Chapter Eighty-Eight: The Soulless Warrior

It is impossible to count how many miracles Lin Fei has already created: ten three-pointers in a single quarter, thirty-five points in a quarter, fourteen threes in one game, six threes per game on average, four hundred ninety-six threes made in a season, and a three-point percentage unlike anything the league had ever seen. Judging from this one season alone, he was unquestionably the finest shooter in the league; even a veteran like Ray Allen would have had to yield the stage.

A sixty-point game. Fifty-five points in the final regular-season contest. He edged out Durant by a single point to win the scoring title, finishing with nearly thirty points per game. And all of that came in only his second season.

He came off the bench in sixty-one games and still averaged twenty-eight points a night, a rarity in the history of the game.

This season, Lin Fei hit three game-winners and two clutch buzzer-beaters, making him the undisputed king of the closing shot. His success rate on critical possessions was close to seventy percent.

All of it would be etched into the history of the NBA.

His field-goal percentage, three-point percentage, and free-throw percentage combined to reach an all-time high of 203 percent. He was absolutely entitled to look down upon every great player who had come before him.

He was leading the league into a new era of rapid-fire offense; he showed people what a true full-court attacking player looked like; he revealed the highest level of scoring to the world.

In the West, the standings ran as follows: the Mavericks, Lakers, Spurs, Warriors, Thunder, Grizzlies, Hornets, and Rockets.

The Warriors were set to face the Thunder.

Lin Fei's injury plunged the Warriors straight into a crisis of confidence. Before, when he was absent, the team could still rely on its system and win games with ease. But ever since Lin Fei had begun to take control of the team, the Warriors had grown, in no small way, dependent on him. Losing the man who directed everything on the floor all at once was a severe blow.

Lin Fei insisted on playing, but management forbade it.

In the first game without him, the Warriors put Curry back into the starting lineup, returning to the original starting five from earlier in the season.

For the Thunder, Lin Fei's absence had an enormous psychological impact. From the opening tip, Westbrook and Durant attacked in turn, and just like in the final regular-season game, the Warriors' defense looked like nothing more than a sieve. Even with defensive specialists like Kaines, they still could not contain the Thunder's offense.

And yet the Warriors were not as helpless as expected. Without Lin Fei, they reawakened the once-dormant wing pairing of Jobs and Ax. One of them was a 20-and-10 caliber player, the other a 16-5-5 type of contributor. Behind their strong play, the Warriors managed to stay neck and neck with the Thunder.

This had to be credited to Nielsen's command. He knew exactly how to adjust the Warriors' offense into its best possible state.

The Thunder were impatient in this game. They had not expected the Warriors' offense to remain so sharp without Lin Fei. The Warriors' players, meanwhile, felt as though something were missing on the court, something intangible, some vital feeling.

Even when the game reached the final three minutes, the score was still tied at 100-100. It was an official timeout.

On the big screen, the arena began replaying the series of miracles the Warriors had created this season. In truth, it was mostly Lin Fei's personal showcase. The clips looped again and again, and many Golden State fans seemed to miss even more deeply the kid with the speed of the wind and a sniper's touch, the kid who swallowed his own teeth and blood and kept going.

With three minutes left, the Warriors had the ball. Curry was handling it and, from the top of the arc, fed Claudson on the low block. But after receiving the pass, Claudson sent it right back to Curry. Facing the Thunder's defense, Curry could only force up a shot under pressure, and it missed.

Nielsen on the sideline truly did not know whether to laugh or cry.

Why? Because Claudson had grown used to that style of play. Whenever he caught the ball with a defender on him, his instinct was to return it to the man who had passed it to him. When Lin Fei had been on the floor, he could always turn those catches into made shots. But now it was Curry out there. Curry's three-point shooting was excellent by league standards, but he did not have Lin Fei's ability to receive a return pass and instantly transform it into a shot.

The Warriors missed.

Durant seized the opportunity and calmly rose for a jumper, and it went in.

Now the Warriors were trailing. On offense, it was still Curry bringing the ball up, but the players seemed unable to find their own place. Wherever they stood, it felt wrong, as if there were no truly suitable position on the floor. Even though Nielsen had already laid out the tactics, the players still felt that something was missing. Ax tried to power his way inside, but his attempt would not fall. Westbrook then ripped down the rebound and sparked the break himself, drawing a foul on Curry and sinking both free throws.

A four-point lead.

Only then did Nielsen finally understand that Lin Fei was truly a poison, like opium. When Lin Fei was on this team, even if his playmaking was only average, everyone on the court knew exactly what to do. The Warriors were like people smoking opium: endlessly exhilarated, almost intoxicated.

But once this team had grown accustomed to leaning on that kid in the final moments, then suddenly lost him, they no longer knew how to play. It was like a person abruptly cut off from a drug, left in unbearable agony.

The clutch shot, the clutch shot—Nielsen did not even know how to arrange things anymore.

The consequences were severe.

Even after fighting tooth and nail for home-court advantage in the final game of the regular season, they lost it in the very first playoff game. And Lin Fei was still out.

Was it worth it?

Lin Fei, recuperating and already aware of the result, remained calm.

He put on his shoes, slipped into his pajamas, and came to the court, gazing at the patch of world that belonged to him.