August 12th marked the final day of the London Olympics. The gold-medal game between the Chinese men's basketball team and Team USA was set for 3:30 p.m. local time.
Because of how well the men's basketball team had performed, the Chinese Olympic delegation decided that a basketball player would once again serve as the flag bearer for the closing ceremony. During the team's internal discussion, Lin Yi suggested Yi Jianlian for the role.
The closing ceremony flag bearer wasn't as symbolic as the opening one, but it was still an honor. Lin Yi knew that no matter how the final turned out, he would dominate headlines for a long time anyway. There was no need for everything to revolve around him.
More importantly, Yi Jianlian needed confidence. Lin Yi genuinely felt that after this Olympics, even if he never returned for Asian-level competitions, Yi Jianlian could handle them on his own.
If the national team always relied on just one player, how was that any different from the Yao Ming–only era?
Real progress only came when responsibility was shared.
…
For the Olympic final, Chinese fans couldn't completely flood the arena this time. American supporters had snapped up tickets early, and even though Chinese fans offered sky-high resale prices, Team USA had loyal followers from all over the world.
Everyone wanted to see it with their own eyes.
Could Lin Yi really go head-to-head with five superstars?
Before tip-off, while Team USA was warming up, Lin Yi casually wandered over to their side and started listening in on Coach K's instructions. Kobe and Chris Paul didn't chase him away—instead, they hooked an arm around him and listened together.
At this point, everyone was too familiar with him.
And honestly, what kind of tactics did Team USA even need?
Put a group of superstars on the floor and let them play.
A team like this could probably win even if Shaq's grandma was calling the plays.
Before the game began, Anthony Davis—ignoring his teammates' teasing—insisted on getting Lin Yi's autograph.
"Thank you, Lin," Davis said earnestly, looking up at him. "You inspired us. We wouldn't have won the NCAA title without you."
His serious expression, combined with that unmistakable unibrow, made him look unintentionally hilarious.
Lin Yi chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "Keep working, Anthony. I'm looking forward to facing you in the NBA."
Davis nodded furiously, full fanboy mode activated. On TV, Chinese viewers found the moment strangely endearing.
In the CCTV booth, Yu Jia asked, "Zhang, do you think we have a chance to pull off an upset tonight?"
Zhang smiled wryly. "I think… we should focus on enjoying the game."
He wasn't wrong. Beating this version of Team USA was almost impossible.
Still, he couldn't help thinking—if Lin Yi had appeared a few years earlier, maybe back in 2004, things might've been different.
As the arena roared, the starting lineups flashed across the big screen.
USA:
Tyson Chandler
LeBron James
Kevin Durant
Kobe Bryant
Chris Paul
China:
Yao Ming
Yi Jianlian
Lin Yi
Wang Shipeng
Sun Yue
As the players gathered at center court, American players kept patting Durant on the shoulder.
"Let's go, Kevin."
"You got him."
"You're the guy tonight."
Durant felt strangely touched.
Then, from the bench, Westbrook whispered to Davis, "Bets were open last night—one to ten odds. Can Kevin blow out Lin? What was your choice?"
"Lin all day," whispered Davis.
In fact, aside from an oblivious Durant, every other American player bet on Lin.
Even when LeBron raised the odds during a late-night meeting after Durant went to bed, nobody changed their pick.
As Harden put it: money's hard-earned—bet responsibly.
…
On the court, Lin Yi volunteered to jump for the opening tip. Yao Ming's advantage over Chandler wasn't as clear anymore, so Lin Yi wanted to make sure China secured the first possession.
Seeing Lin Yi step into the circle, Chandler quietly backed away and nudged Durant. "Kevin, perfect chance. Beat him."
Durant stared ahead, silent.
Beat him?
The ball went up—and Lin Yi won the tip easily.
For reasons he couldn't explain, Durant felt a tight knot in his chest.
On China's first possession, Sun Yue crossed half-court and—true to tradition—immediately passed the ball to Lin Yi.
