Chapter Two: Believing in Miracles

Artest slapped the ball twice, aimed at the hoop, and as always, his free throws seemed almost casual. The ball bounced twice off the rim, Warriors’ X jumped up, grabbed the rebound, and held it tight. Lin Fei ran up to him and took the ball from his arms.

Now, the objective was to control the tempo, calmly nail a three-pointer, then foul to preserve the hope of victory.

The score was 109 to 115. Twenty-five seconds remained, which flickered down to just over twenty-four.

The Warriors surged forward with all their might, the Lakers no less determined, but all eyes on the court were fixed on Lin Fei.

On the sidelines, the coaches watched Lin Fei with anxious, expectant eyes.

Lin Fei sprinted as if no one else was on the court. By the time he reached half-court, an inexplicable sense of dread had crept into the Lakers’ hearts. The Lakers were thrown into disarray, not even having time to set their defense. They swarmed Lin Fei, attempting a double-team—let’s see how you get a shot off now!

As expected, Lin Fei had to weave through them, brushing past Kobe—luckily not knocking him over, or it would have been an offensive foul. Bumping and jostling his way through the defenders, he somehow emerged from the crowd.

The Lakers’ strategy was clear: give up the two, but guard the three. Jackson was willing to gamble—surely Lin Fei wouldn’t hit another three. Even a fool knew that a player couldn’t maintain such a hot hand forever; if they could, what use were coaches or tactics?

But he was wrong. Lin Fei tenaciously maintained possession. Sensing danger, Lin squeezed out of the scrum—21.8 seconds, then 20.4—jumped in front of Kobe and forced a shot.

It was anything but textbook; no one would shoot in this situation. Predictably, the shot was blocked—clean and decisive. Beautiful.

Yet, despite the block, the ball bounced right back into Lin Fei’s arms. Without hesitation, he shot again. Kobe, still basking in his previous block, failed to react in time.

Kobe turned, only to see the ball arc unnaturally high—absurdly high. Swish! Right through the net.

People were already murmuring about Lin Fei being possessed by the spirit of Jordan or McGrady, but now, no one knew how to describe what they’d just seen. No one had the mind to search for words—they were witnessing the miraculous.

Twenty-two points, seven three-pointers, just over two minutes—120 seconds. Every second was birthing a new miracle.

Score: 112 to 115. Eighteen seconds left. Was there another miracle in store?

Lakers’ timeout. Jackson was stunned, dumbfounded. Kobe was shaken. In that moment, they seemed to forget they were a team chasing seventy wins. All they could think about was how to contain that crazy kid. Most of them didn’t even know his name.

The Warriors’ bench was still laughing about the last shot.

Now, Jackson’s only hope was Kobe.

Again, Kobe received the ball—fouled immediately.

Every free throw now would decide the outcome.

The remaining crowd stood as one, raining down boos. Once, they’d chanted “MVP” in this arena for this great player, but now they’d abandoned Kobe for a new favorite. Many fans returned to their seats, unable to believe what was unfolding.

Kobe’s first free throw missed, sending the crowd into a frenzy—not because they disliked the superstar before them, but because they wanted to see an even greater miracle.

The Warriors called a brief timeout—their last. From Nelson’s solemn expression, one could see both astonishment and delight. He mapped out the scenarios: if Kobe made it, if he missed, how to play each out.

Kobe drew a deep breath, mimed a shot, caught the ball tossed by the referee, held his breath, shot—the ball went in.

112 to 116. Sixteen point three seconds left.

The Warriors inbounded. Two Lakers shadowed Lin Fei, determined not to let him touch the ball, even if it meant fouling. The Warriors’ players struggled to get free, but never managed it. In truth, there were four possible receivers, but each only wanted Lin Fei to get the ball—perhaps trusting him most.

As the five-second count ticked down, Keyes received the pass and pressed forward. Don’t forget, he was a small forward—a promising rookie.

Full-court defense presented opportunities for isolation. Every mistake now would decide victory or defeat. Keyes dribbled swiftly toward the hoop. At last, the ball was out of that pesky little point guard’s hands—no more of his infuriating half-court shots.

As Keyes reached the three-point line, time was of the essence—every second critical.

The Lakers’ defense was in disarray, forced to focus on the unknown kid who had struck terror into their hearts. The Warriors, with their roster of mid- and long-range shooters, relied on jump shots for most of their scoring.

Lin Fei moved off the ball, opening up space, but it wasn’t Lin Fei—they still trusted him most. He was their savior in this game.

On the court: Jobs hovered near the three-second area, X streaked to the baseline corner, center Claudson moved high. Lin Fei ran furiously. All eyes hunted for a way to get him the ball.

The Lakers realized they’d lost track of both Jobs and X, their two main stars. Immediately, they switched to cover. Keyes saw his chance and swung a long pass to Lin Fei.

The Lakers’ eyes widened.

2.6 seconds left.

Lin Fei raised his hands, released—the ball went in. There was no need to describe how.

115 to 116. One point. An unprecedented miracle.

The arena fell utterly silent, as if no one dared disturb the paradise that had just descended.

For a long moment, Jackson’s dream of seventy wins swelled in his heart.

The Lakers inbounded, and were fouled before the ball was even caught.

Back to the free throw line. Kobe, who had made just one of two moments before, stepped up again. Truth be told, he hadn’t felt this nervous since he first entered the NBA. The arena seemed to listen only to the pounding of one man’s heart.

The first shot—good. The crowd fell silent—not a single boo. A faint sadness filled the air. What a wondrous three minutes it had been.

The second shot missed. X snatched the rebound. The Lakers scrambled desperately, risking a foul, but with only a few seconds left, the referees let it go.

