Chapter 57: All-Star Media Day
Lin Feng put the high-quality black card into his pocket.
Through the fabric of his pants, he could still feel the outline of the gold-stamped numbers.
The surrounding reporters were still in shock from Scarlett Johansson's sudden appearance and cool departure, for a moment forgetting what they were supposed to ask.
They looked at each other, and finally, they pointed their cameras and microphones once again at the center of the storm.
Lin Feng didn't give them another chance to speak.
He just lifted his eyelids and scanned the crowd with a cold, emotionless gaze.
The reporters, who had been as frantic as sharks smelling blood just moments ago, were collectively silenced by that single glance.
Security personnel took the opportunity to surround him, escorting Lin Feng through the crowd toward the exit of the banquet hall.
"Eye of the Heavenly Emperor..."
"Broken works of art..."
Lin Feng silently recited these two phrases in his heart, and the outline of that bold plan in his mind became clearer... The next day.
The Houston All-Star Weekend officially entered Media Day.
Inside the Toyota Center arena, the crowd was bustling, and flashes went off one after another, merging into a sea of light.
According to custom, only the top superstars in the league were qualified to have their own independent interview booths.
LeBron James, Kevin Durant, Carmelo Anthony... and Lin Feng.
As the biggest talking point of this All-Star Game and the newly crowned western conference all-star starter selection king, the league had arranged for him the same treatment as those long-established superstars.
Lin Feng sat behind the booth wearing a tracksuit with the All-Star logo, with microphones from media outlets all over the world laid out in front of him.
This in itself was a symbol of status.
However, the upcoming questions were much more complicated than this treatment.
The interview officially began.
A reporter from Asia was the first to get a chance to ask a question, and his question was full of goodwill.
"Lin, congratulations on becoming the western conference all-star starter selection king. You are now the pride of all of Asia. How do you feel about this?"
Lin Feng picked up the microphone, his expression calm.
"Thank you."
"This isn't an honor for me alone; it belongs to every fan who voted for me, as well as my team and teammates."
"They are the ones who gave me this opportunity to stand here."
His answer was airtight, attributing the credit to the collective and maintaining a very humble posture.
The reporters who supported him nodded one after another, recording his speech.
Soon, a reporter from ESPN stood up, and his question wasn't nearly as friendly.
"Lin, we all know that not long ago, you experienced a 25-point crushing defeat in San Antonio."
"Coach Popovich described your style of play as 'circus basketball,' and your stats were 5-for-22."
"Many people believe your performance doesn't warrant being the western conference all-star starter selection king. How do you respond to such doubts?"
As soon as this question was asked, the atmosphere on the scene suddenly became tense.
Everyone's eyes were focused on Lin Feng, wanting to see how this young voting leader would handle such a sharp interrogation.
Would he fight back in anger, or would he avoid it awkwardly?
No emotional fluctuations could be seen on Lin Feng's face.
He remained silent for a few seconds, seemingly organizing his words.
Then, he spoke, his voice clear and steady.
"That loss taught me a lot of things."
Everyone was stunned; they hadn't expected such an opening.
"Coach Popovich is a respectable legend, and he used a single game to give me a valuable lesson."
"He taught me that in the sport of basketball, there is always something worth learning."
"I lost; that's a fact. I accept the defeat and will learn from it, striving to make myself stronger."
These words were neither humble nor arrogant.
He didn't shirk responsibility, didn't snap back in anger, and even took the initiative to admit his shortcomings while expressing respect for the legendary coach.
This maturity and composure beyond his years gave most of the neutral media reporters a sense of goodwill toward him.
The ESPN reporter who asked the question clearly hadn't expected such an answer, and the series of follow-up questions he had prepared were abruptly stifled.
The atmosphere eased slightly.
But there are always people who don't want the scene to be so dull.
A reporter from a gossip outlet squeezed to the front, a malicious smile on his face.
"Lin, we all saw Hollywood superstar Miss Scarlett Johansson take the initiative to talk to you at the charity gala last night."
"Many people are curious, what did you talk about? Was she also attracted by your 'artistic basketball'?"
This question was full of hints and provocation, deliberately using the term 'artistic basketball' in a playful tone.
Everyone pricked up their ears.
Compared to controversies in the sports world, a scandal with a top Hollywood actress was clearly more explosive.
Hearing this, Lin Feng finally smiled.
It was a calm, composed smile with a hint of playfulness.
"Miss Johansson is an outstanding artist."
He first gave her a high compliment, then pivoted slightly.
"We just exchanged some of our respective views on art."
"It was my honor to communicate with such an excellent artist like her."
This answer was perfect.
It confirmed their interaction while limiting it to the highly sophisticated category of 'artistic discussion.'
It maintained distance and showed respect while leaving infinite room for the outside world's imagination.
What does 'views on art' mean?
Basketball is art, and movies are also art; the room for interpretation was huge.
The reporters on the scene were in a frenzy, their pens and cameras working rapidly. They knew that tomorrow's headline was secured... Meanwhile.
In the presidential suite of a top hotel in downtown Houston.
Scarlett Johansson was wearing a silk bathrobe, reclining lazily on the sofa.
She swirled the goblet in her hand, which contained amber-colored whiskey.
On the huge LCD TV in front of her, the grand occasion of All-Star Media Day was being broadcast in real-time, and the screen happened to freeze on Lin Feng's composed, smiling face.
His answer came clearly from the TV.
"Miss Johansson is an outstanding artist..."
"We just exchanged some of our respective views on art..."
After listening, a charming smile rippled through Scarlett's green eyes.
She drained the whiskey in her glass, stuck out her tongue, and gently licked her full Red lips.
"The little guy is quite the smooth talker."
"artist..."
She repeated the word in a low voice, and the inquiry and interest in her eyes became even more intense... Media Day finally ended.
Lin Feng dragged his tired body back to his hotel room.
Dealing with these reporters was more exhausting than playing a high-intensity game.
Just as he threw himself onto the bed, his phone rang.
It was an unknown number.
Lin Feng hesitated for a moment but still answered.
"Hello?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end, and then a voice he hadn't expected but was incredibly familiar with came through, carrying a trace of imperceptible resentment.
"It seems my 'artist' gentleman has found new 'art' in Houston?"
Lin Feng jolted and sat up from the bed.
This voice, this familiar vibe.
It was Taylor Swift.
He hadn't expected her to call from an unknown number at all.
"Taylor?"
"Hmph, you can still recognize my voice."
The voice on the other end sounded jealous.
"You seemed to have a very happy chat with that Hollywood actress; you're all over the entertainment headlines in America."
"'Exchange of art'? Lin, when did you become so knowledgeable about the art of cinema?"
A woman's intuition is indeed terrifying.
Lin Feng's mind raced.
He could hear the jealousy in Taylor's words, which proved his weight in her heart.
But he couldn't deny it directly; that would seem hypocritical.
Even more so, he couldn't admit it; that would be seeking his own death.
"Art is interconnected."
Lin Feng's voice traveled across the ocean through the electrical current, carrying a soothing magnetism.
"But there is always a first source of inspiration."
There was another silence on the other end of the phone.
After several seconds, Taylor's voice sounded again, her resentment mostly dissipated, replaced by a hint of bashful sweetness.
"...I'll take that as you being sensible."
"The Asian leg of my 'Red' tour is about to start, and the first stop is Tokyo."
"When the time comes, you must come to my concert."
"Okay, I'll definitely go."
Lin Feng agreed without hesitation.
With one sentence, he successfully soothed the pop queen's emotions and even arranged their next meeting.
After hanging up, Lin Feng let out a long breath.
Dealing with these high-level women required both high emotional intelligence and mental effort.
Just then, there was a knock on the room door.
It was his Agent, Jeff.
Jeff rushed in with an excited face, holding a gold-stamped invitation in his hand.
"Lin! Great news!"
"What's up?"
"A top-tier private art auction hosted by the league's top sponsors, not open to the public, is happening tomorrow night!"
Jeff handed the invitation to Lin Feng and lowered his voice.
"Not just anyone can get in; those invited are either rich or noble! And I heard some news..."
Jeff's expression became mysterious.
"Scarlett Johansson is the special guest of that auction."
Lin Feng's gaze fell on the exquisite invitation.
Instantly, Scarlett's green eyes and her suggestive words surfaced in his mind.
"I want to invite you to appreciate some real 'broken works of art'."
Chapter 58: The Rising Stars Challenge Declaration
On the second day of All-Star Weekend, the Toyota Center was packed to capacity.
