Chapter Thirty: Confidence Stems from Strength

Time seemed to flutter like petals in the sky, light and elusive, slipping away unnoticed.
In the classroom, Lin Nan continued his daily study, poring over his textbooks bit by bit. Sometimes he would furrow his brow, as if faced with something he couldn't understand, other times a faint smile would appear, as though he'd discovered something amusing.
The students at the back of the classroom each had their own pursuits. Some, repentant, began flipping through their textbooks, listening to the teacher's lecture. Though the high school entrance exam was approaching, they still wanted to make one last effort.
Others held materials of unknown origin, sneaking glances at their contents under their desks, learning things that interested them far more than schoolwork.
Yet, regardless of their activities, no one was daydreaming, nor was anyone asleep. Everyone was wholly absorbed in their tasks.
On the podium, Mei Xiabing looked out over this scene with deep satisfaction.
In all his years of teaching, he had never witnessed such a moment—every student was "serious."
He knew well that some of the weaker students at the back were not actually studying, but were instead engrossed in their own affairs.
Still, he was happy and made no attempt to intervene, because he understood that those children were not wasting their youth. Perhaps what they were doing now was, to them, second only in importance to their studies.
Indeed, if they persisted from this moment onward, even if they did not excel academically, their futures would not be empty; on the contrary, they could still lead brilliant lives.
Time is the truest thing in the world. As long as you sincerely devote yourself to it, it will surely show you that your efforts are rewarded.
Before he knew it, Saturday had arrived again.
At four in the afternoon, after his tutoring session at Old Mei's house, Lin Nan headed straight for the basketball court.
He was exhilarated, for today his father would finally teach him how to score and dunk.
Lin Lang stood at the free-throw line, holding the ball, eyeing the hoop, his hands forming a textbook shooting stance.
The ball left his hands, and with a crisp swish, sailed through the net. Lin Nan, standing under the basket, caught the descending ball smoothly, and Lin Lang's voice echoed.
"There are three ways to score in basketball: shooting, layups, and dunks. Shooting is the simplest and most common method. Today, I'll teach you how to train your shot.
As the name suggests, shooting means putting the ball into the hoop with your hands. So how can you ensure accuracy?
First, form matters. For example, Kobe's shooting form is graceful and picturesque, while Iverson's is less orthodox but quick.
Why such differences? Because the best shooting form is the one that suits you. Iverson's height dictated his style, which is why he often chose to break through."
Lin Lang watched his son's delighted expression at the mention of Iverson, which quickly turned to a frown.
Yes, Iverson's height was a handicap, but it was also part of his charm, wasn't it?
Lin Lang continued, "I won't teach you a specific shooting form; I can only tell you that the muscles in your fingertips are the softest and most sensitive part of your hand. That's why I asked you, whenever you train dribbling, to keep your palms clean and your ten fingers dirty.
Shooting is the same. Use your fingertip muscles to fine-tune the ball at the last moment, greatly increasing your accuracy.
So today's task is to make a thousand shots from the free-throw line, and in the process, discover the form that suits you best."
Lin Nan pondered his father's words.
What would his ideal shooting form be? Graceful and stylish like Kobe or McGrady? Or agile and swift like "The Answer"?
He didn't dwell on it. Results come from practice. He picked up the ball and walked to the free-throw line.
He bent his waist slightly, rose on his toes, lifted upward, and at the peak, released the ball.
Swish—the ball sank into the net.
Lin Lang, under the basket, caught the ball and tossed it back, counting, "One."

