Chapter Seven: This Is Basketball!

Lin Lang and the onlookers at the side all laughed and offered some applause, though it was far less enthusiastic than when the boy wearing number 24 had scored. Yet no one booed, for the court was not a place for sulking or showing off; only by playing to one’s strengths could victory be achieved in the end.

All eyes turned to see how the match would proceed.

Ball possession returned to the boy in jersey 24. He dribbled with measured steps, changing direction, feinting a drive, while Lin Nan shadowed him closely with small, quick steps. It seemed like a solid defense, but in truth, Lin Nan already felt himself struggling to keep up.

That was the essence of rhythm—so crucial in basketball. Once you drew your opponent into your own tempo, scoring became only a matter of time.

As expected, the boy saw his moment. With a convincing feint that shifted Lin Nan’s balance, he executed a crisp step-back. The swish of the net followed—a clean shot. The crowd erupted in applause again, delighted by the fluid offense and effortless basket, praising the young player.

Lin Lang felt a sense of foreboding. If the boy continued to control the rhythm, Lin Nan’s defeat was inevitable.

Lin Nan, regaining possession, sensed the same problem. He didn’t quite understand what “rhythm” was, but the feeling of being on the back foot had deeply unsettled him.

He had only one means of attack: backing down his opponent in the post. Once more, he muscled his way under the basket, spun, feinted, spun again, and dropped in another shot.

2:2—the score was tied again.

The onlookers remained silent, watching the match with quiet attention.

The boy took the ball, changed direction, spun, stepped back, performed the “Buddha’s Worship”—a dazzling play—leaving Lin Nan off-balance. With an easy layup off the glass, he scored.

Lin Nan, ball in hand, fought his way inside, feinted, feinted again. The boy’s defense was relentless, but Lin Nan seized a fleeting opening, leapt, and aimed for the glass. The ball hit the rim, bounced out, and missed.

Now it was 2:3, with the boy back in possession.

Lin Nan rested his hands on his knees, sweat soaking through his clothes. Exhaustion was his most immediate sensation, the reason his last shot had lacked power. Ever since he’d transferred to the county school, his stamina had declined. Back in town, he’d run from morning till night—this little exertion would have been nothing.

Summoning his remaining energy, Lin Nan assumed a defensive stance.

The boy, recognizing Lin Nan’s fatigue, decided to end the game quickly.

He made a wide crossover, suddenly accelerated, gripped the ball with both hands, and took three steps toward the hoop. As he neared the basket, he launched himself off his left leg, switched to his right hand in midair, and at the apex, gently tipped the ball into the hoop.

All Lin Nan could do was watch the boy’s lithe figure slip past, unable even to contest the shot.

This was complete domination in both rhythm and speed.

The score moved to 2:4. Lin Nan’s possession.

Still, he backed down toward the basket. Even now, he felt it took all his strength; the boy, though not physically imposing, pressed him hard. Lin Nan knew it was a matter of stamina but could do nothing about it.

With difficulty, he worked his way into the paint, pivoted, feinted several jump shots until the boy lost position, then seized an opening and banked it in.

3:4.

The ball returned to the boy.

Was this defeat?

Lin Nan forced himself into a defensive stance, watching the boy who still dribbled with energy. He knew it would be hard to stop this play.

The boy kept crossing over, spinning, employing dazzling footwork—each move draining Lin Nan’s dwindling stamina. To ensure a decisive finish, the boy remained patient and meticulous.

Lin Nan’s legs burned, his breath came in gasps, but he pressed on with sheer grit.

At last, the boy made his move—a large crossover, then a three-step layup. He intended to close the game with a sure basket.

Was it over?

As Lin Nan saw the boy glide past him like the wind, he refused to give in. No! I can’t lose like this!

He pushed his exhausted legs to follow close behind.

Bending his knees, arching his back, tightening his core, thrusting his hips, and pressing down with both hands for leverage, he poured every last drop of strength into his next action.

As the boy leapt and soared towards the basket, Lin Nan jumped up behind him.

The crowd saw a desperate figure launch himself off the ground.

A thunderous slap echoed.

With a preternatural block, Lin Nan smashed the ball against the backboard, snatching it from the boy’s hand.

“Backboard block!” a young man at the sideline shouted in excitement.

A block in basketball was always thrilling, but a block off the backboard was electrifying. For a thirteen-year-old to pull one off left the spectators at a loss for words.

This was basketball—the magic of the sport! Until the final second, you never knew what might happen.

While the crowd was still abuzz, they noticed Lin Nan, who had just pulled off that miraculous block, lying in agony on the ground.

Lin Lang rushed over, others gathering around. Seeing the odd angle of Lin Nan’s thigh, they immediately recognized a cramp.