Tonight's main event was the Rising Stars Challenge.
It featured the Rookies taking on the Sophomores.
Lin Feng, as the core of the Sophomore team, was undoubtedly the biggest focus of the night.
Before the game, at the TNT broadcast table, commentators were conducting their final pre-game hype.
"We all know what Lin went through a few days ago."
"A crushing defeat, followed by Coach Popovich's ruthless criticism."
"Yes, the term 'circus basketball' is now known all across America."
"So tonight will be interesting. This is an exhibition game, which theoretically is the perfect stage for a 'circus'."
"But I suspect he'll restrain himself."
"Exactly. After suffering such a blow, any smart player would choose to play in a more team-oriented and steady manner to respond to outside criticism."
"Let's see how this Western Conference vote leader chooses to play."
With the referee's whistle, the game officially began.
The Sophomores took the first possession.
Lin Feng received the ball in the backcourt and unhurriedly dribbled it across half-court.
The Rookies' top pick, Anthony Bennett, squared up on defense, his eyes filled with the desire to challenge him.
Everyone expected Lin Feng to open the night's performance with a flashy crossover.
However, Lin Feng only performed a simple front crossover.
The moment Bennett shifted his center of gravity, Lin flicked his wrist, and the basketball, as if coming to life, bounced past Bennett's side.
The ball accurately found Victor Oladipo cutting from the baseline.
Oladipo caught the ball in stride and leaped for a thunderous two-handed dunk, igniting the crowd.
*Bang!*
2-0.
A collective gasp echoed through the Toyota Center.
Not for the dunk.
But for Lin Feng's pass—scalpel-precise and incredibly aesthetic.
The commentators at the broadcast table were also stunned for a moment.
"Whoa! An assist?"
"I thought he'd take it himself, but that was a perfect, textbook drive-and-kick!"
The Rookies attacked, but the shot missed.
The Sophomores grabbed the rebound and handed it back to Lin Feng to orchestrate.
This time, he faced the Rookie of the Year favorite, Michael Carter-Williams.
MCW spread his arms, trying to use his height and wingspan to disrupt Lin Feng.
Lin Feng performed consecutive between-the-legs dribbles, his rhythm unpredictable.
Suddenly, he accelerated, feinting a drive to the right.
MCW immediately slid over to cut him off.
Just before contact, Lin Feng went behind his back to his left hand while simultaneously stepping back.
A step-back jumper pose.
MCW immediately lunged forward!
But Lin Feng didn't jump at all.
With a flick of his wrist, he sent a no-look pass under MCW's arm to the opposite 45-degree angle.
Tim Hardaway Jr. was already waiting there.
Wide open.
Completely wide open.
*Swish!*
The three-pointer went in.
5-0.
The crowd erupted once more.
"Another assist!"
"My god! That pass! Does he have eyes in the back of his head?"
The commentator's voice jumped an octave.
"Lin Feng is orchestrating the offense! He's delivered two brilliant assists in a row to start! This is completely beyond our expectations!"
"He seems to be using his actions to answer the critics, telling everyone he's not just a scorer!"
The next few minutes turned entirely into Lin Feng's personal passing clinic.
Like a magician on the court, he used all sorts of inconceivable ways to deliver the ball precisely to his teammates.
Bounce passes, behind-the-back passes, over-the-head passes... every Sophomore possession ended in an easy score.
The lead widened rapidly.
The Sophomore teammates grew more excited as the game went on.
All they had to do was keep moving, and they'd receive Lin Feng's passes in the most comfortable spots to finish.
It felt incredible.
By the end of the first half, the score was set at 78-60.
The Sophomores were leading by a wide margin.
Lin Feng's stats were 6 points and 12 assists.
These numbers left all the media outlets that had predicted a scoring spree completely blindsided.
He controlled the game in a way no one had anticipated.
During halftime, the broadcast director cut to a VIP box in the stands.
On the giant screen appeared a face that men all over the world went crazy for.
Scarlett Johansson.
Wearing a simple white shirt and holding a pair of exquisite binoculars, she was watching the court with great interest.
A thunderous roar of cheers erupted from the crowd.
Scarlett waved elegantly to the camera, her red lips curling into a charming smile.
The second half began.
The leading Sophomores grew a bit complacent.
Led by MCW, the Rookies went on a scoring run, cutting the deficit to under 10 points.
The atmosphere in the arena grew tense again.
Just then, a synchronized chant began to rise from the stands.
"We want Lin-Show!"
"We want Lin-Show!"
The sound grew louder, merging into a wave of noise that echoed through the Toyota Center.
Ultimately, the fans wanted to see the all-powerful scoring machine.
Lin Feng heard the chants.
Standing on the court, he loosened his wrists.
He glanced at the bench, and D'Antoni just smiled at him, giving a casual "it's your turn" gesture.
Lin Feng understood.
The warm-up was over.
Sophomore possession.
Lin Feng had the ball again.
This time, his eyes changed.
The relaxed composure was gone, replaced by an aggressive focus.
Facing the defense, he didn't make any more passing fakes.
From two steps beyond the three-point line, he rose for a jumper without warning!
In mid-air, with an extremely contorted posture that defied all shooting logic, he released the ball.
Aomine Daiki's Formless Shot!
The basketball traced a bizarre arc through the air.
*Swish!*
Nothing but net!
"YES!"
The commentator jumped from his seat!
"He's here! He's finally here! Lin Feng has ignited the Houston night sky with a long-range Formless Shot!"
The entire crowd went absolutely wild!
This was the Lin Feng they wanted to see!
This was the reason they had voted for him!
After the shot, Lin Feng's expression didn't change.
He simply pointed a finger toward the sky and slowly jogged back to the defensive end.
But his performance was just beginning.
The next possession.
Facing a double-team, just before losing his balance and hitting the floor, he sent the ball into the hoop with an incredible underhanded floater.
And the next.
On a fast break, facing an open rim, he didn't choose to dunk. Instead, he did a 360-degree mid-air turn and finished with a reverse layup off the glass.
Flashy.
Utterly magnificent.
But unlike the game against the San Antonio Spurs, every one of his flashy plays was built on a premise.
That was, he used his unstoppable individual offense to draw nearly all of the defense's attention.
When the opponents thought he was going to force another shot, he would always find a teammate left wide open.
A bounce pass for an easy teammate dunk.
A drive-and-kick for a teammate's corner three.
Scoring, assisting, scoring, assisting... the final five minutes of the game turned completely into the Lin Fengshow.
He was both the finisher and the creator.
He used flashy individual plays to attract the defense and then tore through their lines with precise passing.
The Rookies were completely shell-shocked.
They didn't know how to defend him.
Guard his shot? He'd pass.
Guard the pass? He could make the shot from any position.
This was a higher level of "circus basketball" that simply couldn't be contained.
When the final buzzer sounded, the score was 145-120.
Lin Feng's final stat line was...
28 points, 2 rebounds, and 15 assists.
There was no suspense.
NBA Commissioner David Stern walked onto the court and personally handed the Rising Stars Challenge MVP trophy to Lin Feng.
"Congratulations, Lin."
"That was a great performance."
Lin Feng took the trophy and raised it high.
Chants of "MVP" rang out through the arena once more.
In the VIP box, Scarlett put down her binoculars.
In her green eyes, a growing light sparkled.
"He's not just a trapped beast."
She said softly to the Agent beside her.
"He also knows how to use his fangs to carve out a hunting path for his companions."
"That's much more charming than simple, mindless charging."
...The award ceremony ended, and Lin Feng walked toward the player tunnel under the guidance of staff.
Just as he turned a corner, he saw a figure leaning against the wall.
Still in that simple white shirt and black trousers, yet they outlined a stunning silhouette.
It was Scarlett Johansson.
She seemed to be waiting for him.
"Congratulations, Mr. MVP."
Scarlett's voice carried a hint of languid amusement.
"Tonight's artistic performance was in a completely different style than the last one."
Lin Feng walked up to her and stopped.
"I just wanted to show the audience a different collection of mine."
His answer was calm and composed.
The amusement in Scarlett's eyes deepened.
"Very... captivating."
She paused, as if mentioning it casually.
"It reminds me of the auction tomorrow night."
"There's a Triptych by Francis Bacon that I'm very interested in."
"I've always felt that the distorted, struggling figures in his paintings have a unique, fascinating power."
After Scarlett finished speaking, she gave Lin Feng a deep look.
That look was full of suggestion.
"I hope to see you there."
