Chapter Sixty-Three: The New Year's Eve Gala

With the ringing of the bell signaling the end of the third class that afternoon, the day’s torment finally came to an end, and the rare fourth period was granted for free activity. Lin Nan withdrew his gaze from the textbook, determined not to spare it another glance.

Unlike some classmates, who seemed restless and impatient, a year of persistent training had honed not only Lin Nan’s body but also his will. Of course, his well-tempered composure only ever faltered in the presence of Si Dong.

No sooner had the class ended than Lin Nan saw Si Dong pull a book out of his desk drawer and immerse himself in it. Just as Lin Nan was pondering what to do next, a classmate called out to him.

“Hey, superstar, wanna play some basketball?”

Turning around, Lin Nan saw a few boys from his class holding a basketball and looking at him expectantly.

“Sure,” Lin Nan replied without hesitation.

He tiptoed out, careful not to disturb Si Dong, who was absorbed in his reading. From past experience, Lin Nan knew that Si Dong, when reading, was like someone possessed—utterly oblivious to his surroundings.

What Lin Nan didn’t realize was that as he walked out, Si Dong stole a glance at him from the corner of his eye.

On the way to the basketball court, it struck Lin Nan that he had never played basketball with the boys in his class. He always trained with the team whenever he had time; even during PE, he practiced alone. The coach, nicknamed Gorilla, had already arranged with the other PE teachers that the basketball team didn’t need to report for roll call or participate in group activities.

Today, though, was a first.

But when they arrived at the court, Lin Nan and his classmates found it packed, not a single empty court to be found. Despite most classes preparing for the New Year’s Eve party that night, students at the school seized any free moment to play basketball.

Especially since the Qingshui No. 1 High basketball team had been achieving increasingly impressive results in the league, the number of boys playing basketball was growing rapidly. Some genuinely loved the sport, others joined for the fun, and some simply wanted to improve their skills enough to join the team—so they could eat free beef in the cafeteria!

Lin Nan had no idea there were so many motivations. He was contemplating whether to take his classmates to the basketball team’s practice court, which wasn’t crowded, but he saw a few team members shooting there. He worried the gap in skill between his classmates and the team would ruin the experience.

He was torn, but then a second-year team member spotted Lin Nan and his group searching for a place to play. After a few words with his own classmates, he jogged over to Lin Nan.

“Lin Nan, you guys can use our court. We just finished PE and are about to leave.”

“Thanks,” Lin Nan replied graciously. “I’ll treat you to a drink next time.”

“No big deal,” the other laughed.

“Superstars always know people everywhere,” Lin Nan’s classmates joked.

Shopping mall fans treated him to lunch, teammates cleared a court for him in the afternoon—wherever he went, he was respected.

Normally, their last period was PE, and they would play basketball nonstop, skipping meals and only returning to the classroom when lessons resumed. Everyone was full of energy.

But seeing Lin Nan and his classmates without a court, they were happy to lend a hand. When you’re strong, people are willing to do you a favor.

When Lin Nan and his group walked over, the second-year students were packing up and heading to the cafeteria. Some greeted Lin Nan, hoping to get acquainted—they’d all seen his heroic performance on the court. His skill was admirable.

Lin Nan greeted each one in turn. He counted: eight of them, six from his own group—fourteen in total.

A bit crowded, which explained why they hadn’t suggested playing together. Perhaps they’d noticed Lin Nan’s classmates looked rather frail and guessed they weren’t much for basketball. Lin Nan was too strong, his classmates too weak—it wouldn’t be much fun.

Sure enough, after the others left, Lin Nan and his classmates played three-on-three. After a few rounds, Lin Nan realized none of his classmates knew how to play. No strength, no technique, no ideas—it seemed their interest was sudden and fleeting.

“Well, I’ll just play along for their sake,” Lin Nan thought. He toned down his moves, careful not to injure anyone.

But as they played, more and more people gathered around their court. Some had seen Lin Nan’s skills online and wanted to witness them up close; others had heard tales but never seen him in action, curious if he was as formidable as the rumors claimed.

Watching Lin Nan, some skeptics grew restless. He didn’t seem that impressive—no dazzling moves. They quickly formed a three-man team and proposed keeping score and rotating teams.

