Chapter Eighteen: The Super Trio

Lin Fei won—clean and decisive. Though the prize was only a bottle of cola, it was more than enough! Wandering through the campus with a basketball in his arms, Lin Fei strolled nonchalantly, his thoughts a mystery to everyone. The setting sun cast its golden glow on this youth who chased the wind.

A week later, rumors began to spread across campus: there was a basketball prodigy named Hong Qi at the school. Some said he resembled Hong Qi from “Ashes of Time,” and his playing style was just as crisp and swift—whether breaking through or shooting, everything was about speed.

They said this guy could take on opponents over 1.9 meters tall as if it were nothing, once beating someone ten to zero, with several high-difficulty turnaround three-pointers. It was even rumored he could dunk over people. No one knew who he was—maybe a member of the school team, or perhaps an outsider showing off. Thus legends are born.

A full week later, Lin Fei was still practicing his shots on the court. Nearby, a towering figure, nearly 1.95 meters, was also practicing with a few others. Such height was a rare sight on the outdoor courts; players like these were usually found in the school’s gymnasium, and in many people’s eyes, only those who played inside the gym were true experts. This 1.95-meter giant clearly had skills—the kind only real players possess. Although Lin Fei appeared to be practicing lazily, his keen court sense told him that the big guy nearby was a force to be reckoned with, the kind of opponent a point guard must always be able to identify.

Before long, a familiar face appeared—the rough-and-tumble guy from last week, heading straight toward Lin Fei’s court. Lin Fei felt a spark of amusement.

But as the rough guy passed by, he merely greeted Lin Fei and continued on to the giant’s court. He started practicing shots there, looking noticeably improved from the previous week. Apparently, he and the big guy knew each other and had arranged to play together.

Soon enough, the rough guy called out to Lin Fei, “Hey, wanna join us for a game?”

For Lin Fei, there was never any need to answer such a question.

This time, the rough guy didn’t pretend to be a novice—Lin Fei smiled at the memory. The 1.95-meter player noticed Lin Fei’s smile, studied him for a moment, then smiled back.

Teams were formed: Lin Fei and the rough guy on one side with two others, the 1.95-meter player and three others on the opposing team.

At first, Lin Fei held back, knowing the real excitement always comes later.

The game began. The 1.95-meter player took several outside shots, but with the rough guy’s defense, only one went in—he seemed a bit off his game. The rough guy took him on one-on-one and held his own, but the giant didn’t seem to mind, wearing a smile reminiscent of Chow Yun-fat in “A Better Tomorrow,” exuding the air of a true star.

“Why not raise the stakes?” the giant suggested, seeing the rough guy getting fired up. “No competition, no fun.”

The rough guy chuckled, “You just want us to buy you a cola, right? No problem.” Glancing back at Lin Fei, he added, “Hey, got any cash? If not, I’ll cover you!” Clearly, this guy was generous.

Lin Fei’s team had possession first. Lin Fei took the ball, glanced at the hoop, signaled to the rough guy, who moved to the three-point line to set a screen. Lin Fei leapt straight up and took the shot—almost stepping on the line, but it went in. No playful smile from Lin Fei this time, only a cold intensity. Instinct told him he was up against a true master.

Lin Fei passed to the rough guy, who tried to use his bulk to muscle inside. The giant held his ground; though the rough guy was brawnier, the big man’s foundation was surprisingly solid. The rough guy spun twice but couldn’t get free, finally attempting a half-turn hook shot. Bad luck— the giant leaped impossibly high and blocked the shot single-handedly.

Lin Fei’s instincts were confirmed: this tall opponent was one of a kind.

The big man dribbled low, surveying the court. It was clear he considered his teammates mere bystanders. The rough guy, stung by the block, waved off his teammates, signaling to guard the giant himself. The giant broke right, blew past the rough guy—who did his best, but could only catch the giant’s tail as he cut to the basket for a smooth, effortless layup. Facing a player of this caliber was a rarity at school, Lin Fei mused.

The giant’s team had the ball again. This time, he posted up, back to the basket, took the feed, spun smoothly, and hooked the shot. Lin Fei’s teammate saw trouble and tried to foul, but the ball still went in, as if to declare, “The paint belongs to me.”

They played five possessions in a row. If the giant didn’t score, he’d grab his own rebound and put it back. His low-post skills were absolutely dominant.

Lin Fei whispered to the rough guy, “Hold him from behind; I’ll help on the drive.” The giant posted up again, the rough guy holding his ground. The giant’s body and footwork were impressive—step by step, he edged closer to the basket, then spun completely around past the rough guy and went for a one-handed shot. Lin Fei reacted, leaping quickly, but though his vertical was good, the giant still had ten centimeters on him. Lin Fei could only block his sight, a move reminiscent of Shane Battier defending Kobe—surprisingly effective, as the shot rimmed out. The rough guy grabbed the rebound, sprinted outside the arc. Lin Fei followed, took the pass, his eyes suddenly fierce—tonight, he was out for blood.

The big man stepped in front of Lin Fei, his gaze sharp, as if to say, “Come on—challenge me. I welcome it.” Their eyes met, sparks flying.

Lin Fei dribbled between his legs twice, then rose for a jump shot, confident despite the giant’s height advantage. His quick release was his greatest weapon—just a slight flick, and the ball was off at the apex. But as soon as he shot, he sensed trouble. The giant’s hand seemed to blot out the sun, swatting the ball far away.

Still their ball. Same situation—the rough guy came up to set a screen, but Lin Fei waved him away. “Leave it to me.” That was his way—where he fell, he’d rise again.

Lin Fei drove twice, lightning-fast, trying to slip past the giant. As he passed, the big man reached out and knocked the ball loose—a foul, technically, but with no referee on the playground, only Lin Fei knew for sure. He chose not to call it, something inside him letting it go.

The giant stole the ball, stepped outside the arc, then took one stride into the three-point line and launched a jumper—good. Today, he seemed determined to showcase every move in his arsenal: post-ups, strong drives, turnaround hooks, one-handed floaters, and now mid-range jumpers.

He poured in four more straight points; the score was now 9-1. Lin Fei understood: there’s always someone better. He glanced at the rough guy. “Let’s double him.”

The giant caught the ball; Lin Fei immediately fouled. Every extra second the ball stayed in his hands was a greater risk for Lin Fei’s team. They reset. Lin Fei guarded him smartly, fronting to deny the catch. The giant shouted at his teammate, “Just lob it off the backboard!” The teammate obliged. As the ball bounced off the glass, Lin Fei, the rough guy, and the giant all leaped. From behind, Lin Fei seemed to have the highest jump—his wrist nearly level with the rim—but the big man was still a head taller. That was the difference. The giant caught the ball mid-air and slammed it home, nearly landing on top of Lin Fei.

The spectators erupted in cheers and applause.

A crushing defeat.

“Hey, I’m Xian—nickname ‘1.95.’ What’s your name?”

“Lin Fei.”

“Last week, the rough guy told me about you—said you’ve got a great shot. We came here just to find you! Let’s be friends.”

Not long after, a new basketball trio appeared on campus: “1.95,” the rough guy, and Hong Qi.

Soon, their names would be known across the court.