She said no more, turned around, and with elegant steps, disappeared at the other end of the tunnel.
Chapter 59: The High-Stakes Gamble of the Three-Point Contest
The third day of All-Star Weekend, the night of the Individual Events.
The heat within the Houston Toyota Center was even more intense than the previous two days.
Tonight, champions would be decided for the Skills Challenge, the Three-Point Contest, and the Slam Dunk Contest.
Among them, the one drawing unprecedented attention was undoubtedly the Three-Point Contest.
All because of the participation of one person—Lin Feng.
At the TNT commentary desk, Charles Barkley's loud voice rang throughout the broadcast booth.
"I simply cannot believe my eyes, Kenny!"
"A player Popovich described as a 'circus act' is actually participating in the purest shooting competition!"
Kenny Smith responded with a smile.
"Don't be like that, Charles. We've all seen his game tapes; his three-point range covers the entire half-court. It's insane."
"That's different! Making shots in a game and making shots under these rules are two different things!"
Barkley stuck to his guns.
"There's no defense here, no physical contact, just the most tedious repetition. It tests muscle memory and stability."
"I bet he won't even make it to the finals!"
On the warm-up court before the event, players were practicing individually.
Lin Feng picked up a ball and casually adjusted his feel from beyond the three-point line.
A figure walked over with a sunny smile on his face.
Stephen Curry.
The greatest shooter of this era and the heavy favorite to win this year's Three-Point Contest.
"Lin, I finally have the chance to compete against you."
Curry's voice was friendly, but the competitive fire in his eyes was undisguised.
"There's no physical contact this time, and no flashy crossovers."
He pointed to the three-point ball racks on the sidelines.
"We're competing purely on accuracy."
Lin Feng smiled and released the ball in his hand.
The basketball traced a perfect arc and swished through the net.
"I'm looking forward to it."
The competition soon began.
The preliminary round proceeded without much surprise.
Curry was the first to take the floor, demonstrating terrifying stability. He easily posted a high score of 24, becoming the first to lock in a spot in the finals.
Other participants, like Ryan Anderson and Matt Bonner, also performed at their normal levels.
When it was Lin Feng's turn to take the floor, the eyes of the entire arena were focused on him.
He walked to the first shooting station without the slightest pause or adjustment.
Pick up the ball, shoot.
Pick up the ball, shoot.
His movements were as fast as a precision machine.
Midorima Shintaro's Full-court Three-pointer ability was, at this moment, simplified into the purest shooting instinct.
The arc of every single ball was almost identical.
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
The sound of the basketball hitting the net was as dense as raindrops.
By the time he finished the last station, his score was frozen at 26.
First place in the preliminaries!
Barkley's mouth hung open at the commentary desk, unable to say a word for a long time.
"Fine... I take back what I said."
"This guy is a monster."
The finalists were determined.
Stephen Curry, Lin Feng, and Matt Bonner.
After a short break, the finals were about to begin.
The live director knew exactly what the audience wanted to see, and the camera cut to the front row of the stands.
An exquisitely beautiful face appeared on the big screen.
Scarlett Johansson.
She had changed into a more casual outfit, but she remained the most dazzling focus of the entire arena.
Seeing the camera pointed at her, Scarlett didn't shy away.
She looked at the camera, first extending her fingers to make a 'call me' gesture.
Then, that slender finger pointed across the distance at Lin Feng, who was preparing on the sidelines.
The entire sequence was filled with extreme flirtation and suggestion.
The entire arena instantly erupted in massive jeers and whistles.
Almost at the same time, the phone in Lin Feng's pocket gave a slight vibration.
He took it out and glanced at it.
It was a text message from an unknown number, but the sender was self-evident.
"If I win our 'bet' from last night (meaning you fail to win the title), you have to unconditionally agree to one request from me."
The content of the message was just like her: direct and bold.
Lin Feng's fingertips tapped rapidly across the screen.
"If I win, the 'return gift' I want might be more precious than you imagine."
Sent.
He put his phone back in his pocket, his gaze becoming incredibly sharp.
This championship—he was definitely taking it.
The 'return gift' he wanted was precisely the key to the 'Eye of the Heavenly Emperor'.
The finals officially began.
Following the reverse order of the preliminary results, Matt Bonner was the first to take the floor.
Perhaps the pressure was too great; his shooting touch wasn't good, and he ultimately only scored 17 points, exiting the title race early.
The second to take the floor was Stephen Curry.
The 'Baby-Faced Assassin' stepped onto the court, and his entire aura changed.
He adjusted his breathing and began his performance.
First station, 4 out of 5.
Second station, perfect!
His release speed got faster and faster, his rhythm better and better.
The cheers in the arena rose wave after wave.
When he reached the final station, which consisted entirely of Money Balls, the atmosphere in the arena reached its peak.
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
The Money Ball station—five for five!
Ten points!
The score was finally set.
27 points!
This was a near-perfect score, one high enough to be recorded in the history books of the Three-Point Contest.
Curry excitedly pounded his chest, acknowledging the fans throughout the arena.
At the commentary desk, Kenny Smith shouted excitedly.
"Incredible! 27 points! Stephen Curry has practically already secured the championship trophy!"
Barkley chimed in as well.
"The competition is over! No one can surpass this score! The pressure is just too immense!"
Yes, pressure.
Everyone understood that this suffocating pressure had shifted entirely onto the last person to take the floor, Lin Feng.
He had to get 28 points to win.
This meant he could only miss two regular balls at most, or one Money Ball.
The margin for error was at its absolute limit.
Lin Feng walked onto the court expressionless.
He could feel the weight of tens of thousands of gazes in the arena and hear the powerful thumping of his own heart.
He picked up the first ball.
Shot.
Made.
The second one.
Made.
He eliminated all distracting thoughts; only the rim remained in his mind.
First station, perfect.
Second station, still perfect.
His performance was too perfect for a human.
The audience, initially noisy, gradually became quiet.
Everyone held their breath, witnessing this epic duel.
The third station, the forty-five-degree angle.
Lin Feng's rhythm remained steady.
The first four balls, all made.
The final Money Ball... "Clang!"
The basketball hit the front of the rim and bounced out.
A massive sound of collective disappointment echoed through the arena.
He had missed.
This meant he had to make every single shot from the next two stations to have a chance to tie the score.
The pressure doubled instantly.
Lin Feng's expression didn't change at all as he walked to the fourth shooting station.
Pick up the ball, shoot.
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
"Swish!"
Fourth station, perfect!
After making this shot, his score reached 22.
Now, only one shooting station remained.
Composed entirely of Money Balls, each worth 2 points.
As long as he made three, he could tie Curry.
As long as he made four, he could overtake him.
But if he wanted to win the bet with Scarlett and take the championship, he had to make them all!
Because if his score only tied Curry's, they would need a tiebreaker round.
Only a complete victory could be traded for the most generous reward!
He had to get the full score of 32!
The entire arena went completely silent.
Lin Feng stood before the final shooting station and took a deep breath.
His gaze subconsciously swept over the stands.
He saw Scarlett.
The woman was leaning lazily against the back of her chair, a playful smile on her lips, her eyes full of anticipation.
As if saying: Let me see if you're worth the 'condition' I want.
Lin Feng withdrew his gaze.
He began the final station's shooting.
Picked up the first Money Ball.
Shot.
"Swish!"
It's in!
Picked up the second Money Ball.
Shot.
"Swish!"
It's in!
Picked up the third Money Ball.
Shot.
"Swish!"
It's in!
The score is tied!
27 points!
The audience in the arena has already started screaming frantically!
Picking up the fourth Money Ball...
Chapter 60: Spending Lavishly to Gift a Beauty
He picked up the fourth money ball.
Lin Feng's arm muscles formed a smooth line, his movements showing not a hint of hesitation.
The basketball left his hand, spinning as it flew toward the hoop.
Everyone's heart leapt into their throats.
"Clang!"
The ball hit the back rim and bounced high.
An exclamation of shock erupted from the entire arena.
Is it over?
No, not yet!
The ball descended through the air, hit the other side of the rim, and bounced again.
Like a mischievous sprite, it danced atop the iron ring.
One rotation.
Two rotations.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, the basketball finally lost all its energy and, trembling, rolled into the net.
29 points!
He won!
With the final ball still in his hand, Lin Feng had already surpassed Stephen Curry's 27 points!
The Toyota Center completely exploded!
Cheers, screams, and applause converged into a surging wave of sound, nearly blowing the roof off the arena.
At the commentary desk, Kenny Smith stood up in excitement.
