Chapter 137: First Encounter with Taylor Swift

"Finally, some trash talk to listen to—that’s the He-style game we know and love," Smith laughed heartily.

In front of the TV, some fans of the star let out a sigh of relief. They had truly worried that Xinghui He might stop with the trash talk, which would strip away much of the uniqueness from his games.

On the court, Xinghui He held the ball, aggressively attacking Quincy Richardson.

In his early years in the NBA, Quincy’s defense was decent—at least, his attitude was solid. But ever since being discarded by the Suns, he had become little more than a punching bag on defense.

Xinghui easily shook him off and drove to the basket to finish the play.

With the Suns on offense, Xinghui kept taunting Quincy. “Go ahead and shoot. Can you even still play? Is anyone passing you the ball?”

Before Xinghui finished speaking, Eddie Curry had already completed his shot.

In this possession, Quincy had little to do; it was a blunt truth that nobody was passing to him.

This infuriated Quincy, and for a brief moment, a spark of passion ignited within him—he wanted to prove himself in front of Xinghui. But as he retreated on defense, the burden of his own body’s sluggishness quickly snuffed out that fire.

Xinghui went at Quincy once more, but this time he was unsuccessful.

Though he had an advantage over Quincy now, he was far from dominating him outright.

But these were minor details—those who miss shots and never make the leaderboards hardly deserved to be called stars.

The teams traded baskets until halftime, with the score at 56 to 52 in favor of the Knicks, surprisingly ahead by four.

The Knicks’ players were on fire today; it seemed like anyone who shot was scoring.

On the Clippers’ side, Xinghui had accumulated 12 points—not spectacular, but solid.

Not dazzling, but more than sufficient.

If he scored another 12 in the second half, he’d maintain his average.

As the second half began, Smith remarked on the broadcast, “Today’s game is missing that spark. It feels like just another ordinary match, lacking a bit of He’s signature style.”

Games featuring Xinghui He often had memorable moments.

But this one, aside from a brief early chuckle from Jalen Rose, held nothing particularly special.

“Kenny, you need to get used to this—that’s real life. In reality, there aren’t that many surprises; the ordinary is the main theme,” Barkley said with a mouthful of wisdom.

Meanwhile, Xinghui moved around the court, cutting to the corner to receive a pass and prepare to shoot.

Jalen Rose, back on the floor and eager to earn Larry Brown’s trust, was giving his all to show energy.

He charged fiercely to contest Xinghui’s shot.

But he charged too hard, colliding directly into Xinghui and pushing him out of bounds.

The referee immediately blew the whistle and rushed to Jalen Rose to prevent any altercation from the Clippers players.

Rose’s move was a touch excessive, warranting a replay review to judge whether it was intentional.

Xinghui, who had fallen to the floor, was unharmed and was helped up by his teammates.

Just then, a beautiful female voice rang out: “Come on, He, you’re the best.”

Xinghui turned toward the voice, his eyes sparkling.

To his amazement, it was Taylor Swift.

At this time, Taylor was only 17, not yet officially debuted—her breakthrough would come later that year.

Though just 17, she looked much like the Taylor Swift he remembered, and he recognized her immediately.

“Hey, Taylor,” Xinghui greeted.

“Um, what’s with ‘Taylor’? My name’s Taylor Swift,” she replied, delighted to be spoken to by him.

After all, she had no idea she’d become so famous in the future.

At present, she was just a quietly aspiring newcomer—and a little fangirl of Xinghui.

“I know, but I like calling you ‘Taylor’ in Chinese—it means ‘very, very beautiful,’” Xinghui said.

Damn.

Carman and the others nearby nearly couldn’t watch. Hooking up with a girl like this? That’s shameless.

Plus, guy, we’re in the middle of a game here; could you pick a better time?

Taylor Swift was momentarily stunned. Suddenly having a Chinese nickname felt strange.

In all her years, she’d never encountered anything so fantastical and amusing.

Yet she was thrilled—this was a nickname personally bestowed by an NBA star, and in Chinese no less. It was definitely something to boast about to friends and the public.

“Cool, I like this Chinese nickname,” Taylor said.

Players from both the Clippers and Knicks watched Taylor with starry eyes, feeling the sting of envy.

They knew that when a girl reacted like this, there was an eight out of ten chance she was already won over by Xinghui.

Flirting mid-game? That’s downright outrageous.

What’s worse, she was incredibly beautiful.

But Xinghui wasn’t finished yet. Seeing the referee still watching the replay, he took the chance to flirt a little more.

He said, “Taylor, do you know why I didn’t play well just now?”

“Why?” Taylor asked, overjoyed to be chatting with a big star. The envious glances around only fed her vanity.

“Because I didn’t know a little beauty like you was watching my game—that took away a lot of my passion for playing. Now, please enjoy the spectacular show I’m about to put on for Miss Taylor. Do you want to see some explosive dunks? Or maybe some pinpoint three-pointers? Or something else?”

In front of a beautiful woman, a future superstar showing off—that feeling was thrilling.

Hearing this, the Knicks players clenched their fists in frustration.

How utterly full of himself.

“Can I choose?” Taylor asked in surprise.

Though a casual fan, she knew each player had different skills and couldn’t do everything.

What Xinghui said was outrageous, like he was purposely showing off.

But Taylor didn’t mind—that just proved how irresistible she was, capable of making a star lose his cool and go wild for her.

“Of course. Whatever you want to see, I’ll perform it,” Xinghui said.

Anger can be collected anytime, but moments to show off like this are rare and precious.

“Then I want to see graceful play—dunks and shots alike—but it must be elegant, exquisite,” Taylor demanded boldly.

“Consider it done,” Xinghui responded, flashing an OK sign before returning to the court.

If he stayed any longer, he feared his teammates might lose it and beat him up for chatting too long—it was a game after all, and he wasn’t exactly being serious.

Graceful—who played most gracefully?

Back on the court, Xinghui pondered the question.

Got it!

He snapped his fingers, having made his decision.