Chapter Forty-Nine: Sixty Points! Who Still Remembers You Getting Dunked On?

The Miami Heat’s Big Three were enough to strike fear throughout the league—especially with LeBron James and Dwyane Wade, two of the NBA’s premier scorers, both known for their toughness. The trio, maligned by thousands, had joined forces for one purpose: a championship.

Before the game, unsettling news arrived: the Warriors’ star point guard, Stephen Curry, was injured in practice and would miss the game. This meant Coach Nelson had little choice but to start Lin Fei at point guard. Meanwhile, Heat coach Erik Spoelstra was likely to bench Mike Bibby at the one and let Wade handle the ball, defending Lin Fei directly. Across the league, no slow-footed point guard had ever escaped Lin Fei’s onslaught unscathed; the aging Bibby had no hope of containing him. The only sensible strategy was to let Wade take on Lin Fei.

At forward, LeBron posed a monumental problem—his freakish athleticism and superb skills were an insoluble riddle for the entire league. For the Warriors’ X, the only hope was to keep him from running wild. As for Wade, the versatile swingman, he’d be Kaines’s responsibility.

From a tactical standpoint, the Warriors’ run-and-gun offense showcased fast breaks to perfection. Their philosophy was “no defense is unbreakable, only speed is invincible.” On the court, it was a force that could conquer all. Yet the Heat were no strangers to fast-paced play—LeBron and Wade attacking in transition were nearly unstoppable, making this an eagerly anticipated matchup.

The game began, and Lin Fei made his first start of the season. Given his current form, he would have easily claimed Sixth Man of the Year, but now, thrust into the starting five, it was uncertain whether this was a blessing or a curse.

The Warriors opened with possession; Lin Fei dashed up the court as the Heat settled into their defense. He orchestrated the offense from midcourt, drifting to the three-point line as Kaines came over for a screen. Lin Fei navigated around, and as Wade and Bibby switched assignments, he seized the moment. With a burst of acceleration, he left Bibby behind and slashed to the basket. Soaring up with a single-handed scoop, he was met only by the roar of the wind—Miami’s center, Big Z, had no chance. But just as Lin Fei’s shot seemed certain to go in, a body came flying out of nowhere, slapping the ball against the glass—a thunderous block. There was no doubt: it was the King himself, LeBron James, delivering a spectacular chase-down block aimed right at Lin Fei.

Despite his shorter stature, Lin Fei was rarely blocked, thanks to his lightning-fast release. But today, facing LeBron, he received a rude awakening.

Now it was the Heat’s turn. Bibby crossed half-court and handed the ball to Wade, whose killer intent was palpable. Lin Fei, not known for his defense at the two, was an inviting target. Wade drove hard, Lin Fei was knocked back, and Wade executed a rapid step-back—so quick, so deceptive that Lin Fei was left flailing. Wade sank an easy jumper. Though Wade’s true weapon was his drive, even his jump shot was a sure thing against Lin Fei’s defense.

Being outmaneuvered like that was humiliating for Lin Fei. He never claimed to be the league’s fastest, but if he called himself second, no one dared claim first. Many boasted of being the top point guard or small forward—Deron Williams, Paul Pierce, Tracy McGrady—but when it came to speed, few dared challenge Lin Fei.

Now Lin Fei held the ball, facing Wade—bigger, stronger, bouncier, and nearly as quick, with a wealth of experience. On paper, Wade was the perfect defender for Lin Fei. Wade gave him a step, but Lin Fei knew it wasn’t enough space to pull up for a jumper. He drove right, but Wade matched him stride for stride. Rather than force his way into traffic, Lin Fei called for a high screen from Claudson, using it to shake free from Wade for a jumper. Yet his shot clanged off the rim—he was off his rhythm. LeBron grabbed the rebound and quickly kicked it ahead to Wade, who sprinted upcourt. Lin Fei raced back, but Wade’s speed was formidable. LeBron followed five steps behind, and by the time they reached the Warriors’ paint, it was a two-on-one. Wade bounced the ball behind him to LeBron. Lin Fei stopped abruptly, trying to guard LeBron, but it was too late. LeBron caught the ball, leapt from two meters out, soaring so high he nearly touched the clouds. Lin Fei tried to dodge, but LeBron’s legs almost brushed his head as he flew overhead. With a thunderous crash, LeBron slammed the ball through the hoop—a vicious poster dunk over Lin Fei, who was crushed under LeBron’s imposing frame. LeBron roared, pounded his chest—dominance incarnate. Lin Fei had been utterly humiliated, dunked on in the most unforgiving fashion.

The arena erupted in cheers; chants of “MVP” echoed for LeBron—the man who wore a thousand honors in one.