"He did it! He withstood the pressure! A virtual game-winner!"
Barkley was speechless, only shaking his head repeatedly, his face filled with disbelief.
In the stands, Stephen Curry was stunned for a moment before breaking into a graceful smile, leading the applause for Lin Feng.
He was thoroughly defeated and accepted it.
Facing such a mountain-shaking celebration, Lin Feng's expression didn't change at all.
It was as if that thrilling shot just now was merely a routine practice.
He calmly picked up the last money ball.
Under the gaze of the entire arena, he didn't even look at the basket.
With a gentle flick of his wrist.
The basketball traced an arc even more perfect than all the previous ones.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net!
31 points!
At the final shooting station, all five money balls—all hits!
With a flawless posture, he brought the final curtain down on this epic three-point duel.
The post-game celebration was somewhat frantic; teammates rushed up to surround Lin Feng.
He didn't immerse himself too much in the joy of victory.
After receiving the championship trophy from David Stern, he simply acknowledged the crowd and casually handed the trophy to his Agent, Jeff, who was standing nearby.
"Keep this safe for me."
"Lin, where are you going? The TNT interview is still waiting for you!" Jeff shouted hurriedly.
"I have a more important date."
Lin Feng left those words behind and, amidst the blockage of countless cameras and reporters, walked straight into the player tunnel, disappearing into the bustling crowd... Half an hour later, at a top-tier private club in Houston that was not open to the public.
An art auction hosted by a top league sponsor was taking place in a low-key yet luxurious manner.
Those who could enter were all celebrities, superstars, and business tycoons.
Lin Feng changed into a well-tailored suit and slowly walked into the venue.
His appearance immediately caused a small commotion.
After all, the title of the newly crowned Three-Point King was still fresh.
Guided by a waiter, he found his seat.
Not far away, a familiar figure raised a wine glass to him.
Scarlett Johansson.
Tonight, she wore a black off-the-shoulder evening gown, her golden curls cascading loosely, her red lips like fire, and her eyes shimmering.
Lin Feng nodded in acknowledgment, but his gaze fell on another man beside her.
Harvey, the Hollywood producer he had humiliated with a glass of wine at the charity gala.
Harvey clearly saw Lin Feng as well; a trace of venom flashed across his face, which then turned into a contemptuous sneer.
The auction proceeded in an orderly fashion.
Lin Feng had no interest in those priceless antiques and famous paintings; he just sat quietly, like an outsider.
Finally, the auctioneer's voice became high-pitched.
"The next item is very special."
"It comes from a rising artist, and the work is titled 'Broken Stars'."
The curtain was drawn, and a massive painting appeared before everyone.
On the canvas were countless shattered stellar fragments that still emitted a brilliant and stubborn light in the deep darkness, forming a bizarre starry sky.
It possessed a sense of broken and poignant power.
A clear look of interest appeared in Scarlett's emerald eyes.
"Starting price, five hundred thousand dollars."
"Five hundred and fifty thousand," Scarlett was the first to raise her paddle, her voice languid.
"Six hundred thousand."
A discordant voice rang out. Harvey raised his paddle, casting a provocative glance at Scarlett before turning his gaze toward Lin Feng.
Scarlett's brow furrowed slightly.
"Seven hundred thousand," she bid again.
"Eight hundred thousand," Harvey immediately followed, his tone full of ostentation.
He seemed determined to outshine Lin Feng in front of this Hollywood goddess.
"Harvey, you're interested in this painting too?" Scarlett's voice was a bit cold.
"Of course, beautiful works of art are always fascinating."
Harvey smiled greasily, but his words were directed at Lin Feng.
"Unlike some athletes who only understand muscle and sweat, even if they could afford this kind of art, they wouldn't understand its beauty at all."
His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for everyone around to hear.
Many people cast looks of anticipation toward Lin Feng.
Lin Feng, however, acted as if he hadn't heard anything, not even lifting an eyelid, just quietly looking at the painting on the stage.
In Harvey's eyes, his silence was a sign of retreat and incompetence.
"One million!" Scarlett seemed provoked and directly raised the price by a tier.
"One million one hundred thousand!" Harvey showed no weakness, his face written with arrogant determination.
"One million two hundred thousand!"
"One million three hundred thousand!"
The price continued to climb between the two, and the atmosphere became somewhat heated.
Finally, after Harvey called out "one million five hundred thousand," Scarlett lowered her paddle and stopped bidding.
Harvey laughed triumphantly, believing he had not only won the painting but also gained face in front of Scarlettwhile stepping heavily on Lin Feng.
"One million five hundred thousand dollars! Are there any higher bids?" The auctioneer scanned the room.
"One million five hundred thousand, once!"
Harvey adjusted his tie, ready to receive the spotlight of the entire room.
"One million five hundred thousand, twice!"
Just as the auctioneer's gavel was about to fall.
A calm voice rang out in the silent venue.
"Three million."
The entire room went dead silent.
Everyone's gaze focused on the young man who hadn't said a word from beginning to end.
Lin Feng raised his bidding paddle for the first time.
He didn't even look at Harvey's face, which was distorted with shock; he just looked at the auctioneer and repeated himself.
"Three million dollars."
Directly doubled!
This wasn't bidding; this was a crushing defeat.
Harvey's face instantly turned the color of pig liver; he wanted to follow, but found that this price had already far exceeded his psychological expectations.
The auctioneer was also stunned for a full three seconds before reacting, his voice trembling slightly.
"Th-three million dollars! This gentleman bids three million dollars! Is there anyone higher?"
"Three million, once!"
"Three million, twice!"
"Sold!"
The gavel fell, sealing the deal.
Under everyone's complex gazes, Lin Feng calmly completed the payment.
Holding the massive painting, he did not return to his seat under the watchful eyes of the entire room.
Instead, he walked straight to Scarlett Johansson.
He bowed slightly, performing an elegant gentleman's salute.
Miss Johansson.
His voice was clear and resonant, spreading throughout the quiet venue.
"I believe the most suitable home for this 'Broken Stars' is with a collector who truly understands the beauty of brokenness."
"Please allow me to use this as the 'return gift' I am entitled to ask of you after winning the bet—that is, I am gifting it to you."
Chapter 61: The Queen's Private Gallery
The initial surprise in Scarlett Johansson's emerald eyes was quickly replaced by a thick sense of playfulness.
She looked at the man before her, and at the painting he had handed over.
Eventually, that playful gaze settled, transforming into a pure, warm appreciation.
She extended her delicate hand, clad in an exquisite glove, and gently took the massive artwork.
The painting was heavy, but she held it steadily.
Her signature red lips curved upward in a world-toppling arc; this time, her smile lacked the previous teasing and testing, holding only sincerity.
"Mr. Lin, you always manage to surprise me."
Her voice wasn't loud, yet it reached the ears of everyone in the venue clearly.
"This return gift is far too precious."
"I like it very, very much."
Lin Feng simply looked at her calmly and offered a slight smile.
"It belongs to you."
Four simple words, yet they held more power than any flowery rhetoric.
Scarlett held the painting and winked at him, her emerald eyes seemingly sparkling with stars.
"Since I've received such a precious gift, wouldn't it be proper etiquette for me to offer something in return?"
There was a hint of craftiness in her words.
"I think you might be interested in visiting my private gallery to see the rest of my collection?"
This was an explicit, undisguised private invitation.
An invitation that belonged only to the two of them.
Lin Feng's heart was as calm as still water.
He knew that his hunt for the 'Eye of the Heavenly Emperor' had been declared a success.
"It would be my honor."
...The All-Star Main Game kicked off amidst massive anticipation.
The atmosphere at the Houston Toyota Center reached its peak of the three-day event.
On the court were the twenty-four top basketball players on the planet.
Lin Feng, as the Western Conference starting guard, stood on the court alongside his idol, Kobe Bryant.
The game began.
The West won the first possession.
Chris Paul brought the ball across half-court, glanced at Lin Feng, then at Kobe, and ultimately handed the ball to the latter.
Kobe held the ball, faced LeBron James's defense, performed a jab step, and went straight into a turnaround fadeaway.
Clang!
The basketball missed.
The East Team grabbed the rebound and launched a fast break, with Wade assisting James for a tomahawk dunk.
The atmosphere in the arena was instantly ignited.
Western Conference offense.
This time, the ball was in Lin Feng's hands.
Everyone expected this newly crowned Three-Point King and Rising Stars MVP to retaliate with a flashy individual offensive move.
But he didn't.