Lin Lang quickly had Lin Nan lie down, then pressed his palm against Lin Nan’s foot, pushing hard to relieve the cramp. The pain on Lin Nan’s face slowly eased.

Lin Lang turned to the boy’s father. “How about we continue next time? Let’s count this as our loss.”

The young man, seeing Lin Nan’s state, knew the match couldn’t go on. But not wanting a hollow victory, he replied, “No, as long as the game’s not over, nobody knows the outcome. Let’s call it a draw and play again next time!”

Saying this, the young man went to his son, worried he might be shaken by the humiliating block. But the boy’s face showed only stubborn determination—no sign of despair. He had underestimated his opponent this time. On the court, wins and losses, brilliant plays and moments of shame, were all part of the game. He would return next time.

Seeing this, Lin Lang was delighted. It seemed Lin Nan had found a worthy rival.

Life is like a play—what meaning is there without a worthy opponent?

Lin Lang grinned at Lin Nan, still lying on the ground. “That’s what you get for never exercising—cramped up, didn’t you? Look at that boy, he’s fine.”

Lin Nan, hearing his father’s teasing, grew serious and replied resolutely, “Dad, next time I’ll beat him!”

The onlookers called out to Lin Lang, telling him to make sure the rematch took place at the same spot—they wanted to see with their own eyes who would win.

The crowd gradually dispersed. After a brief conversation between the two fathers and sons, they too parted ways.

It was only then Lin Lang learned the young man’s name was Li Jiang, and the boy was Li Feng.

Night fell, but the lights of Lingnan City still shone brightly, with pedestrians and cars moving ceaselessly through the streets.

Riding through the city, Lin Nan gazed at the high-rises outside, his mind filled with nothing but basketball. He exclaimed to Lin Lang, “Dad, there’s still one more day of vacation—teach me to play basketball tomorrow! I think you’re really good; if you teach me, I’ll definitely beat Li Feng next time!”

Meanwhile, Li Jiang and Li Feng were walking home. Li Feng, dribbling a ball between his legs as he walked, showed his dedication—even on the way home, he practiced, unwilling to accept his earlier defeat.

Li Jiang, watching his son and speaking on the phone, said, “Chuan Mu, today Li Feng got blocked off the backboard in a one-on-one. The other boy was about his age, about 175 centimeters, and a basketball newbie at that! Haha, Li Feng is really upset now!”

“Really? When did Lingnan Park get a kid that talented? How come I’ve never heard of him?” came a clear voice from the other end.

Li Feng sighed and continued, “It’s a long story. They didn’t settle it today, agreed to a rematch next time. You need to teach Li Feng a few tricks in the meantime!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give Li Feng special training tomorrow—he’ll be unbeatable in the next match!”

“Great, with you on board, I’m relieved. Next time, let’s grab a drink together!”

...

At Lingnan Gourmet City, in a packed hot pot restaurant, seven or eight plates of beef lay on the table, with two more simmering in the pot.

Lin Nan dipped slice after slice into the sauce, eating heartily. Lin Lang kept piling more beef into Lin Nan’s bowl, urging, “Eat more, son. Beef gives you strength and helps you grow tall—it’s good for basketball.”

Lin Nan ate with all his might, stopping only when he was truly full. After drinking a cup of warm water from Lin Lang, he let out a satisfied burp and leaned back contentedly.

By the time they returned home, it was past ten o’clock.

Ye Xinlan, seeing the father and son so worn out, scolded, “Lin Lang, how could you keep our son out so late? There’s only one day of vacation left, and you still haven’t helped him settle down? How will he focus on his studies when school starts?”

It had only been two days, but Lin Lang already saw his wife’s “true nature” emerge. He laughed at himself—hadn’t he been just the same in his past life?

With that thought, he told Lin Nan to shower and sleep, then pulled Ye Xinlan aside, smiling, “Don’t worry. From now on, I’ll be in charge of Lin Nan’s studies. I guarantee he’ll make it into the top two hundred in the next exam—leave it all to me.”

Lin Nan, on his way to the bathroom, nearly cramped up again at hearing this. He hurried inside, closed the door, and thought, Where does Dad get this confidence? Top two hundred? I’m over four hundredth right now!

Ye Xinlan, stunned for a moment, regained her composure and laughed, “You and your big talk—top two hundred? Dream on!”

Lin Lang didn’t argue, but grew serious as he faced his wife. “Would I ever harm our son? Just give him to me for one month. If he doesn’t hit that target, you can teach him however you want, and I’ll fully support you.”

At this, Ye Xinlan fell silent. Well, Lin Lang had been acting strange these past two days—she might as well trust him this once. If Lin Nan could really make the top two hundred, that would be wonderful.