Chapter Thirty-One: The Master of Interception

Los Angeles, Staples Center—a gathering of stars. Thanks to Hollywood, Los Angeles has always been the world’s entertainment capital. The arena glittered with celebrity—if you tossed a sneaker toward the front row, chances were high it’d hit someone famous.

Attendance at Clippers games was usually nothing to boast about, but tonight, with the emergence of Xinghui He, every ticket was sold for the first time ever. Sterling was so excited he nearly leapt out of his seat, his resolve to promote Xinghui He even stronger. He was already planning to trade Elton Brand, just as the Cavaliers once sent Ricky Davis packing. History had proven that was the right choice.

Player introductions commenced. The visiting Hornets were announced first. Even with the DJ working to hype the crowd, the response was lukewarm—except for Chris Paul, who received a smattering of applause. True basketball fans could sense that Paul was destined to become a star.

Next, the Clippers players took the court. First out was team captain Elton Brand. The atmosphere finally livened up. No matter how downtrodden the Clippers’ past, they still had their loyal supporters. With the team performing well this season and ranking among the Western Conference’s top eight, their star naturally drew affection.

As the other Clippers were introduced, the applause dwindled, until Xinghui He’s name was called. He’d been saved for last, the centerpiece. It turned out to be a wise decision—the vast majority of tonight’s crowd had come for him.

“Miracle Kid! Windbag! Killer! Reaper!” The fans roared, each with their own nickname for Xinghui He—no consensus yet. Some called him the Miracle Kid or Miracle Man for the surprises he always brought; others dubbed him Windbag for his unceasing chatter. Most, though, preferred Reaper, for his ice-cold composure and merciless game-winning shots in crunch time.

Xinghui He waved to the crowd, who responded with wild enthusiasm. The other players could only look on in dismay—such is the disparity in how people are treated.

With introductions over, both teams began their shooting warm-ups.

Xinghui He stood beyond the three-point line, searching for his rhythm. Suddenly, the Clippers’ mascot, Chuck the Eagle, made his entrance. The Clippers wouldn’t have had a mascot until 2016, but a few days prior, Xinghui He had suggested to Sterling that they hire a dance-savvy mascot to stir up publicity. He intended to recreate the classic moment when a mascot taunted a security guard with dance moves—a clip that would later go viral for its humor.

Fortunately, the league hadn’t thought of such a stunt yet, and Xinghui He seized the opportunity. Sterling agreed immediately. Hiring a mascot would only cost an annual salary of fifty to a hundred thousand dollars—a small price, considering the publicity this could bring.

Chuck, dressed as a bald eagle, began with a dance performance on the sidelines, earning rounds of applause. He then sauntered over to Xinghui He and started a provocative dance, circling him, waving his hands in Xinghui’s face, even thrusting his hips. Xinghui He, however, remained expressionless, continuing to shoot with icy indifference.

The audience watched, thoroughly entertained. They’d never seen anything like this and, unaware it was a staged bit, wondered if Xinghui He would lose his temper and rough up Chuck. Chuck’s antics only heightened their curiosity.

After several attempts to provoke him, Xinghui He stayed cool. Then, as he prepared to shoot, Chuck swatted the ball away with a dramatic block.

“Oh!” The crowd cheered at the spectacle.

Finally turning to face Chuck, Xinghui He nudged him aside and began to dance. His moves were a fast-paced jazz routine—improvisational, expressive, unconstrained by set patterns, and above all, entertaining.

“Wow!” The audience gasped in unison. Though a dance video featuring Xinghui He and Shaquille O’Neal had circulated online, few had seen it, and most had no idea Xinghui He’s dancing was so impressive. Had he been a professional dancer on stage, the crowd would have applauded, but not been astonished.

But the magic was that Xinghui He showcased his skills in such an unexpected and amusing way. In time, the league would likely joke that here was a man who “only took up basketball because he had no equal in dance.”

Chuck feigned astonishment at his side. After the dance, Xinghui He instantly resumed his cool demeanor, picked up a ball, and sank a three-pointer with effortless grace—a gesture that radiated disdain for both the dance and Chuck himself. The aura of “cool” emanated from every pore.

Chuck, resigned, shook his head, walked to a waiting trash can on the sidelines, and tossed his eagle headgear inside—an act that seemed to say, “I can’t do this job anymore,” drawing peals of laughter from the crowd.

The audience couldn’t stop laughing at this interlude. This alone was worth the price of admission. Spirits high, the crowd grew all the more eager for the game to begin.

“See that, Charles? That’s why he’s worth ninety-five million,” Smith said with a grin.

TNT’s broadcast of the recent Clippers-Pistons game had dominated the ratings, drawing more viewers than the other six games combined. Delighted with the results, TNT was set to feature many more Clippers games live. Other networks had followed suit, nearly turning this once-overlooked matchup into a nationwide broadcast—since many U.S. channels were pay-to-view and regional, a “national broadcast” meant that a large number of stations carried the same game.

“Well, I’ll admit he’s a showman. But ninety-five million is still too much. My entire career’s salary doesn’t even add up to half his endorsement deal,” Barkley quipped good-naturedly. Though he’d had a stellar career, his earnings never matched his talent.

“Times have changed,” Smith replied.

As the two bantered, the players wrapped up their warm-ups. The game was about to begin.