He just dribbled unhurriedly, observing the situation on the court.
Kobe was moving along the baseline, shaking off his defender, and raised his hand for the ball.
Lin Feng didn't pass.
He suddenly accelerated, charging toward the paint.
The East Team's defense immediately collapsed inward as Tyson Chandler stepped up to help.
Just when everyone thought he was going for a forced layup or a floater, Lin Feng flicked his wrist, and the basketball incredibly zipped past Chandler's waist.
A perfectly precise bounce pass.
The ball seemed to have eyes, crossing the entire restricted area to reach Kobe on the other side.
When Kobe caught the ball, there was no one in front of him.
He even had time to adjust his stance before calmly jumping.
Swish.
The three-pointer went in.
The entire arena erupted in a massive cheer.
After Kobe landed, he looked at Lin Feng and gave him a thumbs-up.
Lin Feng just nodded and calmly ran back to the backcourt.
For the rest of the game, Lin Feng completely transformed into a perfect playmaker.
He didn't take many individual shots; every time he held the ball, his first choice was always to find Kobe.
When Kobe was double-teamed, he could use precise passes to find Durant, Paul, or Griffin.
His passing was effortless yet lethal, always appearing in the most inconceivable spots, yet perfectly timed.
"Hey, kid, nice pass!"
After catching a cross-court long pass from Lin Feng for an easy dunk, Durant smiled and patted him on the back.
Lin Feng's presence made the Western Conference offense flow like water.
He was like a precise commander, perfectly melding the power of all the superstars together.
Of course, he didn't completely hide his fangs.
Late in the second quarter, the East Team went on an offensive run to take the lead.
At a critical moment, Lin Feng received a pass two steps behind the three-point line.
Faced with a double-team from Anthony and Wade, he didn't hesitate and pulled up for a jumper.
His body twisted into an incredible posture in mid-air.
Formless Shot!
Swish!
The buzzer-beater went in!
This shot stabilized the situation and reminded all opponents that this pass-first playmaker was also a terrifying scoring machine.
In the second half, the game reached a fever pitch.
The two sides traded blows, and the lead changed hands repeatedly.
Lin Feng continued to spare no effort in setting up Kobe, helping the veteran enjoy what might be his final All-Star journey to the fullest.
Under his orchestration, Kobe's shooting hand was hot, and his points continued to climb.
With the final two minutes of the game remaining, the West led by only one point.
On the East Team's possession, James drove and drew a foul, making both free throws to retake the lead.
The West was left with one final offensive opportunity.
Everyone looked toward Lin Feng or Durant.
During the timeout, Western Conference head coachPopovich just looked at Kobe.
"Kobe, you take the final shot."
Kobe didn't decline; he glanced at Lin Feng beside him.
"Kid, set a good screen for me."
"Understood."
The game resumed.
Lin Feng received the ball in the backcourt and advanced quickly.
The East Team's defensive strategy was clear: stick to Kobe like glue and let Lin Feng drive.
Lin Feng dribbled to the top of the arc; Kobe used a screen from Griffin to run to the wing, but James followed him like a shadow.
There was no opening.
Lin Feng glanced at the shot clock; only five seconds remained.
He suddenly burst forward, shaking off Irving's defense with a crossover and charging into the paint.
Bosh and Anthony immediately collapsed inward, forming a wall of people.
In mid-air, facing the triple-team, Lin Feng's body had already lost its balance.
He didn't shoot.
Instead, using a posture no one could have expected, he whipped the ball from behind his back toward the corner.
There, Kobe had somehow shaken off James and appeared in an open spot.
Time seemed to slow down at this moment.
Kobe caught the ball, jumped, and shot.
The basketball traced a high arc through the air.
The eyes of the entire arena followed that orange ball.
Swish!
Game winner!
The final buzzer sounded, Kobe raised his arms high, and the entire Toyota Center fell into a frenzy.
Teammates swarmed forward, surrounding Kobe.
Kobe pushed through the crowd and walked toward the young man who was just standing to the side, looking at him calmly.
He walked over and gave Lin Feng a powerful hug.
"Great job, kid."
Ultimately, with a game-high 38 points and the final game-winner, Kobe Bryant hoisted the All-Star Game MVP trophy without any suspense.
During his acceptance speech, he specifically mentioned Lin Feng.
"I want to thank my teammates, especially Lin. Without him, I wouldn't have this trophy. He reminds me of my younger self, but he is smarter than I was."
This sentence was broadcast to the entire world.
With that, the All-Star Weekend came to a close.
Lin Feng returned fully loaded.
Rising Stars Challenge MVP, Three-Point Contest Champion, and the assist leader of the All-Star Main Game.
More importantly, he knew that the key to unlocking the 'Eye of the Heavenly Emperor' was now in his hands.
The Lakers returned to Los Angeles.
After a brief rest, the team dove back into intense training.
The brutal schedule for the second half of the regular season was already upon them.
In particular, the next game—a crucial seeding battle away against the Houston Rockets—was of vital importance.
After practice, Lin Feng returned to his apartment in Beverly Hills.
He took a shower and stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the dazzling night view of Los Angeles.
Just then, his phone screen lit up.
It was a text message.
From a number that was unfamiliar, yet incredibly known to him.
"My gallery in Malibu is open tonight for you alone."
Chapter 62: The Seeding Battle Before the Crisis
The hustle and bustle of All-Star Weekend was quickly replaced by the harsh reality of the second half of the regular season.
The Lakers returned to Los Angeles without a single moment to catch their breath.
Inside the team's tactical analysis room, the atmosphere was solemn.
A massive electronic screen displayed the latest Western Conference standings.
Los Angeles Lakers: 28 wins, 29 losses, ranked eighth in the West.
Behind them, the Houston Rockets at 28-30 and the Utah Jazz at 27-30 were like hungry wolves, hot on their heels.
Any single loss could result in them falling out of the playoff picture.
head coach D'Antoni tapped the whiteboard, and everyone's attention focused on him.
"Guys, I don't need to elaborate on the situation."
"The next game is an away game against the Rockets, and it's a game we cannot afford to lose."
"They are our direct competitors. If we win, we can breathe a little easier. If we lose, they'll overtake us."
Kobe sat in his chair, his expression cold and stern, not saying a word.
He knew that the glory of the All-Star Game was just a fleeting cloud; the real test was only beginning now.
"The core of the Rockets is Dwight Howard."
D'Antoni's laser pointer circled Howard's photo on the screen.
"He is the most dominant center in the league, and the pressure on our interior will be immense."
"Pau Gasol, you'll need help with him."
Gasol nodded, his expression serious.
"Beyond that, there's their group of perimeter shooters. James Harden, Chandler Parsons, and..."
D'Antoni's pointer moved to another Chinese-American face.
"Jeremy Lin."
"I know the media outside is hyping up the 'Linsanity' showdown, wanting to see you go head-to-head with Jeremy Lin."
D'Antoni looked at Lin Feng.
"But I hope you don't let that stuff affect you."
Lin Feng nodded calmly. "Understood."
"The media only cares about gimmicks; they don't understand basketball."
A slightly raspy but wisdom-filled voice spoke up.
It was Steve Nash.
This two-time MVP, though plagued by injuries and no longer in his prime, still possessed a basketball IQ that was a precious asset to this team.
"The key to this game isn't about who is the better 'Lin'."
Nash's gaze swept over the entire team.
"The key lies in two points."
"First, how we deal with Howard."
"Second, how we disrupt their perimeter-centric offensive rhythm."
Everyone fell silent, listening to the veteran's analysis.
"Howard's defensive intimidation is too strong; if we blindly settle for perimeter jump shots, we're playing right into their hands."
"We must attack him."
Nash looked at D'Antoni and volunteered.
"Coach, give the playmaking duties to me."
"I'll use my experience to constantly attack the paint, wear down Howard's stamina, and draw fouls on him."
"Even if I don't make a single shot, I want to make him feel uncomfortable on every defensive possession."
D'Antoni saw the fire burning in Nash's eyes and nodded solemnly.
"Alright, Steve, we'll do as you say."
Kobe spoke up then, his gaze turning to Lin Feng.
"Kid, there's one more thing."
"There's someone on the Rockets you need to pay special attention to."
"Patrick Beverley."
The image of that defensive specialist who bit into opponents like a mad dog surfaced in Lin Feng's mind.
"He's another Matt Barnes, maybe even more troublesome."
Kobe's voice was deep.
"He'll use every little trick and trash talk to provoke you and make you lose your cool."
"Don't fall for it. Answer him with your basketball."