Warriors’ timeout—an emergency strategy session.

1.1 seconds left.

The buzzer—0.9 seconds.

A shadow flickered before Lin Fei’s eyes; he passed, and the recipient instantly pushed the ball from his chest.

Half the court—a vast distance, but in these few seconds, time stretched interminably.

The clock ticked: 0.8, 0.7, 0.6, 0.5, 0.4, 0.3, 0.2, 0.1, 0—the ball was still in the air. The crowd rose to their feet—coaches, players, commentators, fans, even the janitors and ball boys.

Sacred? Regretful?

Swish!

The arena seemed to explode.

All twelve Warriors, coaches, assistants, cheerleaders—everyone rushed to the center, piling onto Lin Fei. Each pressed forward, trying to get close to the man at the center of it all. The fans surged as well.

In that mob, Lin Fei was like a cherished child—never before had he been such a focal point, perhaps even the center of the world. This moment might change his career forever.

The Lakers, in awe yet crestfallen, could only watch. Only Artest managed a dazed grin—he’d witnessed a true monster tonight, and lost with no regrets.

The arena refused to quiet, even as the players retreated to the locker rooms. Fans lingered, unwilling to leave—a celebration in itself, with more people than at the final buzzer.

In the home locker room, not a single player showed the slightest fatigue—everyone was too excited to change clothes, still discussing that final shot.

As news of this wild finish spread, reporters and websites that hadn’t planned to cover the game all rushed over, crowding the locker room.

Naturally, everyone surrounded Lin Fei. As a Chinese player, he was already a media darling—now, after such a historic moment, the flashbulbs were endless.

Soon, the team gathered for a commemorative photo to remember this nearly unprecedented game. They’d become symbols of the city.

Then, the press conference.

“Oh! That was the most perfect buzzer beater I’ve ever seen! Incredible! I’m absolutely intoxicated by that shot—Lin is the most amazing rookie I’ve ever met! Absolutely extraordinary!” shouted Jobs, the Warriors’ star, to the reporters.

“Oh, oh, my turn! The feeling of victory is just wonderful. I never imagined we could beat the Lakers at the last second! You know, man, the Lakers! One of the league’s best teams. And now we have the league’s most unbelievable little guy! He’s so strong—I’ve never seen anyone hit threes from that far out with such accuracy. It’s unreal! I noticed his shooting even during practice, but I never thought he’d erupt like this against the Lakers! Man, having a teammate like this is just incredible!” Keyes, always the liveliest in the locker room, couldn’t resist jumping in.

The other players all chimed in, sharing stories of Lin Fei’s practice habits and game-day brilliance—the room felt like a party.

Lin Fei himself spoke little, though his excitement was obvious. Perhaps it was his discomfort with speaking English in America.

At first, he simply expressed thanks: to Coach Nelson for giving him a chance, to his personal coach, to his parents for their support.

A reporter asked Coach Nelson, “What are your thoughts on Lin Fei?”

Nelson, visibly excited, replied, “I’ve always known Lin is an outstanding player. I’ve always stressed that he must be ready at any moment to step up—and he’s done it, and done it in a way that amazes me! Not giving him more playing time earlier was clearly a huge mistake on my part. I’ll definitely give him more opportunities. But I still hope he can pass more, get the team involved in scoring. He has his speed and shooting—so I’ll try more ways to boost our record.”

“Are you considering making Lin a starter? He’s an excellent scorer,” another reporter asked.

“We’ll consider that,” Nelson answered. “We’ll adjust our lineup based on the team’s needs—whatever it takes to win.”

Over in the Lakers’ press conference, the mood was dismal. Coach Jackson said, “Obviously our defense fell apart at the end, but that kid is the most astonishing player I’ve ever seen.” Kobe and the others all echoed, “We just have to keep working hard.”

That day, nearly every sports newspaper with a basketball section led with Lin Fei’s buzzer-beater against the Lakers. Some ran “Lin Fei Moment” as the headline, others “28 Points in 3 Minutes!!!” or “The Greatest Miracle in Basketball History,” all with photos of Lin Fei’s last shot. The articles were all variations on the theme of greatness, miracles, and divine inspiration—Lin seemed to have become the idol of basketball fans worldwide. Of course, the Los Angeles papers ran photos of a helpless Kobe on the front page.

Everyone was searching for a name for this moment.

The “Lin Fei Moment”? Fitting, with a certain ring to it.

“God’s Tears”? Possible—if McGrady’s moment moved God, then this one brought tears of joy to His eyes.

The radio stations struggled to keep their composure reporting this miracle. And as for the day’s Top 5 Plays—Lin Fei’s three-minute stretch, with nearly every play a classic—should it be counted as one play or several? If several, all five spots would be Lin’s! In the end, they counted it as a single “moment”—the longest Top 5 Play ever.

The commentators joked—remember Kobe’s layup? On TV, they said that the little guy’s bizarre threes made Kobe’s near-perfect layup look like a mere backdrop. Nine consecutive three-pointers showed the purple-and-gold dynasty just how hard seventy wins could be. You could see the wonder from the young Chinese player in Kobe’s helpless eyes.

The Lakers’ press conference was equally downbeat: the same words—“Our defense failed at the end. We underestimated the Warriors’ strength and the rookie’s shooting. They’re a tough team, and that kid could become a great player…”

Fans discussed endlessly—would Lin Fei break the rookie scoring record in future games? Fifty-five points? His late-game scoring efficiency was terrifying and tantalizing. Some cursed the coach—why had it taken half a season to discover Lin, and even then only in garbage time? Now, with a super rookie on the roster, could the team finally make the playoffs?