Chapter Forty-Three: A Duel with McGrady

There’s a classic line in "Three Idiots": Giving advice is easy, accepting advice is hard.

When comforting someone heartbroken, people can spout “there are plenty of fish in the sea” with ease. But when they themselves suffer a breakup, they cry harder than anyone.

Yao Ming’s comments are typical of someone unaffected—he’s not the one whose old wounds are being exposed.

As the person at the center of it all, how could Tracy McGrady remain calm and composed?

Fortunately, his talent is undeniable. Outwardly, his performance seems largely unaffected.

The game continues, other players joining the offense. It's not that McGrady and He Xinghui don’t wish to duel further, but their stamina won’t allow it.

“Pass the ball to Yao Ming!” Zhang Reasonable grumbled from the commentator’s booth.

The Rockets’ other players had missed only two shots, yet Zhang was already anxious for Yao.

“The Rockets are making a substitution. Number 12, Luther... Luther Head is coming in for Alston. Let’s hope he can deliver some good passes to Yao Ming,” Sun Zhengping announced, unfamiliar with the Rockets’ roster, pausing even to read a name.

Sun Zhengping was disappointed. Luther Head wasn’t a reliable passer.

With Head on the court, the Rockets quickly went from trailing by two to trailing by eight.

“Coach Zhang, how do you think the Rockets should solve their problems now?” Sun Zhengping asked.

“I believe the Rockets need to fix their offense first, then their defense,” Zhang Reasonable replied.

Fans watching at home nearly spat out their drinks, exclaiming at the simplicity. Coach Zhang’s words were flawless: solve offense and defense, and you win.

Zhang’s expertise was unquestionable, but commentary is a profession that demands quick wit. Occasional humorous remarks are commonplace.

Sometimes, these quips are more memorable than serious analysis.

After most of the quarter had passed, both teams began sending in their rotation players.

He Xinghui took a seat for rest, having just gone 4-for-6, all from three-point range, scoring 12 points—an outstanding performance.

His counterpart, McGrady, shot 4-for-8, 1-for-3 from beyond the arc, collected 9 points.

For die-hard fans, this was enough evidence that He Xinghui was superior to McGrady.

Sitting on the sidelines, McGrady reflected, belatedly realizing he’d fallen for He Xinghui’s tricks.

“From now on, I won’t pay any mind to those trash talks,” McGrady vowed silently.

On the court, both teams’ rotating lineups played evenly.

The Clippers had Mobley leading the charge, raising their strength.

But the Rockets had Mutombo defending the paint, making it tough for the Clippers to score.

The gap hovered at seven or eight points.

Four minutes into the second quarter, McGrady returned early.

Calm now, he dominated, sinking three straight shots to tie the score.

Cheering erupted in the arena. This was the performance they expected from their idol.

“He, get ready, we’re counting on you,” Dunleavy said, unable to contain McGrady’s rampage, sending in the player who was always full of surprises.

He Xinghui entered again, greeted by cheers from fans back home.

“Tracy, you must be feeling a lot of pressure now. The fans gave you all that applause—if you lose, won’t that be embarrassing?” He Xinghui teased, sharp as ever.

But this time, McGrady was truly calm, unfazed.

He strode forward, lightning quick, catching He Xinghui off guard, breaking through and pulling up for a mid-range jumper.

After scoring, he said nothing to He Xinghui, simply returning to defense.

“Well now, is he actually improving because of my provocations? If so, I should charge him for it,” He Xinghui mused.

Clippers on offense, He Xinghui missed.

His A-level three-point ability was only marginally better than McGrady’s, still subject to luck and rhythm.

When the luck was with him, he could hit several in a row; when it wasn’t, missing was normal.

A few more possessions, McGrady continued his surge while He Xinghui returned to ordinary form.

The score became 44-50, Clippers trailing by six.

“Activate the skill!” He Xinghui shouted inwardly, full of youthful bravado.

He didn’t care about other games’ outcomes, but this was the Chinese Derby—he had to steal the spotlight and win.

[Nervous Shooter: Initial accuracy 50%. After each made shot, accuracy increases by 5% for the next attempt; after each miss, accuracy decreases by 5%. Lasts six minutes. Price: 200 rage points.]

This skill was all or nothing—a superpower if luck was good, a disaster if the first shots missed.

Timer started.

He Xinghui called for the ball, faced McGrady, used a step-back, tricked him, and got an open look.

The shot went in.

He Xinghui clenched his fists and roared.

With the ball going in, the next shot would be even easier—a positive cycle.

Rockets attack, McGrady pulled up, He Xinghui jumped to contest but couldn’t interfere.

McGrady was six centimeters taller, with a wingspan ten centimeters longer.

He was a small forward, after all.

He Xinghui comforted himself.

Back on offense, He Xinghui targeted McGrady’s weakness.

McGrady had small forward strength, adept at defending low-post and back-to-the-basket moves, but his high center of gravity made him vulnerable to guards’ direct drives.

Coincidentally, He Xinghui knew nothing about low-post or back-to-the-basket play; his only skill was attacking head-on.

His clumsy driving technique somehow fooled McGrady.

With an open look, He Xinghui fired decisively—the ball went in.

“Whoa, they’re trading baskets, this is exciting!” Zhang Reasonable exclaimed.

In the recent possessions, He Xinghui and McGrady engaged in a scoring duel, both playing above their usual level, thrilling fans.

The only thing Chinese fans weren’t satisfied with was Yao Ming’s limited presence.

Perhaps Yao Ming sensed their wishes—when McGrady missed a shot, Yao leaped up, grabbed the offensive rebound, and slammed it home.

Chinese fans were finally content.

The game continued. He Xinghui took another shot, but Juwan Howard rushed over to help, blocking his view mid-air.

He Xinghui drifted while airborne, angled his body, and scored.

Immediately rising from the floor, He Xinghui shouted at Howard, “Do you know why the team likes me so much? Because I do the work of a six-million-dollar man for a six-hundred-thousand-dollar salary. Imagine what the media will say tonight—a rookie destroys a multimillion-dollar veteran.”

Howard wanted to slap himself. Why did he bother coming over to help? He’d only brought trouble upon himself.

The “overpaid underperformer” label had always been his sore spot.

Facing the media, he’d even protested—if the team offered so much, why wouldn’t he take it?

The implication: he’d admitted his abilities were lacking.

It was clear he cared deeply, and was sensitive to such criticism.

He Xinghui deliberately brought up Howard’s salary, creating a stark contrast. Howard didn’t dare imagine the postgame commentary.

Having tasted defeat, Howard quietly backed off, leaving He Xinghui to McGrady alone.

Cherish life, stay away from number 60.