"I don't want to see you get ejected because of a pointless conflict."
Lin Feng met Kobe's gaze and nodded firmly.
"I understand."
The tactical meeting ended. A seeding battle that would decide the fate of the season was now imminent.
Houston, Toyota Center.
On the night of the game, the arena was packed to capacity.
Countless flashes turned the venue into the focus of the world.
The gimmick of the 'Linsanity' showdown had been hyped to the extreme by the media.
The game began.
The Lakers fielded a 'pseudo-Big Five' lineup of Nash, Kobe, Lin Feng, Gasol, and Howard.
The Rockets started with Jeremy Lin, Harden, Parsons, Asik, and Howard.
At the tip-off, Howard easily beat Gasol, winning the first possession for the Rockets.
Jeremy Lin brought the ball up, and Harden came over for a pick-and-roll.
Jeremy Lin didn't choose to attack himself, instead passing the ball to Harden.
Facing Kobe's defense, Harden used a step-back and launched a three-pointer.
Swish!
He nailed it right at the start!
The atmosphere in the Rockets' home court instantly exploded.
Lakers' possession.
Nash unhurriedly brought the ball across half-court.
He didn't rush to find Kobe or Lin Feng; instead, following the pre-game plan, he began his own performance.
He directed Gasol to facilitate from the high post while he himself used a simple screen, suddenly changed pace, and cut toward the paint.
Rockets center Asik immediately stepped up to help on defense.
Nash didn't force it; with a nimble behind-the-back dribble, he evaded the defender and kicked the ball out to Lin Feng in the corner.
Lin Feng received the ball, and Beverley stuck to him like glue, his hands constantly making small, pesky movements.
Lin Feng ignored him, didn't even look at him, and jumped straight up.
Formless Shot!
His body leaned back slightly in the air, avoiding Beverley's block.
Swish!
A three-pointer in response!
The two sides traded blows, the score fluctuating as the game became exceptionally tight.
Nash's performance didn't look like that of a veteran about to retire at all.
He was like a ghostly dancer, weaving through the Rockets' defensive line.
In the latter half of the first quarter, holding the ball against Jeremy Lin's defense, he used a hesitation move that tricked his opponent into losing balance, then drove straight into the paint.
He was face-to-face with Dwight Howard at the rim.
Nash showed no fear, and as Howard went for the block, he threw the ball toward the hoop with an extremely exaggerated posture.
Beep!
The referee's whistle blew.
Howard, defensive foul!
Although the shot didn't go in, Nash successfully drew the first foul on Howard.
He stepped to the free-throw line and made both shots.
Throughout the entire first half, Nash spared no effort in executing his plan.
Time and again, he attacked the Rockets' restricted area like a tireless dagger.
His drives were no longer as explosive as in his youth, but every change in rhythm and every pass was filled with wisdom.
Driven by him, the Lakers' offense was firing on all cylinders.
The game reached the end of the third quarter.
The score on the board was 88-85, with the Lakersholding a slim 3-point lead.
This was another crucial possession.
Nash held the ball again, standing at the top of the arc.
Sweat had already soaked through his jersey, and his chest was heaving heavily, but those eyes remained bright.
He surveyed the situation on the court and saw a fleeting opportunity.
He saw an opening to attack the rim once more.
With a burst of speed, Nash used a classic crossover to blow past Jeremy Lin's defense.
In front of him was Howard, rotating over to help.
This time, Nash didn't choose to draw a foul; he wanted to put this one in himself!
The two of them collided violently in mid-air!
Chapter 63: The Fallen Commander
In the air, Nash's body collided with the muscular mountain that was Howard.
A massive force surged through him.
Nash lost all balance mid-air and fell backward.
When his left leg hit the floor, it failed to find a stable point of support and bent inward at a bizarre angle.
*Crack!*
A crisp sound, so sharp it made one's scalp tingle, remained clearly audible despite the cacophony of the collision.
Immediately following that...
"Agh—!"
An inhuman scream erupted from Nash's mouth, piercing through the noise of the entire Toyota Center.
The referee's whistle, the players' movements, the fans' shouting—everything stopped at that moment.
Time seemed to freeze.
The entire arena plummeted from the peak of boiling excitement into an eerie silence.
Every eye was fixed on the figure curled up on the hardwood floor.
Steve Nash clutched his left leg in agony, his body twitching incessantly from the intense pain.
His face no longer held its usual composure and wisdom; it was twisted into a gruesome mask of pure suffering.
"Steve!"
Kobe was the first to react, rushing over like a madman.
The Lakers players snapped out of their shock and gathered around him.
Standing on the edge of the crowd, Lin Feng looked at Nash's pain-stricken face, a cold premonition shooting from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
He saw it: Nash's lower leg was bent at an unnatural angle.
The Team Doctor and staff rushed onto the court with a stretcher as fast as they could.
The arena's big screen began to replay the collision.
When Nash's leg landed, it underwent a heart-wrenching deformation.
A collective gasp rose from the fans; many female fans even covered their eyes, unable to watch.
Kobe knelt on one knee beside Nash, his hand hovering in the air, wanting to touch him but afraid of worsening the pain.
"Hang in there, Steve, hang in there!"
Kobe's voice carried a tremor he didn't even notice.
Nash's forehead was covered in cold sweat. He gritted his teeth, the excruciating pain making it nearly impossible to speak.
The Team Doctor performed a quick check, his expression turning incredibly grim. He made a throat-slitting gesture toward Kobe and D'Antoni.
It was over.
The hearts of all the Lakers players sank to the bottom.
Howard stood not far away, hands spread, his face showing an expression that was both innocent and slightly annoyed.
"That was a normal defensive play; he just didn't land right," he explained to the referee.
"Shut your mouth!"
Kobe whipped his head around, his eyes bloodshot like a beast ready to devour its prey.
Intimidated by Kobe's aura, Howard sulkily shut up.
The Team Doctor carefully secured Nash onto the stretcher.
Throughout the process, Nash didn't scream again. He just gritted his teeth so hard his lips began to bleed.
This resilient veteran was using his last ounce of strength to maintain his dignity.
The stretcher was slowly lifted.
As he passed by Kobe and Lin Feng, Nash, about to be carried off the court, used all his strength to reach out.
He grabbed Kobe's jersey.
Kobe leaned down.
"Win it!"
Enduring the heart-wrenching pain, Nash squeezed those two words through his teeth.
His gaze then turned to Lin Feng. In those eyes, glazed with pain, the final embers of fire burned.
"Win it!"
After saying that, he could no longer hold on; his head slumped to the side as he lost consciousness.
The stretcher was carried into the player tunnel, disappearing from everyone's sight.
The entire Lakers bench was enveloped in an atmosphere of grief and oppression.
Gasol slammed a fist into a chair, his eyes rimmed with red.
Artest stood up abruptly and started cursing in Howard's direction.
The referees eventually assessed Howard with a Flagrant 1 foul.
The call felt more like a consolation and did nothing to quell the Lakers' fury.
Howard spread his hands, looking completely indifferent.
The game had to continue.
D'Antoni clapped his hands, trying to pull the players' attention back.
"Guys, for Steve, we have to win this game!"
His words sounded somewhat hollow and weak.
The players returned to the court, but every face was etched with confusion and anger.
The soul of the team, the brain of the team, had fallen.
The thread that connected everyone had snapped.
Play resumed.
The Lakers' offense instantly became incredibly stagnant.
The ball no longer flowed smoothly; everyone played with immense impatience.
Kobe took over ball-handling duties, beginning to attack the Rockets' defense with one unreasonable isolation play after another.
Every shot he took carried a sense of desperate fury.
But basketball isn't a sport won by anger alone.
The Rockets seized the opportunity. Harden hit consecutive threes, and Parsons frequently scored on back-door cuts.
The lead was pulled apart bit by bit.
The fourth quarter.
The Lakers were already trailing by 12 points.
D'Antoni looked at Lin Feng.
"Lin, go score."
Lin Feng nodded, shed his warm-up gear, and stepped back onto the court.
His expression was as cold as a block of ice.
He took the baseline inbounds pass and brought the ball up the court alone.
Beverley pressed up on him as before, his mouth non-stop with trash talk.
"Hey, rookie, is your old buddy already in the operating room?"
"Will he even be able to walk on that leg again?"
Lin Feng's footsteps paused for a moment.
He turned his head and stared at Beverley with the look one might give a dead man.
Beverley felt a chill down his spine from the look and subconsciously took half a step back.