Lin Fei stood dazed—never before had he been so thoroughly posterized on the court. His pride had carried him this far, chin held high, but now someone had planted their flag atop his head.

Amid the chaos, one man was unnaturally calm—his composure radiated through the uproar, laced with anger and killing intent. Few could remain this calm in the face of rage; fewer still could stay cold-blooded when the bloodlust was palpable. Such a man was not to be underestimated.

With the ball in his hands, the world seemed to fall silent. Everyone—everyone—clear the way. Lin Fei’s fury was like a thunderhead: at first, a faint flicker, a distant rumble; but at its zenith, it would explode with fire and sound enough to split the night sky.

He accelerated—leaving even the wind behind. They called Wade “the Flash,” but now it was Lin Fei who needed space to dribble. They called LeBron “the King,” but Lin Fei demanded room to shoot.

Speed! He crossed half-court, rose, and fired—a deep three that ripped the net. He had become ice-cold, his face blank even after such a long-range bomb. Clearly, a routine basket could not quench the inferno of pride and anger burning in his heart.

On defense, his slender frame became a weapon, suddenly fierce. Any ball that came near, he would snatch for a steal, knowing that with his speed, each steal was as good as points for himself. Kaines’s stalwart defense helped too—Lin Fei recorded two solo steals, both ending with him slicing into the opponent’s paint for easy layups. Now, it seemed some force was driving him to run without fatigue.

“He’s lost it! He’s gone mad!” the commentators shouted. This kid had gone berserk. His teammates called out in amazement, but still he was preternaturally calm—ghostly speed, sniper-like shooting. No matter who stood before him, the result was the same: he kept sinking shot after shot.

The Flash? Wade was shaken loose three times in a row, watching Lin Fei nonchalantly drain jumpers. The usually composed Wade muttered a curse—America’s favorite profanity.

The King? LeBron volunteered to defend the rookie, confident that his strength would leave no room to maneuver, that his vertical leap would build an impenetrable wall. But it was all for nothing—when the wind-like rookie launched from the backcourt, LeBron could only grasp at his waistband.

Young Coach Spoelstra could only watch in astonishment as Lin Fei broke through again and again, as if the defense were paper, as if every long-range shot were an easy toss into the ocean. He had three of the league’s top players, but nothing could stop this kid.

They tried double-teams—an honor rarely afforded anyone, needing two of the league’s best to trap one man. Yet Lin Fei slipped passes through the narrowest gaps, and with his teammates’ help, floated in for delicate finishes.

My God! He has the ball again! My God! He’s shooting again! My God! Another basket! The Heat players wanted to cover their eyes; the carnage was too much. The fans, meanwhile, stared wide-eyed in disbelief.

This kid was scoring faster than the scoreboard could keep up.

One, two, twelve. He hit his twelfth three-pointer—the arena, dead silent a moment before, exploded. It was a miracle. He had tied the NBA single-game record for threes. The commentator’s voice trembled with emotion: “Oh! The wind-like kid! You’ve created a miracle! Twelve threes—my God, how long has it been? I’m a die-hard Heat fan, but I’m truly moved. Incredible! Now I understand how he made that three-minute, twenty-eight-second miracle. Tonight, it’s as if Jordan himself is on the court! Oh, my idol!” The commentator was babbling, words tumbling over themselves. The crowd was in a frenzy.

Lin Fei seemed to have scored all his points in one breath—he’d lost count of how many shots he’d taken.

The Warriors now led by over twenty, with eight minutes left. Nelson called a timeout. Even now, Lin Fei felt a restless energy surging within.

“Lin, do you know how many threes you’ve hit?” Kaines asked.

“I don’t know—seven or eight?”

“Oh my God, man! You’ve made twelve!” The whole team applauded, and Nelson too.

Nelson asked, “Do you want to make history? There are eight minutes left!”

“Eight minutes?” Lin Fei seemed to awake from a dream. “Twelve threes? I didn’t even realize.” Suddenly he felt exhausted—only now did he notice he’d played the entire forty minutes.

“Do you know how many points you have?”

“Forty?”

“Oh, look!” Kaines pointed at the scoreboard. The bright number read sixty.

“Sixty? Oh.” Lin Fei’s reaction was oddly calm. “At least I’ve witnessed LeBron’s freakish athleticism—he really did dunk over me.” It was as if that thought had weighed on him for a long time.

“Oh, man! LeBron dunked on you? Forget it! Who even remembers that now? Sixty points! Unbelievable! You’re the first guy I’ve ever seen score sixty with my own eyes!” Kaines was more excited than anyone.

So, everyone else had long forgotten the poster dunk? All they remembered were his twelve threes and sixty points. Suddenly, Lin Fei felt enlightened—so that’s how easy it was to erase humiliation.