Chapter Fourteen: There's No Crime in Just Thinking

The second half began, and Xinghui He stayed on the bench to rest.

Coach Dunleavy decided to have him lead the second unit because Xinghui’s desire to shoot was simply too strong. Sharing the court with the starters, even Brand’s touches had been affected.

Halfway through the third quarter, an awkward scene unfolded.

The Clippers trailed by eighteen points.

At a glance, it seemed Xinghui’s presence was irreplaceable.

Could it be that the future of the mighty Clippers hinges on this rookie?

A terrifying thought flashed through Dunleavy’s mind, and he called a timeout, swapping out the starters.

The new lineup: Shaun Livingston, Xinghui He, Corey Maggette, Vinny Faramir, and Chris Kaman.

The Spurs also sent in some bench players for practice, leaving only Bruce Bowen from their starters on the floor.

Holding an eighteen-point lead, they could afford to be a bit cavalier. As for why Bowen stayed—Xinghui suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

He watched as Bowen strode toward him.

“Don’t come any closer,” Xinghui shouted internally.

In the ensuing play, everyone was surprised to see Xinghui fall completely silent, docile as a lamb.

He had no choice—he didn’t want to provoke Bowen and risk retaliation.

Xinghui’s newfound obedience bored Bowen, who refrained from any dirty play.

After all, this wasn’t an important game, and the Spurs were ahead. Targeting a rookie with underhanded tactics wasn’t worth the risk.

In the fourth quarter, Bowen finally went to the bench.

Xinghui instantly revived, regaining his energy.

Now defending him was Brent Barry, an unremarkable player whom Xinghui wouldn’t have recognized if not for studying the Spurs’ roster beforehand.

He didn’t know, either, that Barry had once started his career with the Clippers but was let go for underperformance.

Such a player was the perfect target for Xinghui to harvest rage.

As the Spurs set up on offense, Xinghui kept pestering Barry: “Facing your old team, shouldn’t you be demanding the ball, showing them what you can do?”

Barry rolled his eyes. Of course, he would have liked to—who wouldn’t? But rookies had no say. Revenge against a former team was a star’s storyline, not his.

“Tell me, we both started with the Clippers. Why is there such a gap between us?”

Xinghui kept at it, and Barry, true to form, began providing a steady stream of rage.

Clearly, his composure was just a facade.

Listening to the system notifications and seeing Barry’s forced calm, Xinghui could barely suppress a laugh.

Everyone knows the face reveals a wealth of emotion.

Barry easily picked up on the disdain, mockery, and humiliation in Xinghui’s grin.

At last, he snapped.

He called for the ball, determined to take Xinghui one-on-one.

But he was too agitated and Xinghui seized the opportunity for a steal, leading the Clippers on a fast break that cut the deficit by two.

Popovich, showing little patience, immediately called a timeout, replacing Barry, who’d barely been on for two minutes.

[Rage from Barry: 250.]

At that moment, Xinghui couldn’t help but worry Barry might actually lose it.

After all, this was the largest single rage reward he’d ever received since acquiring the system.

It showed just how furious Barry had become.

Play resumed, but with no strong defender assigned to Xinghui—a rare misstep by Popovich.

A sixteen-point gap may seem substantial, but under a barrage of threes, it can vanish quickly.

Matched against a defender a few centimeters shorter, Xinghui drained four consecutive three-pointers, narrowing the score to 88-97—a mere nine-point difference.

Popovich could only call another timeout, hoping to disrupt Xinghui’s rhythm.

“Last timeout, you let us cut seven points. Was that your tactical plan?” Xinghui couldn’t help but remark, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he passed Popovich.

The comment infuriated Parker, who gave Xinghui a hard shove.

Popovich commanded immense respect among his players; many wouldn’t stand for anyone mocking their coach.

Parker shoved with force, and Xinghui obligingly fell to the floor.

“Ref, he hit me! He hit me!” Xinghui shouted.

His Clippers teammates immediately surrounded Parker, and the scene descended into chaos.

“I’ve seen players trash-talk each other, and even a few who mouth off to the refs, but this is the first time I’ve seen a player trash-talk the opposing coach. This kid’s blazing a new trail,” the commentator couldn’t help but quip.

Order was swiftly restored, and the referees handed out matching technical fouls to Xinghui and Parker.

Neither Popovich nor Dunleavy was pleased—Popovich argued that Xinghui had provoked the incident, while Dunleavy insisted Parker had thrown the first blow.

When play finally resumed, Popovich slapped his own forehead; he’d forgotten to call a play during the timeout.

Xinghui had successfully derailed his intentions.

Luckily, the Spurs’ talent kept the game even, tactics or not.

With forty-five seconds left, the Spurs led 104-96, up by eight.

“Damn, why does this feel so familiar? Am I about to have my own McGrady Moment?”

Down eight, frustration was evident on the Clippers’ faces—everyone except Xinghui, who was secretly elated.

The odds of replicating that legendary moment were slim, but nothing stopped him from indulging in the fantasy—there was no law against daydreaming.

“Let’s go for it. Worst case, we lose. If I pull it off, I’ll be famous overnight.”

Xinghui made up his mind: he would take over the game with a bit of madness.

He brought the ball up, and with more than a meter between himself and the three-point line, he launched a shot out of nowhere.

The ball swished through the net, stunning the crowd.

“Oh my god, why does this look so familiar?” the commentator blurted.

“You’re thinking of the McGrady Moment? Miles, you’re overthinking it. There’s no way. That sequence can’t be duplicated, least of all by a rookie,” guest analyst Bryn laughed.

Not to mention the Spurs would never fall for it again and make such rookie mistakes.

Even if the Spurs were caught off guard, for a rookie to score thirteen points in thirty-five seconds was pure fantasy.

No sooner had Bryn finished speaking than Xinghui sprang into action, wrapping Ginobili in a tight hug and shouting at the referee, “Blow the whistle! Blow the whistle! I’m committing an intentional foul!”

“...”

Ginobili.

Ginobili stepped to the line, made both free throws, then turned to Xinghui: “Kid, I know what you’re trying to do. I swear, you’re dreaming.”