Durant spread his arms wide, murmuring motivation, trying to hype himself up.
Purely from a matchup standpoint, Durant was actually better suited to defend Lin Yi than LeBron.
Lin Yi called for a screen. Sun Yue stepped up. Durant and Paul switched instinctively.
Paul didn't need to switch—Sun Yue had barely scored all tournament—but habits die hard.
The moment Paul appeared in front of him, Lin Yi leaned in.
Paul sighed internally.
Lin Yi rose into a smooth face-up fadeaway, like it was a warm-up drill. Paul jumped, but there was nothing he could do.
The ball dropped cleanly.
2–0, China.
Zhang exclaimed, full of energy. "This is Lin Yi—just give him the ball!"
Chinese fans erupted, phones out, capturing the moment.
No matter what happened next, they were leading in the Olympic final.
On Team USA's first possession, Paul tried to respond.
Then—smack.
Sun Yue blocked him.
Just like that, Paul became the third American star, after Howard and Anthony, to get blocked by Sun Yue under FIBA rules.
China pushed the break. Wang Shipeng caught the pass and fired without hesitation.
Three.
5–0.
The crowd buzzed.
Could it actually happen?
Team USA finally settled down. Paul swung the ball to Kobe.
And Kobe—who had missed earlier shots in the tournament—looked completely unfazed.
A fading three.
Swish.
5–3.
Back on offense, the Americans adjusted their defense. Lin Yi posted up again, used his strength to create space, turned, and faded.
Pure.
7–3.
Durant had had enough.
He demanded the ball.
Paul hesitated, then passed it over. If he didn't, Durant might actually explode.
Durant had worked hard on his handle all summer, determined to prove he could do what Lin Yi did.
He crossed over, low and sharp, created space, and pulled up.
Swish.
7–5.
Lin Yi shook his head—not disappointed, just impressed.
This was the Dream Team for a reason. They didn't need elaborate plays. Talent alone was overwhelming.
Durant thumped his chest, staring at Lin Yi.
China attacked again. Lin Yi isolated, dribbled between his legs, drawing gasps, then crossed over into a clean pull-up.
Perfect form. Perfect balance.
Swish.
9–5.
"So beautiful," Yu Jia breathed. "How does someone play basketball this good?"
The thought echoed through the arena.
Coach K immediately called a timeout.
China had come out swinging.
Winning might be unrealistic—but for Chinese fans, just witnessing this moment was already worth everything.
....
...
..
.
Even knowing full well what waited ahead, Lin Yi still chose to walk straight into the storm that night.
On the court, LeBron James felt an odd sense of déjà vu.
Not long ago, in the Eastern Conference Finals, Lin Yi had looked exactly like this—charging forward without hesitation, playing as if he were strapped with explosives, tearing through defenses one possession at a time. Game 6 of that series still lingered in LeBron's mind. It had been brutal.
He even remembered watching Lin Yi back in college, encouraging him from afar.
Now, though, LeBron had to accept something he could no longer deny.
Lin Yi was going to be his primary rival for years to come.
With another Finals runner-up added to his résumé, LeBron understood what next season demanded of him. If he wanted to silence the noise, there was only one path forward—he had to go through the Knicks.
Durant, tasked with guarding Lin Yi tonight, was still burning with competitive fire.
He couldn't even remember when the comparisons started. One moment, he was the league's premier scorer. Next, everything he did was measured against Lin Yi.
If the Thunder's draft luck had been a little different, Lin Yi might have been his teammate.
That thought bothered him more than he liked to admit.
Durant had won scoring titles. He had dominated offensively. Yet in the season Lin Yi claimed his own scoring crown, he also swept the major awards. Durant couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been pushed into the background.
So tonight, he wanted to prove something—to everyone, and especially to Lin Yi.
What frustrated him most was that Lin Yi didn't even seem to be looking at him.
Even in direct matchups, Lin Yi's eyes weren't locked onto Durant. It felt like indifference.
But Durant was overthinking it.
