Chapter Seventy-Two: The First Home Game

Once again, Sunday arrived, and the Qingshui No. 1 basketball team found themselves returning to the Lingnan City Sports Arena, a place so familiar it felt like home. By good fortune, Qingshui No. 1 had drawn the home court for the first game of the third round elimination.

As the players began their warm-up, the stands erupted with cheers. Wang Jinsong looked around and complained sourly, "Damn, everywhere you look there are banners for Lin Nan’s fans, and the next most are for Zhao Zhongshi. Even 95 has some supporters. Why aren’t there any for me?"

His words left everyone silent. Lin Nan was accustomed to having fans, Zhao Zhongshi rarely spoke, and 95 was rather shy. The rest had nothing to say. Zhu Bo and Luo Si exchanged a glance, their faces openly envious. But who could blame them? Lin Nan and Zhao Zhongshi dazzled on court, and 95 was tall. It was only natural they had fans, but Zhu Bo believed that if he performed well, he would have his own supporters one day.

Coach Gorilla sat by the sidelines. He had already briefed the team about today’s opponents during the journey. Qinhai High School, from a neighboring province’s city, was their challenger. Coach Gorilla had studied their previous games and their key players, finding their strength notably weaker than Lingnan High and lacking any particularly remarkable players.

Thus, he told his team to play freely, but warned them not to underestimate their opponents, even if their skill was inferior.

The game began. Qingshui No. 1’s starting lineup featured Lin Nan, Zhao Zhongshi, 95, Zhu Bo, and Luo Si. The opposing coach, seeing Qingshui No. 1 field their strongest roster from the first quarter, abandoned any remaining hope. Qingshui No. 1 was already viewed as the uncrowned kings of South China, with most believing their place in the top four was assured.

When Qinhai High’s coach saw their opponent, he could only sigh. Qingshui No. 1 now had two cores—besides the well-known Lin Nan, Zhao Zhongshi’s legendary hook shot was gaining fame.

Qinhai High’s players stood on the court, brimming with fighting spirit, but deep in their eyes was a clear lack of confidence. In contrast, every Qingshui No. 1 player wore a fearless expression. After all, it was their home court!

As expected, the moment the game started, the rhythm was firmly in Qingshui No. 1’s hands. Lin Nan and Zhao Zhongshi, both firing on all cylinders, overwhelmed their opponents’ defense. Whether it was Lin Nan’s deft jump shots and drives, or Zhao Zhongshi’s unstoppable hook, Qinhai High could only double-team them, yet still failed to prevent their scoring.

Lu Ming, the home court commentator for Lingnan City, unabashedly praised his home team: “From the start, Qingshui No. 1 has dominated both offensive and defensive ends! They’ve truly become a powerhouse!”

In the stands, Lingnan Park’s streetball king, Liuchuan Mu, had come with friends to watch Qingshui No. 1. Observing the game, he commented, “I have to admit, Qingshui No. 1’s strength is impressive! With Lin Nan and Zhao Zhongshi as reliable scorers, their defense is solid too. You can tell these two high schoolers have exceptional fundamentals. I’ve watched all their games closely and reached a startling conclusion.”

“Oh? What is it?” his friend asked.

“They hardly ever have an off game. Even their worst shooting percentage is very respectable. What does that mean? It means their daily training never stops, which is why their shooting touch stays so hot.” Liuchuan Mu marveled.

His friend nodded in agreement. “You’re right. These two are so strong, it’s hard to believe they’re high schoolers. And the progress of Qingshui No. 1’s 95, Luo Si, and Zhu Bo is obvious too.”

“I think 95 has grown taller these past months—if he strengthens his body more, he’ll dominate the paint.”

Indeed, the Qingshui No. 1 players noted that 95 had grown again, now nearly reaching 197 centimeters. Yet, everyone still called him 95—‘95 Supreme,’ it sounded so imposing!

“Absolutely!” Liuchuan Mu’s eyes brimmed with admiration for Qingshui No. 1, his hometown team. But watching these young players, he felt a profound envy and regret within.

Liuchuan Mu was now twenty-eight. Ever since he first watched Slam Dunk, he had fallen in love with basketball. For over a decade, he dared say his passion rivaled Kobe’s, his desire to win was just as fierce, and his training was no less intense.

But he was only 175 centimeters tall. There was a time when Liuchuan Mu considered giving up his beloved sport. Yet, when he heard the familiar background music, “Till the World Ends,” his heart trembled uncontrollably, and he knew he could never let go. From then on, he never thought of quitting again.

