at Lin Yi. Lin Yi knew exactly what that meant: it was his turn to soften the blow and encourage the perimeter players.
Yao had made it clear before the tournament: "I handle the scolding. You handle the comforting."
...
"But, Brother Yao… aren't you worried everyone's going to hate you after this?" Lin Yi asked quietly. He knew Yao was setting him up—once Lin Yi stood up and spoke for the team, the perimeter players would feel grateful, maybe even a little awed.
Yao Ming shook his head. "Lin, this is my last Olympics. Lian is too quiet, Sun Yue loves to have fun too much, and Big Zhizhi won't be around for much longer. Eventually, this team will need you to lead it."
"The national team isn't like the NBA. Fame alone won't make them listen. If you want to unite them, you have to scold it into them," Yao added firmly.
If there had been an easier way to pass the torch, Yao wouldn't have been so aggressive. But after deciding to play one more year for the Knicks, Yao was racing against time. He had to make Lin Yi the true leader, fast.
That was one of the few things Yao felt he could do for Lin Yi in the national team.
Yao didn't worry about being disliked. His only concern was that the team might get overconfident and risk angering Lin Yi.
In basketball, strength earns respect. Lin Yi wasn't about to reject Yao's intentions.
So, when the time came, Lin Yi gently intervened as Yao "feigned" anger, arguing for a few minutes with him. The perimeter players got a chance to save face, and Lin Yi successfully "won them over," just as Yao had planned.
After the lecture wrapped up, Wang Zhizhi ruffled Lin Yi's hair. "Don't be down. This is how a legacy gets passed on."
"Brother Zhizhi… tell me about the golden generation of the national team," Lin Yi asked with a sigh.
Zhizhi leaned back, recalling the past. "It was brutal back then. Sydney Olympics—Liu Yudong had steel pins in his leg, and Hu Weidong had just had surgery. But the moment the national team called, everyone pushed through. Wearing this jersey was the ultimate honor."
"Back then, the internet wasn't like today. Lose a game, and the print media would rip you apart. People would point and say, 'That's the guy who lost.' Truly shameful."
"Lin, Big Yao, and I? We see the same thing. You're the one who can lift this team. All the credit belongs to you—you earned it."
Big Zhizhi patted Lin Yi on the shoulder. "This honor is heavy, but we hope you can carry it. Chinese basketball fans need someone like you to bear it."
Lin Yi felt a flood of emotions, yet no words came out.
...
August 1st, London Olympic Stadium. The Australian team was about to find out what it meant to face a fired-up Chinese team.
Wang Shipeng's three-pointers swished effortlessly. Sun Yue erupted with a triumphant roar after blocking David Andersen. Big Yao and Lin Yi battled through close-quarter scrums, scoring repeatedly despite Australia's rough tactics.
CCTV commentator Yu Jia shouted with excitement, "This is the Chinese Men's Basketball Team!"
Post-game headlines captured it perfectly:
"With fire in the belly, the Chinese Men's Basketball Team defeats Australia."
The Australians, beaten and bewildered, didn't know the real reason the Chinese team played so fiercely. If they had… well, they would have regretted stepping onto the court.
That night, the Australians felt like cats had stumbled into a lion's den.
Final score: 96–81.
The Chinese team had beaten a formidable opponent, swept all three group-stage games, and advanced with confidence.
. . .
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