Chapter Eleven: How Ordinary Men Pursue Women

“Hey man, you’re not going to pick up any girls just sitting there. You have to take the initiative.”

The party had been going for a while. In the main hall, some were singing, some were dancing—everyone was mindlessly reveling, except for Xinghui He, who sat quietly in a corner.

After greeting the rest of his friends, Peyton came over specifically to remind him.

In truth, Xinghui was just sizing up possible targets to approach.

But the way Peyton put it made him sound like a complete rookie at the game. So without thinking, Xinghui blurted out, “Only ordinary guys need to hit on girls. Guys like me, who are exceptional, just wait for the girls to come to us.”

This kind of cocky talk made Peyton want to punch him.

So everyone else was ordinary, and he was somehow special?

“Rookie, I think you need to be a bit more realistic. Only when you make as much money as I do, and are as famous as me, might someone actually come hit on you,” Peyton retorted sharply.

“Only people without any charm need to use money to attract women. Guys like me, who have both looks and talent, just wait to be spoiled. You’ll see.” Xinghui stood up and went off to find O’Neal.

If he wanted girls to come to him, it wasn’t going to be easy. He had to show off enough charm to draw them in.

He already had a plan to display his talents, but he needed O’Neal’s help.

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“You wrote a new song and choreographed a dance?” O’Neal was a bit surprised.

Both songwriting and dance choreography were highly specialized skills—most people couldn’t just do them.

“That’s right. Basketball is just my side gig. My real specialty is song and dance,” Xinghui continued to show off.

He wanted to team up with O’Neal for a song and dance performance at the party, using it as bait for the girls.

He had inherited the original body’s talent for music and dance, and he was also familiar with those wildly popular internet dances that would sweep through later generations. It was a perfect combination—he’d never have to worry about not attracting women again.

After all, what girl could resist a good-looking, wealthy, famous, witty, and playful man?

After running through a quick rehearsal, Xinghui and O’Neal practiced the viral “shoulder-shake dance” that had taken the internet by storm in later years.

The rehearsal was simple—O’Neal was naturally gifted at dancing as well.

Some moves only needed Xinghui to demonstrate once for O’Neal to pick up the key points.

The only trouble Xinghui had now was not having the perfect matching music; composing wasn’t something that could be done in a few words.

In the end, he had to settle for an almost suitable tune he found in the music library, going with what felt right.

They ran through the routine twice more, and O’Neal was already raring to go—he was a guy who loved the spotlight and making people laugh.

Before going on, he called a friend over to record the whole thing for posterity.

Then, the party music stopped, and a tune perfect for the shoulder-shake dance began to play.

Xinghui stepped out with small, mechanical steps, giving off an adorably goofy vibe.

He had to keep up the dance moves while singing along—a real challenge.

When the Big O stepped in, the mood shifted to pure comedy.

The mass of muscle—or maybe fat—on his frame shook amusingly with the dance, making the whole thing hilarious.

Soon, the two of them were shoulder-shaking together.

With the infectious rhythm and that hypnotic dance, it was impossible not to get swept up in the energy.

Some of the party’s wilder guests had already joined in, swaying along—the atmosphere was electric.

When Xinghui and O’Neal finished, the crowd erupted in cheers and shrieks.

“What kind of dance is that? I’ve never seen it before—it’s awesome!” a Black guy asked.

The dance itself was captivating, the visual effect fantastic. And with O’Neal performing, the attention was well deserved.

“That’s my brother Xing’s shoulder-shake dance. He’s a dance genius,” O’Neal took the opportunity to introduce Xinghui.

From that moment, Xinghui became the center of the party.

Everyone interested in dance—or in him—crowded around.

Naturally, that included plenty of pretty girls.

“Damn, he did it again,” Peyton muttered, frustrated. He’d been hoping Xinghui would embarrass himself, just so he’d have something to mock.

Unfortunately, Xinghui hadn’t given him the chance.

“I get the feeling he’ll be a star someday—he’s confident, he knows how to put himself out there, and he really knows how to have fun,” O’Neal remarked.

As a seasoned veteran of the league, he understood how things worked.

When players had similar stats, someone who knew how to play the game—someone with a story—would always get more attention.

“@%%￥#&*.” Peyton sighed.

He muttered a proverb, which, translated, meant something like “the new waves of the Yangtze River drive the old ones ahead.”

That night, Xinghui slept in the villa, with a blonde beauty whose name he didn’t even know.

It was just a one-night stand, a mutual arrangement—no need to keep in touch, much less care about names.

Occasional indulgence was just a spice of life.

But the main melody of his life was still basketball, still training.

That was the foundation of his privileged life. If he hadn’t performed so well on the court, O’Neal would never have invited him to the party.

If he wanted to live even better and hunt bigger game, he needed more fame and wealth.

So, after returning to Los Angeles, Xinghui hit the gym for extra training.

At the same time, he began studying the players of the Spurs, their next opponent.

The upcoming home game against the Spurs was crucial for Xinghui—a real test to establish himself.

He’d done well in the first two games, but that didn’t mean much.

Even fringe players could have flashes of brilliance.

Right now, the outside world and the Clippers’ management weren’t sure if Xinghui’s performances were just flukes or signs of real potential.

If he could put together a third consecutive standout game, there’d be no more doubt—his status on the team would rise to a new level.

That’s why this game mattered so much to him.

The trouble was, the Spurs were no pushover.

They were the champions in 2005, with the established ‘GDP’ trio. Bruce Bowen and Robert Horry were tough adversaries as well. And, of course, they had the wily Popovich.

Other coaches might not have noticed a small fry like Xinghui, but the experienced Popovich was unlikely to make that mistake.

At this point, Xinghui was still full of weaknesses—any coach who carefully watched the tapes would spot them.

“I’ll just prepare for now and adapt as things come,” Xinghui thought, recognizing the challenge ahead.

He gave up the idea of boosting his three-point shooting to a C grade for now.