Chapter Fifty-Five: The Final Battle of Houston

Yao Ming jumped for the opening tip and secured possession for the Rockets. Lowry directed the offense, their strategy unmistakable: as long as Yao was on the floor, they would feed him the ball. Yao’s advantage was simply too great—he was the best offensive center in the league, not just one of the best, but the very best.

Yao received the ball and went to work with his back to the basket against Claudson. Claudson was shorter by at least ten centimeters, though he matched Yao in bulk. Yao backed him down, moving steadily. Although Yao rarely dribbled in his post-ups—he was perhaps the worst ball-handler among big men—tonight, he seemed especially energized, taking Claudson one-on-one. In the past, Yao might have done this often, but after his injury, the coaching staff had emphasized getting him the ball in positions to score immediately. It made sense: the longer Yao held the ball, the harder it became to execute. But when he received it in a good spot and shot quickly, his success rate soared.

Yao’s movements appeared slow, even a bit clumsy, yet he bulldozed Claudson into the paint. Then, a quick spin move with a slight fadeaway—Yao’s signature, nearly impossible to stop in the league. That’s how he used to dismantle Dwight Howard, the three-time Defensive Player of the Year. Yao relied on this kind of refined technique. The ball swished through the net.

It was clear Houston had come out with a vengeance tonight.

Once again, Yao received the ball, spun directly to the rim for a layup. Claudson had no choice but to foul him—fortunately, the shot didn’t fall, or it would have been an and-one. But two free throws for Yao were a gift; he was one of the best free-throw shooting centers in the league. He calmly sank both.

The Warriors countered with a burst of speed, Yao trailing far behind. The Warriors excelled at quick movement and catch-and-shoot offense, and against the Yao-led Rockets, their speed advantage was even clearer. Yet, perhaps luck was not on their side; their opening shots all missed the mark. Meanwhile, Yao scored four straight baskets for the Rockets. Warriors players on the sideline watched anxiously—their tactics were solid, shooters got open looks, but the ball simply wouldn’t fall.

Lin Fei, sitting on the sideline, smiled knowingly. Why? Before the game, the media’s focus had been on the two Chinese players—a “China Derby.” One was the country’s most influential sports star, the other a rapidly rising supernova. Many predicted Lin Fei would eventually replace Yao as China’s most iconic player. But Lin Fei had always said he aspired to be like Yao, though he knew he’d never reach such heights. Yao represented a whole era for Chinese basketball, something Lin Fei could never emulate. Yao had led the national team to impressive results on the world stage, while Lin Fei didn’t even have the qualifications to join the national squad—he’d entered the basketball scene too late to meet the selection criteria. Yao had accompanied him through his entire youth; since childhood, he had always followed Yao’s games. Now, seeing Yao’s team face his own, and watching Yao play so brilliantly, Lin Fei wasn’t sure whether to feel joy or sorrow.

Four minutes into the game, the Warriors finally got on the board, with Jobs scoring a basket. By then, the score was already 12–2; the Warriors trailed by ten. Yao had scored 10 points in the opening moments for Houston. Fortunately, the coach called a timeout and subbed Yao out—these days, Yao was as fragile as glass and needed constant protection. His minutes were limited; he’d only be used when it truly mattered.

The Warriors subbed Lin Fei in for Curry, while the Rockets replaced Yao with Hayes. This was a signal: the Rockets were switching to a small-ball lineup. Don’t underestimate them—this group could easily win over forty-two games in a season, and many strong teams had fallen to this configuration.

The Warriors pushed the tempo. Lin Fei brought the ball up past half court, and Lowry tried to body him up, but it was no use. Lin Fei accelerated and blew right by him, giving Lowry no chance at contact. Charging straight for the basket, Martin rotated over to help, but it was futile. Lin Fei spun past Martin—beautiful footwork, acceleration, and spin move in succession. Only two remained under the basket: Hayes and Scola. Now, the choice: a floater or a layup? Lin Fei, seeing the easier path, slipped by Hayes on the side and soared toward the rim. Suddenly, someone blocked his path. He tried to stop, but his momentum was too great, and he collided directly into the defender, who collapsed theatrically. The whistle blew—offensive foul. It was suspicious; Lin Fei was fast, but he wasn’t that big, and he’d already tried to slow down, so the collision was hardly forceful. Did the defender really need to fall so dramatically? Lin Fei understood, even if the referee didn’t. The man was none other than “the Actor” Scola, whose flopping was as famous as Martin’s ability to draw fouls.

The Rockets attacked again. With Curry off the floor, Lowry now faced Lin Fei. With Yao out, the Rockets spread the scoring load. Lowry became their main offensive weapon. He brought up the ball, and Lin Fei watched him intently, as if trying to read every intention. Lowry faked a drive right, but Lin Fei noticed a subtle shift in his dribble—his hand moved, signaling a left-side attack. Sure enough, Lowry crossed over and drove left. Lin Fei stayed in front, but Lowry, known as “the Bulldog,” powered through—Lin Fei could do nothing about it. Lowry leaned in and finished a left-handed layup. Lin Fei kept up and committed a foul.

Lowry made both free throws. He was the Rockets’ barometer—when he played well, they thrived; when he struggled, the team faltered. That’s the mark of a true point guard.

If I can’t stop you, see if you can stop me! Lin Fei gritted his teeth, brought the ball up quickly, and, just past midcourt, pulled up for a running jumper. Lowry was still trailing behind. The ball arced high and spun fiercely backwards—a clear sign this shot was going in. You could always tell by Lin Fei’s expression after he released the ball; most players knew as soon as it left their hands. That’s why you often saw buzzer-beaters celebrated before the ball even dropped—they just knew it would go in!