Chapter Thirty-Four: Paul Gets Angry Too

He Xinghui raised both hands and stepped back; he had no desire for a face-to-face, zero-distance confrontation with another man. The referees and Clippers' players rushed over, blocking Smith. In the stands, the crowd erupted in boos against Smith, with quite a few people hurling curses his way.

One was witty and humorous, the other hot-tempered. One was their idol, the other an unknown nobody. One had just delivered a spectacular dunk, the other had just made a mistake. The fans’ allegiance was easily swayed; to them, a likable player like He Xinghui couldn’t possibly be at fault. If there was a conflict, it must have been the other’s doing. Logic like this was flawless.

The referee gave Smith a technical foul, while He Xinghui walked away unscathed. Referees are human too; naturally, they don’t want to be disliked for no reason. With the entire crowd siding with He Xinghui, a technical foul against him would have sparked resentment. Besides, as irritating as his actions were, they weren’t a violation.

Smith paid the price for his technical; Byron Scott promptly substituted him out. Scott was not an easy coach to get along with; he’d clashed with Kidd back with the Nets, was now at odds with Smith, and in the future would surely butt heads with other players. The Hornets had a surplus of power forwards but a dire shortage of guards. At shooting guard, there were only Mason and Smith. With both letting Scott down, Snyder was forced to fill in at shooting guard, West moved to small forward, and Brandon Bass took over at power forward. This lineup was far from ideal, but Scott was stubborn to a fault. Anyone who refused to play by his rules would warm the bench, talent notwithstanding.

Looking at Scott’s coaching career, his teams were never truly weak, yet his win rate barely hovered above forty percent—a telling statistic.

“My goodness, the first quarter isn’t even over, and He has already sidelined both of the Hornets’ only shooting guards,” Smith commented wryly. There was no stat for this kind of achievement, but its impact was undeniable.

“If you’re going to get a technical anyway, why not just punch the guy? At least you’d feel better,” Barkley quipped. In his place, he’d have body-slammed He Xinghui long ago, never letting him run wild like this.

Smith cleared his throat, reminding Barkley to watch his words—they represented TNT.

“I’ll just say it: players these days are way too soft,” Barkley said, disparaging the current state of the game.

The match continued. He Xinghui played another two minutes, made little impact, and was then rotated out for a rest. By the time he returned, it was well into the second quarter. The score stood at 44–38, with the Hornets leading by six. The Clippers were the stronger team, but today, their form was lacking—something not out of the ordinary. The gap between strong and weak teams wasn’t as wide as fans imagined.

He Xinghui’s return brought another wave of cheers from the crowd. Without him, Clippers games were truly dull. Paul frowned, feeling a twinge of frustration. He’d played so many games and performed so well, yet never enjoyed this level of adulation. Because New Orleans had been ravaged by a hurricane, their home court was now in Oklahoma City—the future home of the Thunder. The fans there weren’t truly Hornets supporters yet.

The Clippers attacked. To lift his team’s spirits, He Xinghui once again bought a flashy prop. Suddenly, his drive became sharp and aggressive; he blew past Snyder in a flash and charged toward the basket. The move was as thrilling as it was effective.

Paul reacted fiercely, grabbing He Xinghui’s jersey with his left hand and swinging his right at He’s head—employing every trick in the book. Blocked on his third step, He cradled the ball in one arm and instinctively shoved Paul with the other. But Paul was heavy—though He managed to push him away, the effort cost him his own balance, sending him tumbling toward the baseline. His feet remained inbounds, but his body was already half over the line.

Seeing disaster looming, He Xinghui flung the ball wildly into the air as he fell. The basketball sailed from behind the backboard and, following an uncanny arc, dropped cleanly through the hoop. The scene was strikingly similar to a famous Paul George basket from history.

“Wow, I can’t believe it!”
“Incredible shot!”
“So cool!”

The crowd erupted once again; this kind of basket was a marvel to behold. The game had to pause as replays looped on the big screen. Paul was livid.

So far, He Xinghui had made only three baskets, yet two had been replayed endlessly. He’d scored just seven points, and the fans were ecstatic. Paul, on the other hand, had already racked up a dazzling eight points and five assists without earning a single round of applause. Outrageous.

[250 points of anger from Paul.]

I didn’t provoke or taunt Paul, did I?

The sudden system prompt left He Xinghui momentarily stunned. But he quickly understood and couldn’t help but smile.

After being helped to his feet, He Xinghui drifted over to Paul. “Chris, you’re angry,” he said.

Paul was startled, but he was a composed man; his face betrayed nothing. “Don’t be ridiculous—why would I be angry? We’re still ahead,” he replied.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. So this is the real Chris Paul. Lying isn’t a good habit, you know.” He Xinghui’s tone was that of an adult mocking a child, and it irked Paul for reasons he couldn’t explain. Still, he wouldn’t lose his cool over it.

He walked away with a sneer and, when play resumed, calmly sank a mid-range jumper.

“Your clown tricks don’t work on me,” Paul taunted.

Don’t work? Then where did those 250 anger points come from?

Watching Paul’s stubborn face, He Xinghui couldn’t help but laugh. Facial expressions often convey more than words ever could. Take He Xinghui’s sly, almost mischievous smile—Paul could sense the mockery in it.

For a moment, Paul was tempted to punch the guy himself. But He Xinghui walked away in time.

Compared to others, provoking Paul was much harder. With four other Hornets on the court, there was no need to focus on him. Besides, they didn’t even play the same position.

He Xinghui turned his attention to Snyder, his mischievous smile still playing on his lips—so infuriating that Snyder mentally screamed, “Stay away from me!”