Chapter 116: Beat Michael

Barring any accidents, the Warriors had essentially secured victory. It seemed that in the history of the league, there had never been a 28-point comeback in the final quarter, especially in the playoffs. If both teammates and opponents cooperated, it should be easy for Lin Fei, who had already racked up 54 points, to break the playoff scoring record that had stood silent for nearly 30 years. In truth, many high-scoring performances in the league involved some level of "stat-padding" and cooperation from teammates and opponents. Take Kobe’s 81-point game; that match had long entered garbage time, and his teammates simply funneled the ball to him. When David Robinson and Shaquille O'Neal were competing for the scoring title in the final game of the regular season, Robinson put up 73 points because he was well-liked and the opponents eventually stopped guarding him. These scoring feats were, to some extent, a performance; at the very least, teammates were fully cooperating.

If all went as expected, Lin Fei breaking this record was a foregone conclusion. He had already hit 13 three-pointers in this game—setting aside his own records, no one else in the league had ever reached such heights. For him, sinking three more was simple, especially since Lin Fei possessed the best clutch ability in the league—the kind of player who could score whenever he wanted. Furthermore, don't forget that Lin Fei led the league in fourth-quarter scoring (a stat that perhaps overlaps with clutch scoring). This left no doubt that he could score 9 points in the next 12 minutes to tie Michael Jordan’s playoff scoring record, and then score one more to surpass it.

"Oh! Michael, look at the Nelson game, quickly! It’s the Warriors game!" (In the league, many people use the name of a star player or coach to represent the whole team; for example, "Watch Kobe's game" clearly means the Lakers, and "Watch Rivers' game" means the Celtics.) The phone call went straight to Jordan. Perhaps it was his friends; Jordan’s phone was nearly being blown up, all reminding him to watch the game.

Jordan hurriedly turned on the TV and searched for the Warriors' match.

The scene on the screen left Jordan stunned, caught between laughter and disbelief.

A large banner read: "Beat Michael Jordan." It was unclear which spontaneous fans had made it on the spot.

"Oh, good on you, kid." Jordan even started rooting for him! He had heard that a young man was scoring at an incredible rate, winning the scoring title in his second season, but he hadn't expected him to be challenging his own playoff scoring record so soon.

Suddenly, many of the league's former superstars began to pay attention to Lin Fei and the game. Although the outcome was already clear, many wanted to witness history.

The Warriors utilized their bench, and the Mavericks followed suit. For Dallas, a 28-point deficit was reason enough to surrender; it was better to give up early and focus on the next game than to exhaust themselves. As for the Warriors, they could have rested their starters, but whether the starters or the bench were on the floor, the offense had to run through Lin Fei. Lin Fei leading the reserves was more than enough to maintain the lead.

Lin Fei had the ball! Because of the intense physical exertion, his heart rate was climbing.

Carlisle barely gave any instructions to his players, seemingly letting his reserves get some burn.

Lin Fei pushed the ball up the court. There was someone standing at the three-point line, and he had originally intended to just pull up and shoot. But at the last second, he changed his mind and drove straight into the Mavericks' paint.

Lin Fei felt the game lacked challenge. Honestly, he thought his opponents wouldn't guard him anymore, as a "gentleman helps others achieve their goals."

Driving into the paint, Lin Fei went for a layup on the right side. He started his move at the free-throw line, and with two meters to go, only Haywood stood in his way. Lin Fei’s pace was "slow"—relatively speaking—and he assumed Haywood was just standing there symbolically. He went straight toward the rim, disregarding Haywood entirely.

Just as the ball left his hand, Haywood swatted it out of the air, sending it flying out of bounds.

What? What was going on? How could this happen? Why would this old man do that? A series of questions swirled in his mind.

Then, Haywood wagged his finger.

"Oh," Lin Fei was furious. The consequences could be dire.

The referee’s whistle blew—another technical foul on the Mavericks!

It was because of Haywood’s finger wag. The gesture, famously used by the league's former Defensive Player of the Year and shot-blocking master Dikembe Mutombo, was his trademark. Anyone else attempting it received a technical foul. Mutombo used it to celebrate or to declare the paint his territory, but when others used it, it was seen as an act of contempt.

Lin Fei had forgotten one thing: if he scored 63 points or more, it would be a supreme honor for him and the Warriors, but for the Mavericks and their players, it would make them the ultimate backdrop—a humiliation. No one wanted to be the background for such a staggering record. So, when Lin Fei went for an unchallenged layup, Haywood blocked it hard, as if to say, "I'm still here! Don't you dare get cocky."

Lin Fei and the Warriors, previously in high spirits, were now displeased.

"Damn it!" Lin Fei shouted. Even though he usually projected the image of a gentleman, when angry, he was capable of throwing balls at players like Terry or hurling insults. "I was planning to just stop at 64, no need to lead by too much. You have to be harmonious in sports. Now, it looks like I gave you face and you didn't want it."

Lin Fei hit the technical free throw. 55 points!

Warriors ball. Two players were immediately on Lin Fei.

Oh! The previous situation had been a trap! Now there were two players guarding him! Carlisle had even put in Marion. Lin Fei felt like an idiot for thinking his opponents had stopped defending.

He was actually tired. The 12 minutes of the third quarter alone felt like an eternity—nearly thirty trips up and down the floor, running without stopping.

Lin Fei finally received the ball off a screen. He was the type of player who only felt comfortable when the ball was in his hands. Once he had it, everything was manageable.

Facing the double team, he showed no intention of passing. He was determined to fight them head-on.

Lin Fei accelerated to the right; the defenders scrambled to keep up. Neither was as agile as him. The defender originally on the left was blocked by the one on the right, making it impossible to keep pace. The defender on the right managed to brush Lin Fei's arm, providing some resistance. Lin Fei hated body contact—it was like a physical instinct. He stepped back; the defender on the left rushed to close out, but after the step-back, Lin Fei changed direction back to the left. The defender, having over-committed, couldn't adjust his body and could only watch as Lin Fei breezed past him. Lin Fei took three dribbles to the space between the mid-court line and the three-point arc, stopped, and fired. Another three-pointer dropped.

58 points! The atmosphere grew more electric. For the fans, the bold "Beat Michael Jordan" banner seemed to be witnessing the birth of greatness.