Chapter Ten: Restlessness

He Xinghui: Height 1.97 meters, wingspan 2.10 meters, weight 80 kilograms.
Talent: Strength D, Speed C, Jumping C.
Shooting: Three-point D, Mid-range D, Attacking the Rim D.
Skills: Ball Handling D, Passing D, Stealing D.
Defense: On-ball B, Help Defense D.
Remaining Rage Points: 340.
Comprehensive Evaluation: A rotation player in the NACC, a certified benchwarmer in the NBA, suitable for guarding the opponent’s fringe scorers during garbage time.
Kind Reminder: Don’t get carried away by scoring in two games, or you’ll make a fool of yourself.
Compared to the day before yesterday, his on-ball defense improved by two grades, but overall, he was still pretty bad.

He Xinghui wasn’t in a hurry, though. After all, a season is very long, with countless games. As long as he could earn Rage Points every match, eventually, he’d become someone who surpassed Jordan.

After the game with the Heat, the Clippers had two days off, so they weren’t in a rush to return to Los Angeles. He Xinghui and Chris hung out in their room, chatting about the game, when Cassell showed up and beckoned Chris out for some fun.

“Cassell, it’s so late—what are you guys going out for?” He Xinghui asked, feigning innocence while he actually knew perfectly well. Miami was a city built for enjoyment—beaches by day, nightclubs by night, both prime scenes for picking up girls. He Xinghui was eager to experience it himself.

At nineteen, the genetic drive in a young man’s body relentlessly urges him to sow his wild oats. At this age, a man spends two-thirds of his time thinking about women. He was no exception. Though he had his eyes set on Scarlett and Taylor as the main course, he didn’t mind having a little appetizer to stave off his hunger.

“Heh, we’re off to do what grown-ups do. As for you, there are cartoons on the hotel TV,” Cassell joked.

Florida law says you have to be twenty-two to get into nightclubs—Cassell had no intention of dragging along the underage He Xinghui.

Feeling unwanted, He Xinghui was annoyed. He darted a surprised look at Cassell, then glanced at Chris, feigning sudden understanding with an exaggerated gesture, “I get it, I get it. Go ahead, I won’t bother you.”

“Shit, it’s not what you think! We’re just going to a nightclub, a strip club!” Chris hurried to explain—being mistaken for a gay man was not amusing.

“Alright, alright, I understand. I’ll keep your secret. I’m very tight-lipped,” He Xinghui said.

A guy who averages over twenty trash-talk lines per game claiming to be tight-lipped? Chris didn’t believe a word.

The more He Xinghui insisted, the more flustered Chris became, nearly giving up on the night’s plan, until Cassell dragged him away. Echoes of Chris’s “NO, NO, NO” down the hallway left other hotel guests to their own wild guesses.

Left alone, He Xinghui turned on the TV—and sure enough, “Tom and Jerry” was playing.

“To hell with cartoons,” he muttered.

As a grown man, he felt it was time to say goodbye to cartoons. He dressed neatly, tidied his appearance, and decided to try his luck outside—maybe he’d get lucky tonight. As for America’s notorious shootings, that didn’t worry him. After all, the odds of dying in a car accident are much higher, but whether in his past or present life, he’d never considered not getting in a car.

Out the door, He Xinghui headed straight for a bar. Technically, at his age, he shouldn’t be allowed in. But unlike the member-only nightclubs, most bars were a tier lower and didn’t card every customer. Unless you obviously looked like a kid, you could walk right in—and at his height, who would believe he was only nineteen?

He chose the bar because he figured the odds of picking up a girl were better.

...

“Look, that kid from the Clippers,” Payton said, patting O’Neal and pointing at a figure chatting with a bouncer outside Blue Bridge Bar.

O’Neal and Wade glanced over, exchanged glances, and broke into mischievous grins. They instantly got each other’s drift. Time to have a little fun with He Xinghui and get payback for losing the game.

They stopped the car and strode toward He Xinghui, grinning wickedly.

Don’t come over here, He Xinghui screamed internally. Their leering smiles spelled trouble.

What now? If a Liverpool fan accidentally wandered into a crowd of Manchester United supporters, the best survival tactic is to shout, “United are champions!”

So—

“Heat for the championship!” He Xinghui raised both hands and shouted.

Payton burst out laughing—in fact, it was a laugh of approval. With that shameless declaration, He Xinghui instantly ruined O’Neal and Wade’s little plan. As Heat players, how could they bully someone shouting their team’s championship slogan?

“He, are you surrendering?” Wade still wouldn’t give up, eager to tease him a bit more.

“No, no, no, I’m just stating the facts. This year, you’ve got Payton, Shaquille is still in his prime, you’re hitting your stride, and the two of you are running pick-and-rolls...” Wade was just joking around, but He Xinghui earnestly broke down their strengths and tactics. When you thought about it, he actually had a point.

As the saying goes, you don’t hit a smiling face. After He Xinghui praised all three of them, they didn’t have the heart to tease him anymore.

“What are you doing here alone?” O’Neal asked.

“Uh... I’m just looking for a place to meet some girls. Unfortunately, my teammates won’t take me to a club, and now the bars won’t let me in either,” He Xinghui admitted helplessly.

The group roared with laughter.

“Come with us to a party. There are even more beautiful women there. Of course, they’re harder to pick up—you’ll have to show some skill,” O’Neal invited, finding He Xinghui quite entertaining.

Yao Ming might be a powerhouse, but O’Neal didn’t find him much fun. Yao wouldn’t set foot in a club, let alone openly talk about chasing women. By contrast, He Xinghui’s unapologetic lust was much more his style—someone he could actually talk to.

He Xinghui didn’t hesitate; he jumped right in the car. On the way, he and Payton discussed the finer points of trash-talking.

Payton was impressed by He Xinghui’s insights. “Your big mouth is going to be famous in the league one day—maybe even outshine Barkley,” he said.

“No, no, no, my mouth could never be as big as his. Barkley’s could fit two golf balls,” He Xinghui replied.

What kind of metaphor is that? Payton was a bit stunned, but shrugged it off as a cultural difference.

After a quarter hour of banter, they arrived at their destination. Everywhere he looked—beautiful women.