Chapter Fifteen: The Lonely Summer

For him, failure was not an option; there was no retreat if he faltered. Once he stepped off this stage, he would never be able to set foot on it again. It was much like the way Israel teaches its citizens: the Jewish people cannot afford to fail, for history has shown them there is no way back—retreat means annihilation. What Lin Fei relied on was not talent, but relentless effort. Talent is important, but it cannot be changed, while hard work can transform much.

Summer, for players, is a season of both joy and sorrow. Some revel in happiness, reaping the rewards of their efforts; some shine in the playoffs, finally given a stage to showcase their abilities; others claim championship rings. For some, happiness is tinged with trouble, as they can already plan their summer vacations before the season even ends. Lin Fei belonged to this latter group.

There is a theory known as the ten-thousand-hour rule: to achieve mastery in any field, one must devote ten thousand hours to it. Perhaps this law holds true in basketball as well. Consider today’s players—many of the top athletes are all striving towards those ten thousand hours. Legend has it that Jordan and Kobe trained over ten hours a day, forging greatness through relentless practice. On the other hand, some, despite their prodigious talent, fail to meet expectations—like Tracy McGrady, a two-time scoring champion, widely regarded as the most gifted small forward in the league, yet ultimately undone by injuries. But wasn’t he perhaps just a bit too complacent? Some even exaggerate that he never surpassed a thousand hours of practice. He left fans with so much, but also much disappointment and many sighs.

In his first year in America, Lin Fei reflected on all he had sacrificed for basketball: missing out on the best moments of college life, on love, on reunions, on friendships—all irreplaceable. Now, having come this far, how could he make up for what he’d lost? He held a large contract now and, at the very least, would never have to worry about money again. Many players succumb to regret and indulgence; such cases are countless—once they secure a hefty contract, their skills decline, their fighting spirit dissipates. Would Lin Fei repeat this tragedy?

Fame brought its own troubles—the loss of privacy, the absence of a simple life. Lin Fei was not selected for the national team; apparently, he did not fit their criteria for players. His success brought him many endorsements—after all, money is always tempting—but he selectively chose only a few, almost all for charity. Does that still seem like the kind of man who would be consumed by a big contract? If he were, he would have filled his schedule to the brim, but he did not; he left ample time for practice.

Lin Fei knew himself well—he had to train relentlessly. Lacking natural talent, he needed to work even harder to maintain his edge. He practiced every day at the gym, so much so that it became a habit—at least ten hours daily. Considering the ten-thousand-hour theory, even at ten hours a day, it would take three years of uninterrupted training to reach it. He did not know if he’d ever reach ten thousand hours, but he would try to get as close as possible. No one knew exactly how many shots he took each day—perhaps six hundred, maybe even eight hundred. Most of his training focused on ultra-long-range three-pointers while on the move, and pull-up threes after lightning-fast direction changes—the kind of practice many players neglect. While most stick near the three-point line, Lin Fei expanded his range to half the court, making him nearly impossible to defend—unless one possessed truly extraordinary footwork, and such a person had yet to appear.

Sometimes, one must wonder: is the talent people speak of merely physical prowess or height? Isn’t that a rather narrow view? Take Lin Fei, for example—a player with modest physical gifts, yet an almost superhuman shooting accuracy. Could that be an innate gift for aim? It’s something worth studying, for many players train just as hard, some even harder, but few can shoot with Lin Fei’s precision. In NBA history, his accuracy with ultra-long-range threes was unprecedented. While training is crucial, is it enough by itself? It seems not. Then there’s basketball IQ—a standard impossible to measure, relying on subjective impressions. You cannot deny that Lin Fei’s sense of timing, angles, and court control seem perfectly natural—is this not a sign of an exceptional basketball intellect?

Lin Fei preferred to practice alone in peace. He had always liked training at night, when he could hear his own heartbeat and breathing. His dribbling, heartbeat, and breath all fell into a certain rhythm—a rhythm that became the very feeling of the game. Without reaching that realm, one could never understand its beauty.

During summer league, the coach assigned Lin Fei to lead a group of young players. He was nearly unstoppable in those games, averaging only twenty-five minutes on the court but scoring thirty points. Had there been a measure of efficiency in the summer league, he likely would have broken the record. But summer league was mostly a playground for rookies, a test of form, or just a diversion. For someone like Lin Fei, already worth millions, playing in the summer league was exceedingly rare. On the court, he stood out like a crane among chickens; in the later games, he barely played at all, enjoying the superstar treatment. He had also learned how to lead, how to control the flow among this group of young men.

At night, after practice, Lin Fei would quietly gaze at this city, familiar yet foreign, looking up at the moon and pondering so many things.

He suddenly remembered that he still hadn't graduated. The thought made him even more nostalgic. He wondered how his school was doing; in his relentless pursuit of basketball, he had never found the time to return. Should he go back? That place was where his dreams began, where he soared for the first time. There were local delicacies he loved, the best memories of his youth, a group of wild, loyal friends, brothers who’d once worn the same shorts as him, and a girl he once dreamed of. Where were they now? There was a certain sound there...

Lin Fei wondered if he had become obsessed with basketball to the point of losing himself. When he practiced, it felt as if the world held only him and the ball—everything else faded away. Happiness? Sorrow? Whenever these thoughts surfaced, Lin Fei would ask himself if he owed himself something—perhaps a relationship, or a sense of cherished value.

Thus, Lin Fei was lonely. But every successful person must endure such a period of solitude. Lin Fei, this path is your own. Tomorrow, will you still face loneliness with a smile?