Chapter 105: Situation
“Oh my god, he’s gambling with his future.”
Finally, Camille saw the news he enjoyed, but after reading it he had to feel a trace of respect for He Xinghui. Betting his entire career on such a bold statement—how much courage was that? Even Kobe, when confronted by such annoying reporters, had never shown anything similar.
“How’s that, cool, right?” another colleague, Joseph, said with pride. He was also a die-hard fan of He Xinghui’s eccentric personality.
“A little foolish,” Camille muttered stubbornly, though deep down he somewhat agreed.
“This is true character—far better than James, who always gives the official, safe answer, don’t you think?”
“That’s true.”
On their shared dislike of James, they were in complete accord.
Among all the coverage of He Xinghui, his retirement announcement was unquestionably the most eye-catching. After all, such an event had never happened before. Jordan’s retirement could be understood as a choice after a glorious career; it was somewhat understandable. But for a rookie still in his prime, suddenly walking away would be self-destructing his future. Unless he retired today and came back tomorrow. Yet no one who cared about their reputation would toy with the fans’ emotions like that—let alone He Xinghui, whose retirement carried the weight of a bet.
“If my understanding of He is correct, he might actually play this kind of word game,” a shameless, petty fan declared proudly.
“If he did, it would be truly shameless.”
“Wouldn’t you be thrilled to see an outstanding player leave the league?”
Debate raged under that topic. Some backed He Xinghui’s shamelessness, others mocked his foolishness, and still others fanned the flames. The internet teemed with all sorts of oddballs.
At the same time, hostile media jumped in to stir the pot. They attacked He Xinghui’s move from every angle—irresponsible to the team, childish and reckless, arrogant and ignorant. If it had been any ordinary person, the media could have smeared them into oblivion in minutes. But He Xinghui was no ordinary athlete; behind him stood an entire support team. The Star Team, led by Mark, handled not only his commercial endorsements but also public relations, image management, and health protection. When mainstream outlets tried to suppress and defame He Xinghui, the one most anxious wasn’t He Xinghui but Mark Collins himself. Smearing He Xinghui was like killing his parents—unbearable. Not sending rocket launchers to the media headquarters already counted as restraint. Mark wouldn’t sit idle; using his connections, he persuaded some smaller outlets to speak for He Xinghui. At the same time, he joined forces with Lucy to win over the ABC Broadcasting Company, which agreed to stand by He Xinghui.
“Breaking team records over and over—the last rookie as outstanding as this was Magic Johnson,” one report affirmed He Xinghui’s performance. Strong results would soften any criticism of his personality.
“The real He Xinghui plays basketball with genuine civility,” countered another piece. It noted that his trash talk never touched on players’ families, contained no vulgar language, and even carried an artistic flair—entirely within league rules. Moreover, his defense was clean, free of malicious fouls. In short, his words were aimed solely at helping the team win, a clear sign of competitive spirit within the permitted boundaries.
These reports gave neutral fans fresh perspective on He Xinghui, encouraging them to view the situation more objectively and resist being swayed by other media.
Outside the team, the noise continued, but He Xinghui paid no heed and wasn’t even fully aware. For him, it was simple: focus on mastering his craft. Brand and Cameron had been suspended for three games, a serious test. He Xinghui knew the outside world was waiting for him to lose. If he did, critics could instantly claim his talent was overrated and that the Clippers’ good record depended entirely on Brand and Cameron. Everyone understood basketball required five players, yet most fans struggled to stay rational. They preferred simple cause-and-effect: with Brand, the Clippers won; without him, they lost. Thus Brand was decisive. Fans grasped this logic easily.
If forced to dissect every game’s true reasons, most would lose patience. Watching basketball was entertainment; few wanted to master its complexities. He Xinghui, familiar with fan sentiment, realized that without Brand and Cameron he must secure at least one or two victories, or risk being overwhelmed by criticism—and possibly labeled a fake superstar.
The stakes were high, yet fortune smiled: against the Suns he had racked up a massive 1,666 rage points. One more game could level up an ability to B-grade. Or he could spend those points on securing a win. Either way, choices abounded and he stayed calm.
On the nineteenth, the Clippers had a day off while the Lakers crushed the Kings and Kobe dropped 51 points. Since their loss to the Clippers, Kobe had entered a frenzy, routinely scoring 35 or more. On the twentieth, against a depleted Suns squad, he exploded again—37 points—and claimed the victory. The Clippers, however, fell 94-105 to the weak Warriors. Though He Xinghui tallied 27 points, 5 assists, and 3 rebounds, the media ignored it; losing data meant nothing.
As soon as the game ended, the media frenzy peaked.
“The real superstar, Kobe Bryant, with back-to-back 35+ performances, carries his team to victory.”
“Fake superstar, He Xinghui—loses as soon as his good teammates are gone.”
Newspapers filled with articles savaging He Xinghui, as if the Clippers had never suffered defeat while Brand and Cameron were present. Star fans wouldn’t sentence him to death over a single game, but the star-haters reveled in inexplicable delight. What thrilled them most was the next two opponents: the Mavericks and the Cavaliers, both formidable Western and Eastern powers. Even a full-strength Clippers would struggle against them, let alone a depleted roster. The team faced a likely three-game losing streak. The star-haters could barely contain their excitement at the thought.