Chapter Twenty-Two: Not the Swiftest Runner, Only Flying Low

Time seemed to blur—he could no longer recall the exact moment or place. The only thing that remained vivid in his memory was a person: Duan Tingting. Lin Fei silently mouthed her initials, “TT”; that name lingered in his mind, impossible to forget.

On the sports field, Lin Fei sprinted with a ball, as if his sole purpose was to practice running. Spotting someone timing sprints, he approached and asked, “Hey, could you do me a favor? Would you time how fast I can dribble a hundred meters?” The request surprised everyone; after all, this madman was often seen running laps with a ball, but today he wanted to test his dribbling speed. A sizeable crowd gathered, many of whom knew Lin Fei.

He readied himself, calm and composed.

At the signal, Lin Fei dashed forward, ball in hand. If not for the ball, one would have thought he was simply sprinting. Most people, when dribbling, struggle to synchronize their footwork with the bounce, unsure how to achieve maximum speed, and even seasoned players sometimes lose control. But not Lin Fei—he could perfectly fuse the rhythm of his dribble, his stride, the swing of his elbows, even his breathing, into a single harmonious flow. Because of that, he could reach speeds that bordered on the unbelievable.

A chorus of astonishment and applause rose as Lin Fei crossed the finish. Fourteen point three seconds. My goodness! Many people couldn’t run a hundred meters that fast without a ball. Rumor had it that the NBA’s Harris held the record for fastest full-court dribble at 3.9 seconds, which was about the best in the world—but the court was only 28 meters long. If you calculated Lin Fei’s pace—14.3 seconds per hundred meters—it was nearly on par. Lin Fei’s feat might even be harder, given the longer distance and need for sustained rhythm.

What was the world record? Many wondered how close they were to it now.

Some joked that Lin Fei wasn’t dribbling too fast; he was just flying too low.

But was this enough to prove Lin Fei’s skill?

Far from it. True ability could only be measured on the court, in the heat of competition.

After her parting with Lin Fei that night, Duan Tingting had spoken to the department organizer about him, suggesting he might strengthen their team’s lineup. However, the team wasn’t lacking in guards; it was the center position that was sparse, with no one to fill that vital role. Take 195, for example—he wasn’t even from the same department as Lin Fei. If Lin Fei wanted to compete, he’d have to represent his own department. Duan Tingting had many connections at school—her beauty made her popular, and having witnessed Lin Fei’s talent, she hoped he could contribute to their team, perhaps even feeling a twinge of gratitude for his company that evening.

Lin Fei had long been the court’s undisputed king, his name well-known in his department. But the rule was that joining the team was voluntary, and Lin Fei had never shown interest. He’d always hoped for another shot against the school team, to reclaim his loss. When Duan Tingting mentioned that those two from the school team would also compete in the department tournament, the challenge was irresistible. With her behind-the-scenes efforts, Lin Fei joined the school team with little trouble.

Once a member, Lin Fei shed his usual reserve. Perhaps, as he’d said, every player has their peaks and valleys, both in mood and in form. Recently, he’d been in a slump, but now, he was on the rise. At first, the adjustment wasn’t easy; the team’s skill had stepped up a level, and Lin Fei had to start as the last substitute during scrimmages—such were the rules. During practice, Lin Fei loved to dunk, the most thrilling way to showcase basketball’s flair. Most teammates could dunk, but those of Lin Fei’s height could barely touch the rim. His vertical leap was outstanding, and combined with his dribbling and explosive first step, he could drive past defenders and finish with a spectacular dunk—always a crowd-pleaser.

The team’s coach was a senior named Cui Yong, also the captain, who played both small and power forward. A pillar of the team, he might not have claimed many official honors, but his leadership, charisma, and influence were unrivaled.

Lin Fei’s speed and shooting were exceptional, making him a natural starter, but Cui Yong continually urged him to share the ball. Basketball, after all, was a five-man game; no single player, no matter how gifted, could defeat a team alone. Yet Lin Fei preferred his own style. Whenever he received the ball, he rarely passed, always driving forward or taking the shot himself. He’d yet to meet a true rival, and his fast breaks often ended in dazzling dunks, but Cui Yong never stopped criticizing his solo play, insisting on teamwork.

This sometimes made Lin Fei uncomfortable, and there was a distinct tactical divide between them. Cui Yong favored an inside-focused offense, believing it yielded higher percentage shots and drew more fouls. Lin Fei, however, had his own perspective: their team’s inside presence was weak, with Cui Yong the tallest at only 185 centimeters. Facing taller opponents, they’d be at a disadvantage, so why not abandon the half-court set for a small-ball strategy? By emphasizing perimeter play, they could quicken their offense and catch defenses off guard, while drawing big men out and creating more space for guards to attack—making them even deadlier. But Cui Yong didn’t adopt his ideas; the team was rooted in inside play, and he suspected Lin Fei’s real aim was to become the center of the offense and feed his ego. He didn’t fully trust this newcomer, and truth be told, even without being the tactical core, Lin Fei would inevitably become the main scoring threat. Cui Yong wasn’t wrong about that.

Lin Fei did harbor a bit of selfishness: he wanted to ensure his playing time so he wouldn’t miss the chance to face those two again, to reclaim the game he’d lost—and to do it before their very eyes, Duan Tingting’s among them.

Sometimes, Duan Tingting would watch their practices from the sidelines, at the very court where they’d had their “date.” She liked hearing people say, “That Lin Fei is fast—not that he runs quickly, but that he practically flies.” Few knew she and Lin Fei were acquainted. Even when she’d suggested his recruitment, she’d only said, “Yesterday I saw someone on the court—heard he’s from the Business Administration department, quite good. Want to check him out?” She never once claimed to know him.

The tournament drew near, and Lin Fei still hadn’t fully integrated with the team. How would he face the challenges ahead? How would the department fare? Could their undersized frontline withstand the onslaught of those towering, spring-heeled opponents?