Chapter 28: Mentor and Disciple? Or Friends?

After the school tournament, some might remember those unbelievable three-pointers, others the frantic scoring in the final moments, still others the kid who, despite losing, was chosen as MVP without a hint of suspense; and perhaps there are those who remember the iron-willed player who gritted his teeth and kept playing until the very end. In any case, he had left an indelible mark on everyone—he was everywhere, in everyone’s thoughts.

Once his injury healed, Lin Fei returned to the court where the legendary trio had once played, but now, his name rang out like thunder. From Hong Qi, to the madman of the basketball court, to now the MVP standing high above the rest, he had achieved everything possible, at least in this school.

“Ever thought about going to the NBA?”

“I’ve dreamed about it, but never really thought about it.”

“What about the CBA?”

“I’ve watched it, but never considered it.”

“And CUBA?”

“I know about it, but I don’t really understand what it is.”

“That’s exactly it,” the man said, his face lighting up as if he’d stumbled upon a treasure. This was Yang Li, the school’s basketball coach. Rumor had it he’d once played in the CBA and had been coaching here for years, but without much to show for it—the school had never made it to the CUBA finals, which was his own unfulfilled dream. With time, his desire to build a truly formidable team only grew, but the opportunity had never come, so he scouted every incoming student. He missed the sports department’s final game due to other commitments and a firm belief in his team’s strength. But when he heard his team had barely scraped a win, that the opponents had run up a hundred points, and that none of his own players had won MVP, he was nearly dumbfounded. Still, curiosity got the better of him, and he went to see the legendary MVP who had almost single-handedly dismantled his team. That’s how he came to ask Lin Fei about his dreams.

“If you want to make it to the NBA, you have to make a name for yourself in China first. To do that, you have to get into the CBA. To get into the CBA, you need to shine in the college league. And to play in the college league, you need to join the school team.”

Lin Fei smiled, finding the coach’s logic oddly amusing—his way of persuasion was certainly unique.

The coach, having gauged Lin Fei’s feelings, fell silent for a while, then lit a cigarette. A deep sadness and disappointment crept over his face.

“You’re the first I’ve ever formally invited to join the school team. Because you’re the first non-professional player who could utterly dismantle my own guys. Do you know why, in my eyes, my players lost to you?”

“I wouldn’t say that. Your players are all very skilled, and besides, the sports department did win the game.”

“Nonsense!” the coach suddenly snapped, startling Lin Fei. What kind of coach was this? But it was clear the man had been holding back his frustration for a long time. He looked at Lin Fei and continued, “I don’t even need to watch to know where they failed! First, they underestimated you. I know those guys—ever since making the school team, they think they’re the best in the school. In reality, they’re nothing. Second, they lack cohesion. When I’m not around, everyone just plays for himself, nobody respects anyone else. I thought that with a bit of discipline, they’d have no trouble beating you, but instead, you crushed them. Damn it, that bunch of idiots!” The coach seemed to have been holding these words in for a long time. He went on, “Really, the main blame falls on me. People say a strong leader doesn’t have weak subordinates. It’s shameful—my team turned out like this. It truly breaks my heart. Ah!” He dragged out that last sigh, making it clear these were words from the bottom of his soul.

“But as people say, a master can only lead you to the threshold; it’s up to you to walk through. I’ve taught them all I can, but they never want to really train—soon as practice ends, off they go to play around, always looking for ways to slack off. Even the plays I set for them, they act like they have no brains, sometimes forgetting even the basics. Ah! It’s truly shameful!” He repeated his lament.

Lin Fei looked at the coach, surprised that such a good coach had ended up with such a disappointing team.

“It’s alright, Coach. I think they’ll improve eventually—they’re actually pretty hardworking,” Lin Fei said, swallowing the words he’d meant to say, and instead offering comfort. He couldn’t bear to see a coach speak so sincerely.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you play myself—how about we have a practice match? I have one rule for picking players for the school team: you must play me one-on-one. No matter your position, if you’ve got what it takes, I’ll make sure you get in. Even though you’re my invite, rules are rules.”

“Me, play you?” Lin Fei’s eyes widened. Play basketball with a man nearly fifty?

“My leg’s still not fully healed—maybe another time.”

“Heh, trying to fool me already? I’ve already heard your style—a game based on speed and shooting. Just make a few baskets over me, that’s all I need to see.”

“Really? Sounds like you’re determined to have me on the team.”

“First step to joining is the one-on-one. That’s the rule!”

“What if I disappoint you?”

“Impossible!” the coach said firmly.

Lin Fei chuckled, the coach grinned back—confidence shining on both their faces.

“One-on-one. Three-pointers count as two baskets, ten offensive chances each. Whoever scores more wins. After each attack, the ball switches hands.”

“Alright.” Lin Fei suddenly found his impression of the coach greatly improved. During the game against the sports department, he’d thought the coach’s absence meant he was arrogant, but meeting him now, he found the opposite to be true.

Lin Fei’s foot still ached a little, but he picked up the ball, prepared for a one-on-one. Staring at the forty-six-year-old coach, he thought the man didn’t look his age at all—not in his stride, his build, or his words. The coach gave Lin Fei plenty of space on defense, a typical strategy to guard against a drive to the basket—usually, charging in is the safest option in a one-on-one. Lin Fei dribbled twice, then rose up and fired. The ball went straight through the net—a clean three-pointer.

“My turn.” Coach Yang Li took the ball. Lin Fei braced himself, wincing a bit from his foot, but determined—this was his tryout for the team, and he couldn’t slack off. He pressed close behind the coach, but the man’s dribbling and strength left Lin Fei unable to defend. The coach powered into the paint and finished with a hook shot—a classic center’s move.

Lin Fei attacked again, this time stepping just behind the three-point line and firing from long range—another shot made.

The coach’s turn. He drove to the baseline, faked Lin Fei out, slid along the line, and dunked—playing like a small forward. Later, Lin Fei kept hitting jumpers, while the coach even used guard-like moves—Lin Fei could barely believe it.

“Coach, did you watch Magic Johnson play back in the day?”

“Haha, saw plenty of games!”

...

The score was 7:7. Lin Fei had sunk three three-pointers, while the coach shot seven-for-ten. It was a tie.

They both smiled lightly. Were they master and apprentice? Or friends?