Chapter Thirty-Nine: Helping the Calf Forget Its Pain

On the 21st, the Clippers had no game scheduled.

He Xinghui spent the entire day training at the arena. As he stepped out, ready to head back to his place, he was intercepted by Lucy, a reporter who had been lying in wait for him.

Ever since He Xinghui had teased her during a previous interview, Lucy’s popularity had soared. She was well aware that her newfound fame was thanks to He Xinghui. So, in her subsequent reports, she focused almost exclusively on him, declaring herself his exclusive reporter. Unfortunately for her, there were plenty of others at her station vying for the same title, and internal competition was fierce. Self-proclamation alone wouldn’t get her the position.

To secure her spot, Lucy needed to deliver more scoops, more stories centered on He Xinghui. That’s why, even though the Lakers had a game that day, she skipped the event and chose instead to stake out the Clippers’ training facility, waiting for him.

“He, did you hear? In the Lakers’ game against the Mavericks, Kobe just dropped 62 points in three quarters—one more than the entire Mavericks team,” Lucy said as soon as she’d caught up to him.

This was the latest game update she’d received while lying in wait. Kobe scoring 62 points in just three quarters was downright outrageous. The moment she got the news, her prepped questions were forgotten; she was determined to ride this wave.

“Really?” He Xinghui feigned surprise.

He remembered that game vividly. On the surface, 62 points might not seem as impressive as 81, but this was achieved in only three quarters. What mattered even more was that Kobe outscored the entire Mavericks squad by one point. That was the real highlight.

If you looked closely, pulling off a feat like this was more difficult than scoring 81. The Raptors, after all, were a weak team that season, only managing 27 wins, while the Mavericks were league powerhouses, racking up 60 wins to finish third.

Anyone not blinded by bias against Kobe had to admit his greatness in that game.

“It’s absolutely true,” Lucy confirmed.

“Damn, I’m jealous,” He Xinghui exclaimed, hurling his Gatorade to the ground and kicking over a nearby trash can, putting on a display of mock frustration—just like Shaquille O’Neal when he found out LeBron had surpassed his career scoring total.

This was a clever move. Only foolish players would stubbornly insist they weren’t envious; everyone knew that was a lie. Instead of coming across as petty or insincere, it was much better to openly admit your jealousy, which could even make you seem endearing and relatable.

Sure enough, Lucy nearly doubled over with laughter.

“I’m so bitter, I need some comfort,” He Xinghui declared, spreading his arms wide and burying his head in Lucy’s embrace, unabashedly taking advantage of the situation.

Lucy, of course, was delighted. The only one suffering was the cameraman nearby. He’d had his eye on Lucy for quite some time, and now he could only watch as another man shamelessly flirted with the woman he liked. The feeling was hard to describe.

Even so, he kept his hands steady and made sure the camera footage was perfect—letting anger affect his work could get him fired. Such is the helplessness of adulthood.

If he were a fan of Chinese ballads, he might have hummed a melancholy tune about the heartbreaks of life, how adults must smile through their tears, and how sometimes the thought of giving up crosses the mind. Life, after all, is but a dream...

The world is full of coincidences. For instance, just as the cameraman was about to lose his composure, He Xinghui let go of Lucy, sparing the world an incident that might have become legendary.

“The Mavericks are really pitiful. To help them forget this tragedy, I’ve decided to do my part,” He Xinghui announced.

“Oh? What will you do?” Lucy asked, intrigued. What could a Clippers player possibly do to help the Mavericks?

“I’ll score 63 points in three quarters against the Mavericks, creating an even bigger tragedy for them. That way, they’ll forget all about the pain Kobe caused,” He Xinghui said with a straight face.

If this were a short video fifteen years later, dramatic music would swell as he finished the line, and a glint of light would flash across his eyes in post-production.

What kind of help is that? the cameraman wanted to retort.

Lucy almost died laughing. She was grateful she’d made the right choice to interview He Xinghui—the man was a gold mine of quotable lines.

When the interview wrapped, He Xinghui made sure to right the trash can and toss the garbage inside. Otherwise, he’d undoubtedly become the target of criticism from those looking for any excuse to attack him.

Being a celebrity wasn’t easy; there was always so much to consider.

The next day, Kobe’s 62-point performance dominated the sports headlines, showered with effusive praise. The media, tired of covering He Xinghui every day, were thrilled to have a homegrown star headline the news for a change.

But to the disappointment of those with nativist leanings, the second hottest topic was He Xinghui’s interview. Whether it was his theatrical antics or his memorable line about helping the Mavericks forget their pain, it was all anyone could talk about.

Kobe was left exasperated. After finally seizing the spotlight, He Xinghui had the nerve to ride his coattails—shamelessly, and with great success.

Under the video of He Xinghui’s interview, fans unleashed a flurry of witty comments:

“That bottle toss was textbook acting—if He doesn’t get an Oscar, I’m not watching the ceremony.”

“Let go of Lucy and let me try.”

“Give the Mavericks an even more crushing defeat to help them forget the 62-point disaster—makes perfect sense.”

“That line about making the Mavericks suffer more is just too cool.”

“Mavericks: Seriously? Do I have no dignity left?”

The banter didn’t stop with the fans. Allen Iverson, in a later interview, even mimicked He Xinghui’s phrasing, claiming he’d score 63 against the Mavericks to help them forget their misery. He thought the line was brilliant.

For a while, the Mavericks became the laughingstock of the league. Despite having a much better record than the Clippers or the 76ers, fans ignored that and fixated on the fact that the entire team had been outscored by a single player.

Mark Cuban was furious but helpless against the tide of fan mockery.

Of course, there was some truth behind the jokes. Led by Dirk Nowitzki, the Mavericks always seemed to lack a certain toughness. If it had been the Heat, Pacers, Spurs, or Pistons, someone would have responded with a hard foul or a scuffle—better to be thrown out than to endure such humiliation.

The jibes about Nowitzki being soft weren’t entirely unfounded. With that naturally good-natured face, he just didn’t look the part of a ruthless competitor.