At first, Lin Nan's accuracy was decent; out of ten shots, four or five went in, most cleanly, a few after bouncing.
After Lin Lang counted "Fifty," Lin Nan's accuracy began to drop.
Perhaps due to fatigue, or maybe adjusting his form, only two or three out of ten shots found the net.
But Lin Nan never paused to rest, knowing that weariness helps build muscle memory, improving accuracy in the long run.
He kept receiving the ball and shooting, pausing only occasionally to adjust his form.
Lin Lang counted slowly: one hundred, two hundred, three hundred...
The sky gradually darkened, until not a trace of red remained on the horizon. Fortunately, a street lamp beside the court shone in the darkness, a beacon for those who persevered.
Lin Nan's accuracy fluctuated, like a function stretching infinitely to the right, its amplitude shrinking until it stabilized.
And his shooting form settled into its own rhythm as well.
When his arms grew so weary he could barely grasp the ball, a surge of energy seemed to well up from nowhere, like an oasis in the desert, refreshing him anew.
His free-throw accuracy steadily improved, and nearly every shot was a clean swish.
"Nine hundred!"
With only a hundred shots left, Lin Lang said, "Nan Nan, try to make the ball graze the rim before going in—front, back, left, right—experiment with your fingertips."
Lin Nan immediately decided to try it.
First, he aimed for the front rim, the simplest.
The ball left his hands—bang! It struck the front iron and bounced away.
Too much force, it seemed.
Unfazed, he tried again.
Bang—the ball hit the back iron, bounced, and then dropped in.
Though it counted, Lin Nan wasn't satisfied. That wasn't how he'd envisioned it.
Taking the ball again, he focused on controlling his fingertips, adding a little more power.
Finally—a faint scrape—the ball grazed the front of the rim and fell through. It sounded much like a swish, but Lin Nan distinctly heard that faint "scrape."
A smile broke through the sweat on his face.
He grabbed the ball again, determined this time to graze the back rim.
It was much harder.
He concentrated all his effort in his fingertips, carefully judging his strength, and with slightly less force than before, launched the ball.
Scrape—the ball miraculously brushed the back rim and fell in.
He was overjoyed.
He continued, trying to make the ball graze all sides of the rim before dropping in.
Though he failed more often than not, the joy of scoring exactly as he'd intended was indescribable.
Even after Lin Lang called out "One thousand," Lin Nan remained immersed in his shooting, playing to his heart's content.

Only when the streetlights by the court went out did Lin Nan, reluctant yet satisfied, follow Lin Lang home.
It was wise not to eat too much at night, so Lin Lang boiled two eggs and poured a glass of milk for Lin Nan.
Then he brought out the specially ordered wooden tub, filled it with hot water and Chinese herbs, inviting Lin Nan to soak his tired body, especially his arms, wrists, and fingers.
After eating and soaking, Lin Nan slept soundly, dreaming of standing at the free-throw line, shooting.
His form was beautiful, his movements graceful and effortless. He claimed the ball would spin three times before entering the net, never two, his skill reaching the peak of perfection.
Throughout the following week, Lin Nan shot three hundred baskets a day, increasing to one thousand on weekends, until he found the shooting form that suited him best.
On another Sunday afternoon, Lin Nan stood once more on the court, listening to his father's guidance.
Lin Lang watched his son's rapid progress with pride. Every training goal he'd set, Lin Nan exceeded on his own initiative, a testament to his love and dedication for basketball.
Today, Lin Lang would teach his son the most important lesson on the court.
He spoke slowly, "These past days, you've been practicing uncontested shooting. But in games, free throws are rare. Most of the time, you'll face opponents trying to disrupt or block you. So, how can you maintain accuracy under pressure?"
Lin Lang saw his son's eager eyes and delivered an answer both unexpected and self-evident.
"Confidence!"
He declared, "Only confidence is your trump card on the basketball court, and confidence comes from skill!
Why do you sometimes see in five-on-five games the offense passing the ball around the perimeter, never breaking through, never shooting, each player deferentially handing the ball to a teammate?
Why don't they shoot themselves?
Because they lack confidence. They think they can't make the shot under pressure, fear being blocked, believe they can't shake free of their defender to create space.
Why are they not confident?
Because they lack skill, and they know it.
So they choose to defer, to pass the ball."
Lin Lang gazed at Lin Nan, who was staring at the ball in his hands, and called out, "Do you want to always be confident?"
Lin Nan nodded.
"Then keep training, use unrivaled skill to forge fearless confidence!"
Lin Lang said with authority.
"Now, let me teach you the jump shot."
"The shooter holds the ball with both hands and jumps, releasing the ball at the peak or during the descent, projecting it at a forty-five degree angle so it arcs toward the hoop. The purpose of the jump shot is to evade defenders; it's especially effective against players of similar height or when uncontested."
As he spoke, Lin Lang demonstrated.
After the ball went in, he continued, "There are many types of jump shots—pull-up jumpers, stop-and-pop, fadeaways..."