Because as the game wore on, Lin Yi's thoughts had narrowed to one thing only: scoring—and how to score better.
Team USA stood in front of him like the strongest boss he had ever faced.
Every time Lin Yi went on a run, every time he emptied the tank, that boss refused to fall.
And strangely enough, that thrilled him.
Wasn't that the point of competition? To challenge yourself, to find your limits, and then push past them?
Lin Yi wasn't ignoring Durant. His focus was simply elsewhere—on the game itself.
Back in the 2008 Beijing Olympics, Yao Ming's squad had held off the Dream Team for fifteen minutes. Tonight, that mark was being rewritten.
With 3 minutes and 27 seconds left in the third quarter, China trailed by just six points.
79–73.
Team USA's greatest advantage was its depth of stars—but managing a lineup like that was no simple task.
Coach Mike Krzyzewskiwas renowned for handling egos, and he showed why. Throughout the third quarter, the Americans relentlessly pushed the pace. As much as Yao Ming wanted to stay on the floor, fatigue forced him back to the bench.
Yi Jianlian clenched his fists in frustration.
He hated that he couldn't give Lin Yi more help.
So now, all he could do was make the right read.
Get the ball to Lin Yi.
As early as the second half of the second quarter, Coach Dan had committed to the same approach D'Antoni always turned to when there was no retreat left.
Even knowing Team USA was a mountain few could climb, Dan refused to back down.
"Because we have Lin Yi."
Mike D'Antoni had once said that to him before the Knicks flew to Dallas for the 2010–11 Finals.
And tonight, Dan believed it more than ever.
Playing to the edge of exhaustion, Lin Yi dragged this team forward again and again, throwing himself at the summit of world basketball without hesitation.
Fans across the globe followed every possession. And when Lin Yi stepped to the free-throw line, even American fans in the arena joined the chant:
"MVP—!"
"MVP—!"
"MVP—!"
…
The final score read 117–100.
China fell short.
Lin Yi finished with 51 points.
When the buzzer sounded, there was no despair on his face—only excitement. His hands trembled, his pulse raced. This wasn't frustration.
This was clarity.
He knew exactly where he still needed to improve.
Believing you're flawless is the fastest way to stop growing. Lin Yi had never made that mistake.
Every Chinese player had seen the floor tonight. And no one questioned it anymore—Lin Yi had carried this team into the Finals.
When they faced Team USA head-on and realized how hard it was just to protect the ball, their respect for Lin Yi deepened even further. Scoring repeatedly against that defense wasn't normal.
The Dream Team had flaws, sure—but when the game ended, even many American fans felt the same unease.
Lin Yi was terrifying.
"Lin, you really gave everything," Yao Ming said, forcing a smile as he patted Lin Yi on the shoulder.
Lin Yi smiled back. "Brother Yao, medal in hand. Next stop, a different battlefield."
Yao nodded. "If Shaq can help you win a championship, so can I."
At 6 p.m. London time on August 12th, the Chinese men's basketball team stood on the Olympic podium for the first time in history.
Gold: USA
Silver: China
Bronze: Spain
The nation erupted.
Even without a comeback win, the moment China stepped onto that podium, cheers rang out across the country.
Team USA players were next to come over one by one.
LeBron studied Lin Yi with a new look. Kobe smiled, offering sincere praise. Paul kicked Lin Yi lightly and told him to stay healthy during offseason training.
Chandler hugged him quickly. "Family first before the Bahamas," he said. "Don't drag me into hell early."
Westbrook grinned. "Next time you're in OKC, I'll take you to the best cake shop in town."
Durant stayed quiet.
He had scored 18 points, but it didn't feel like a win. He promised himself that next season, he'd prove it—prove he belonged at the very top.
Soon, the national anthem, The Star-Spangled Banner, of the USA sounded.
The London Olympics for Lin then came to an end.
...
On the flight back to New York, Lin Yi sat beside Yao Ming, gently turning the silver medal in his hand.
"Getting stronger," he murmured, "is the only answer."
A relentless summer had just begun.
. . .
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