Lin Feng said nothing and looked away.
In the next second, he suddenly accelerated!
He blew past Beverley in a single step!
Harden came over to help.
A step behind the three-point line, Lin Feng ignored Harden's defense and pulled up directly!
The basketball traced a cold arc through the air.
*Swish!*
It went in!
On the other end, the Rockets' attack missed.
The Lakers grabbed the rebound, and the ball was handed to Lin Feng again.
He was in the same position, facing a double-team from Harden and Beverley.
He didn't pass.
Because he didn't know who to pass to.
Without Nash's orchestration, everyone was like a headless fly.
He could only trust himself.
Formless Shot!
His body contorted in the air, throwing the ball in a posture no ordinary person could imitate!
*Swish!*
Another one!
Six points in a row!
He was like a frenzied lone wolf, tearing through the Rockets' defense in the most primitive and savage way.
Single-handedly, he ignited a wave of momentum to close the gap.
The fans at the Toyota Center were stunned.
They watched as that Eastern youth narrowed the lead time and again with high-difficulty shots.
But basketball is, after all, a five-man sport.
When the Rockets started using three people to triple-team Lin Feng, the Lakers' offense ground to a complete halt.
When the ball reached other hands, it resulted in hesitant shots and the repeated clanging of the rim.
Kobe was tired too; he had expended too much energy in the first half and was clouded by anger in the second.
Ultimately...
With a game-sealing layup from Harden...
The game ended.
The Lakers lost this crucial battle for seeding.
The players walked back to the locker room in silence; no one spoke.
The frustration of the loss and the worry for Nash's injury weighed on everyone's heart like two mountains.
Lin Feng sat in his spot, covering his head with a towel.
He had given his all, yet was still unable to bring home a victory.
A deep sense of powerlessness enveloped him.
Just then, the locker room door was pushed open.
The team's General Manager, Kupchak, walked in, his face looking terrible.
He looked at everyone and spoke with difficulty.
"Guys, I just got news from the hospital..."
"Preliminary diagnosis: Steve... fractured left tibia. He's out for the season."
Chapter 64: Clouds Over Los Angeles
Kupchak's voice, in the deathly silent locker room, sounded like a death knell.
"Fractured left tibia, out for the season."
Every word was like a heavy tombstone, crashing down on everyone's heart.
It's over.
This thought surfaced in the mind of every Lakers player.
Gasol's fists lost their strength and hung limply.
Artest's angry cursing also came to an abrupt halt; he slumped back into his chair as if all his bones had been removed.
Kobe just sat there with his head down. No one could see his expression, but the aura radiating from him was colder than a winter night in Houston.
The thread that connected the team's offense and held onto the last hope for the playoffs had completely snapped.
On the plane back to Los Angeles, the atmosphere was oppressive to the extreme.
No one spoke. The ordinary passengers in economy class didn't even dare to breathe loudly, as if they could feel the despair wafting over from first class.
Some players took out their phones; the news online was already everywhere.
"Breaking News! Nash's left leg is fractured, out for the season; the Lakers' playoff hopes are completely shattered!"
"TNT commentator Charles Barkley: I said it long ago, they're finished. Now, it's just an early announcement of death."
"ESPN experts analyze: Without Nash, this Lakers team is just a heap of loose sand. Kobe is struggling alone; their season is already over."
Pessimistic views spread like a virus through the media and fan circles.
Los Angeles was shrouded in dark clouds.
The next day, at the team training center.
In the tactical analysis room, D'Antoni gathered everyone.
His eyes were sunken, and he seemed to have aged ten years overnight.
He looked at the dejected faces filled with confusion.
"I know how everyone feels."
D'Antoni's voice was hoarse.
"Steve has fallen. This is a devastating blow to us."
"But!"
He slapped the tactical board hard, making a loud noise, trying to wake up these despondent players.
"The game must go on! The season isn't over yet!"
"What did Steve say to Kobe and Lin on the stretcher?"
He looked at Kobe and Lin Feng.
"'Win it!'"
"We can't let him down! We can't just surrender like a bunch of cowards!"
His words stirred a faint ripple, but it was quickly suppressed by the heavy reality.
Without a playmaker, how could they win?
D'Antoni scanned the room. Finally, his gaze settled on the young man who had remained silent throughout.
"Starting from the next game..."
D'Antoni's voice was incredibly solemn.
"Lin."
"You will be our starting point guard."
The words fell.
In the analysis room, all eyes focused on Lin Feng at the same time.
Kobe looked up, his bloodshot eyes staring intently at him, as if scrutinizing or interrogating him.
Gasol, Howard, Artest... every gaze was like a mountain, pressing heavily on Lin Feng's shoulders.
The heavy responsibility of organizing the offense.
The duty of being the team's brain.
This burden, which no one could have imagined before the season started, had fallen on him without warning.
Lin Feng stood tall, his face expressionless.
But he knew that his heart, which had become extremely confident because of the system, felt heavy for the first time.
He was a scorer, a finisher.
His skills were an unstoppable shot and a blade that tore through defenses.
But he had never truly served as the commander of a team in a game of NBA caliber.
"Coach..."
A player wanted to speak, seemingly to raise a doubt.
"Shut up."
A cold voice interrupted him.
It was Kobe.
He stood up and walked over to Lin Feng, the distance between them so close they could feel each other's breath.
"This burden is yours now."
Kobe's voice sounded like it was squeezed through his teeth.
"Don't fucking mess it up."
...That night.
Lin Feng canceled his appointment with Scarlett at the Malibu Gallery.
He only replied with three words.
"Something urgent came up."
No explanation.
The key to unlocking the Eye of the Heavenly Emperorwas right in front of him, but he had no heart for it now.
He drove alone to the Lakers' private training facility.
In the empty arena, only a few lights were on.
He opened the team's video database.
Steve Nash's figure appeared on the screen.
He watched it over and over again.
Watching how Nash used a look or a gesture to direct his teammates' positioning.
Watching how he used changes in rhythm to tear through the opponent's defense and create open opportunities for his teammates.
Watching how he made the optimal passing choice in the blink of an eye.
After finishing with Nash, he pulled up game footage of Chris Paul.
Watching how this top point guard in the league controlled every possession like a chess player, organizing the team's offense in an orderly fashion.
Lin Feng was mesmerized.
He tried to carve these images and tactical choices into his mind.
He wanted to learn, to imitate, and to transform from a top scorer into a qualified point guard overnight.
He didn't close his eyes that night.
The next day.
Lakers home court, Staples Center.
The opponent was the Sacramento Kings.
A weak team at the bottom of the Western Conference, having entered a rebuilding phase early.
Everyone thought this would be a victory for the Lakers to adjust their morale and move out of the gloom.
Pre-game player introductions.
When the arena DJ shouted "Starting point guard—Lin Feng—!", a burst of warm cheers erupted from the crowd.
Amidst the cheers, there was a faint, imperceptible trace of worry and expectation.
The game began.
The Lakers' first possession.
Lin Feng held the ball, standing at the top of the arc.
Countless tactical images he had seen last night flashed through his mind.
He directed Gasol to come up for a pick-and-roll and dribbled to penetrate.
The Kings' defense was loose, and an open shot opportunity appeared before him.
He could shoot.
But he hesitated.
He remembered that Nash, in this situation, would prioritize finding Howard in the paint.
He forcibly suppressed the thought of shooting and looked for Howard's position.
In that split second of hesitation, the Kings' defenders had already closed in.
The passing lane was blocked.
He could only clumsily pass the ball to Kobe on the perimeter.
With the 24-second shot clock winding down, Kobe took a hurried shot, and the ball missed.
The Kings grabbed the rebound, and their small guard Isiah Thomas finished a fast break.
The Lakers' next possession.
Lin Feng held the ball again.
This time, he wanted to create an opportunity for Kobe.
He tried hard to run the plays, but his passing timing was always a bit off.
Either it was too early, and Kobe hadn't reached the spot yet.
Or it was too late, and the Kings' defense was already in place.
By the time the ball reached Kobe's hands, it was no longer a good offensive opportunity.
"Play your own game!"
Kobe shouted at him.
Lin Feng's mind became even more cluttered.
Score? Or organize?
He was completely caught in a struggle and contradiction.
He wanted to pass to his teammates, but he always ended up making mistakes, turning them into turnovers.
He wanted to score himself, but he feared being criticized for a "selfish playstyle" and failing the coach's trust.
He played timidly, completely losing his previous sharp and elegant edge.
The Kings seized on the Lakers' offensive chaos.