Lin Nan happily accepted the challenge.

His classmates worried, “We don’t know how to play—how can we win?”

Lin Nan smiled confidently. “Don’t worry, you have me.”

The campus basketball rules at Qingshui No. 1 High were usually four points per half-court game.

Soon, Lin Nan’s group knocked out the other class group. Then the challengers stepped up.

At first, Lin Nan tried to assist his teammates, giving them scoring opportunities. But after one pass, he realized he’d overestimated them. Their shooting form was poor and the ball arced bizarrely, not even touching the rim.

The opponents scored first.

Annoyed, Lin Nan remembered he was a professional player now, while everyone else was amateur.

So he got serious.

He soared above the crowd, grabbing a defensive rebound, then launched a relentless offensive—rapid drives to the basket, difficult spinning jump shots, grabbing his own rebounds—from point guard to center.

Since the rule was the winning team kept possession, Lin Nan single-handedly scored four straight points, knocking out the challengers.

The crowd finally saw that Lin Nan, the freshman, was no mere legend.

Someone laughed, “I knew this would happen. How could the second-ranked player online be a fake?”

But disbelief lingered, and new teams kept stepping up to challenge him. Lin Nan never refused; his stamina was extraordinary, and these round-robin matches posed no problem.

They played until nightfall, until his two teammates—who mostly just inbounded the ball—were exhausted, and everyone finally dispersed.

That day, everyone at the court learned that Lin Nan, the freshman, was a monster—one against two, beating a dozen teams without breaking a sweat.

He was just too damn strong.

Lin Nan’s classmates finally understood why the manager at the mall was a fan and why his teammates showed him so much respect.

Because he was truly exceptional.

Afterward, Lin Nan quickly slipped on his cotton jacket over his sweat-soaked hoodie, hurried to the dormitory for a soothing hot shower, changed into clean clothes, and headed to the cafeteria for dinner.

The basketball team’s exclusive window in the cafeteria operated on a different schedule, staying open until the evening lessons at seven, since the team sometimes trained late.

When Lin Nan finished his meal and returned to the classroom, he found it festooned with decorations. Colorful streamers crisscrossed overhead, balloons of every hue hung everywhere, the desks and chairs had been rearranged to create a vast open space in the center.

The computer on the podium played Jay Chou’s “Common Jasmine.”

“Sparrows outside the window are chirping on the wires,”

“You said this line feels like summer,”

...

The whole classroom radiated a youthful, festive energy.

High school students poured their hearts into anything unrelated to study, and these moments would become their most cherished memories.

Lin Nan found a seat among the boys at the back; the girls all sat near the podium. The division was clear.

After a while, all the students arrived, the door was closed, curtains drawn, and the class New Year’s Eve party officially began.

The party was hosted by the class president, Zhang Mengfan, without any drawn-out speeches or formalities, and divided into two segments: performances and games.

For performances, anyone wishing to participate had already signed up with Zhang Mengfan and would perform in order.

The games included passing the flower, truth or dare, and musical chairs.

Soon, Lin Nan saw his guitar-playing roommate settle in the middle of the classroom, cradling his instrument, tilting his head at a self-assumed dashing angle.

“Here’s Jay Chou’s ‘Simple Love’ for everyone,” he announced with a gentle, slightly refined voice.

“I can’t say why, but I’ve become so proactive,”

“If you love someone, everything is worth doing,”

...

“I just want to hold your hand and never let go,”

“Can love stay forever pure and never sad?”

...

“I want a simple love,”

...

As the first performance, Lin Nan’s guitar-playing roommate did remarkably well, infusing the guitar’s cheerful melody and his youthful voice with all the innocence of young love.

When the song ended, Lin Nan was the first to clap; the other boys joined in, some pounding on their desks, as if trying to release the pent-up stress of high school in this rare moment of freedom.

His roommate smiled, finally seeing the fruits of months of practice.

No one noticed the sly glances he cast at a girl sitting among the others opposite him, wondering if she realized the song was meant for her.

Another fruitless crush.

In the past, guitar and song might have won the affections of many girls, but now Lin Nan was here.

Almost every girl in the class had quietly fallen for this sunny, confident, and supremely talented basketball player.