Liuchuan Mu knew height was his unchangeable disadvantage, so he resolved to excel in other ways—so much so that others would forget his height. If Liuchuan Feng had shot millions of balls, he would shoot tens of millions! If Spud Webb at 169 centimeters could be the NBA’s dunk king, he could become China’s dunk king!

Undoubtedly, through relentless training, Liuchuan Mu became renowned in China’s streetball circles, and even gained some global recognition. Yet, he always harbored a dream of playing professionally. Though he knew NBA was out of reach, he still hoped for the CBA.

Year after year, he entered the CBA draft, only to be overlooked again and again—because of his 175-centimeter height.

Until this year, when the “Master’s Net” burst onto the basketball scene, shaking the community. Liuchuan Mu realized perhaps his professional dream could take a different path—by becoming a mentor.

Watching Qingshui No. 1’s Zhao Zhongshi once again hook the ball into the basket right in his opponent’s face, Liuchuan Mu saw a reflection of his own years of shooting practice. He knew that this seemingly impossible hook shot was never about talent or luck, but the result of countless repetitions, creating muscle memory and touch.

It was a mysterious feeling, allowing Zhao Zhongshi to have an almost mechanical accuracy with his hook shot. And only sweat could cultivate this feeling.

Looking at the unassuming Zhao Zhongshi on court, Liuchuan Mu truly liked this high schooler who had poured unknown hours into basketball behind the scenes. But he knew he was not skilled with hook shots himself and would not mislead others. Besides, Zhao Zhongshi seemed to have mastered it on his own—no one could teach him more.

All that remained for him to improve was his physique and basketball IQ, and those were not things that could be taught.

Liuchuan Mu watched Qingshui No. 1’s unstoppable momentum and sighed: Youth is wonderful! And being tall is even better!

…

Unbeknownst to all, the game had reached the fourth quarter. Qingshui No. 1 led by more than thirty points. Qinhai High’s players struggled to keep up, knowing this was their final match in the national high school basketball league. Exhaustion weighed on them—feet felt leaden, hands bound by invisible weights.

Lin Nan and Zhao Zhongshi’s offense was simply too hard to defend. Even knowing it was futile, they couldn’t slack; they had to keep charging, desperately matching their opponents’ pace.

Suddenly, amid the overwhelming chants of “Go Qingshui!” from the stands, a lone shout of “Go Qinhai!” rang out, soon drowned by the crowd. The Qinhai players looked up and saw, amidst the sea of red, a few green dots in the corners—their fans, who had traveled hundreds of miles.

They were the pride of Qinhai City, carrying its hopes, with their own supporters in the crowd. The players, nearly spent, found a surge of strength. They did not want their youth to end in regret!

To the astonishment of the live audience and commentators, the supposedly exhausted Qinhai High mounted a small comeback, scoring three consecutive three-pointers for nine straight points!

“This is youth!” Liuchuan Mu smiled to his friend.

Yet, when Lin Nan regained possession, she wisely slowed the pace, waiting until the last three seconds of the twenty-four-second shot clock before shooting—and scoring.

She ruthlessly cut off Qinhai High’s momentum.

“Ah, Lin Nan is just too strong!” Liuchuan Mu remarked. “If Zhao Zhongshi is diligence, then Lin Nan is talent plus hard work; she stands out in physique, feel, and basketball IQ. Hard to believe she’s just a freshman!”

What amazed Liuchuan Mu even more was that Lin Nan was the very rookie who, a year ago, played in Lingnan Park and defeated his friend’s son. That friend’s son was now a freshman at Lingnan High, not even selected as a substitute for the fifteen-man roster.

Yet Lin Nan was now Qingshui No. 1’s absolute core, ranked second in the composite scoring chart, and a candidate for Nike’s endorsement.

Was the gap caused by Lin Nan’s overwhelming talent? No—more than anything, it was because Lin Nan worked harder than ninety-nine percent of high schoolers who loved basketball.

In the end, Qingshui No. 1 won their first game of the third round. The stands rang with endless cheers and applause. Lin Nan and her teammates wore smiles of victory, while Qinhai High’s players could only leave in silence.

Victory is revealed in the final moment of the game, but its process is filled with sweat long before.

A minute on stage requires ten years of practice off it. Qingshui No. 1’s players may not have trained for ten years, but already, they are a force among the nation’s high school teams.