DeMarcus Cousins dominated the paint, and Isaiah Thomas's perimeter penetration was incredibly sharp.
This weak team that should have been easily defeated fought as one, performing beyond their usual level.
The score was actually being pulled apart bit by bit by them.
The expressions on the faces of the fans at the Staples Center went from relaxed to surprised, and then to disbelief.
In the final moments of the game, the Lakers were still trailing.
Lin Feng tried to turn on his personal scoring mode, just like in the previous game against the Rockets.
He used an Formless Shot to hit a high-difficulty three-pointer.
But this time, there was no admiration in his teammates' eyes, only numbness.
This kind of individual scoring couldn't solve the problem.
The final buzzer sounded.
108 to 113.
The Los Angeles Lakers suffered an upset loss to the Sacramento Kings on their home court.
Suffering a two-game losing streak.
Lin Feng walked off the court with his head down.
For the first time, boos directed at him rang out in the Staples Center.
In the locker room, the atmosphere was colder than the freezing point.
Kobe rushed into the shower without a word, and the muffled sound of him punching the wall came from inside.
The TV on the wall was playing a post-game commentary show.
A famous commentator was ranting at the camera.
"What did I just see? This is your savior? This is your starting point guard?"
"Without Nash, Lin Feng has been completely exposed! He's been found out!"
"I'll say it again, he's just a scorer! A shooter! He will never, ever become a leader!"
Chapter 65: The Original Sin of a Leader
This upset loss to the Sacramento Kings was like the first falling domino.
The subsequent road trip turned into a nightmare for the Lakers.
Minnesota, Target Center.
Lin Feng scored 35 points and recorded 8 assists.
But on the other side, Kevin Love grabbed 24 rebounds inside, dominating the paint.
The Lakers lost.
Dallas, American Airlines Center.
Lin Feng exploded for 40 points, including 18 in the final quarter.
But in the final moments, Dirk Nowitzki killed the game with a One-legged Fadeaway Jumper.
The Lakers lost again.
Phoenix, US Airways Center.
Lin Feng put up a triple-double with 28 points, 10 rebounds, and 12 assists.
But the Lakers' defense was riddled with holes under the Suns' fluid and relentless offense.
The team committed as many as 19 turnovers.
Three straight losses for the Lakers.
Counting the previous losses to the Rockets and Sacramento Kings, it was a brutal five-game losing streak.
The team's record plummeted from eighth in the Western Conference all the way to ninth.
They were overtaken by the Jazz Team behind them.
The playoff ticket was slipping through their fingers.
Online, criticism of Lin Feng evolved from questioning to overwhelming abuse.
"The King of Empty Stats!"
"Stat padder, team cancer!"
"The higher he scores, the worse the team loses. If that's not a cancer, what is?"
"Look at his assists; they're all useless passes, just passing the buck!"
Lin Feng's stat sheet was glamorous; averaging 30+ points per game placed him among the league's elite scorers.
But these stats had now become his greatest piece of incriminating evidence.
The internal atmosphere of the team also became strange.
A timeout in the third quarter of the game against the Suns.
The Lakers were already trailing by 15 points.
D'Antoni was drawing plays on the tactical board, his voice hoarse.
"Lin, you go from here..."
"Coach!"
A voice interrupted him.
It was Nick Young.
He ripped the headband off his head and threw it irritably to the ground.
"I've had enough!"
Everyone's eyes focused on him.
"The ball is always in his hands! He only thinks about shooting it himself!"
Nick Young's hand pointed straight at Lin Feng.
"That last possession, I was wide open in the corner! I waited for a full three seconds! By the time the ball was passed, the defender was already all over me!"
He roared at Lin Feng.
"Can't you just pass the ball earlier?!"
Lin Feng looked at him without saying a word, his eyes terrifyingly calm.
That kind of calm was more chilling than anger.
"Nick, calm down."
Gasol stepped in to smooth things over.
"How can I be calm? We're losing! Running back and forth on the court like a bunch of idiots!"
Nick Young's emotions were running high.
"This isn't just his problem."
Artest also spoke up, but he just stared at the floor, his voice muffled.
In the locker room, something called "division" was quietly festering.
Lin Feng felt isolated.
He stood at the center of the storm.
On one side was the condemnation from the media and fans.
On the other were the overt or subtle complaints from his teammates.
He was pushed into the position of commander, only to find he had nothing but a sword in his hand.
He could swing his sword to slay enemies and take countless heads.
But he didn't know how to command thousands of troops to win a war.
He scores, the team loses—he's a cancer.
He passes, makes a turnover—he's trash.
Scoring and playmaking were like an unsolvable knot, binding him tightly.
He began to suffer from insomnia.
In the dead of night, he lay in his luxury apartment in Beverly Hills, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
His mind was filled with images of the team losing.
It was Nowitzki's heart-piercing jumper.
It was the sight of Love's back as he grabbed rebounds over his head.
It was Nick Young's angry and distorted face.
And those words Kobe said to him on the stretcher.
"Win it!"
The words still rang in his ears, but they seemed so ironic now.
He also remembered what Kobe had once told him.
"Don't just be a dagger; you must be a Swiss Army knife."
Lin Feng sat up from the bed and walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window.
The Los Angeles night view was still brilliant, but his heart was a wasteland.
He possessed the two divine skills, "Midorima's Full-Court Three-Pointer" and "Aomine's Formless Shot."
But he couldn't make Gasol tougher in the paint.
He couldn't make Howard give a hundred percent effort.
He couldn't make Nick Young's shot selection more reasonable.
For the first time, he realized that basketball was such a complex sport.
For the first time, he felt the confidence derived from the system being shattered bit by bit by reality.
An unprecedented sense of powerlessness swept over him.
Perhaps this was the original sin that one must bear to be a leader.
You must pay for everyone's mistakes... the team's most difficult moment.
The time when public opinion was at its worst.
The Lakers finished their road trip and returned to Los Angeles.
In the training facility, the atmosphere was lifeless.
The players practiced on their own, with no communication and not even eye contact.
D'Antoni stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, brow furrowed, at a complete loss.
This team had already fallen apart.
Just then, Team Manager Kupchak walked in hurriedly.
His face bore a complex expression of shock, worry, and a hint of fanaticism.
"Everyone, stop for a second!"
He clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention.
"There's some news to announce."
The players gathered lazily, most of them listless.
They thought it was another player getting traded or an assistant coach being fired.
Kupchak cleared his throat.
"Just now, the team medical staff and Kobe's private medical team conducted a final joint evaluation."
Hearing "Kobe's" name, everyone's spirits were lifted.
Lin Feng also looked up.
"The result of the evaluation is..."
Kupchak paused, seemingly searching for the right words.
"Kobe's Achilles recovery... has far exceeded expectations."
"He has been cleared to participate in full-contact training."
A chorus of gasps echoed through the locker room.
A ruptured Achilles! That's a major injury that can destroy a player's career!
How long has it been?
"So..."
Kupchak looked at everyone and said, word for word.
"The team has officially decided that Kobe Bryant will, in the next game..."
"Make an emergency comeback!"
The news exploded in the training facility like a nuclear bomb.
Everyone thought they had misheard.
"What?!"
"Is he crazy? His Achilles hasn't even fully healed yet!"
"This is gambling with his career!"
Gasol's face was written with worry.
Howard had a look of disbelief on his face.
Lin Feng stood there in a daze, his heart pounding.
He knew how obsessive Kobe was, but he didn't expect him to be obsessive to this extent.
This is gambling with his life!
Soon, this news spread throughout the league via major sports media outlets.
The world was shaken.
Everyone thought Kobe was crazy.
Forcing a comeback—if he got injured again, his career would be completely over.
The Lakers called an emergency press conference.
Kobe, wearing a black suit, sat under the spotlight.
His face was thin, but his eyes were startlingly bright.
Countless camera flashes went off in front of him.
The reporters, like sharks smelling blood, threw sharp questions at him.
"Kobe! Is your Achilles really fully recovered? Isn't this too risky a decision?"
"Are you gambling your career to save the Lakers' seemingly sunken season?"
"Do you really think your return can change anything?"
Kobe didn't answer immediately.
He just sat there quietly, letting the flashes flicker on his face.
The entire press conference fell silent.
Everyone was waiting for his answer.
Finally, he picked up the microphone.
His gaze passed through all the lenses, looking into the unknown distance.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unquestionable power that spread throughout the venue.
"This ship hasn't sunk yet."
"I can't just stand by and watch it go down."