Chapter Forty-Five: I Can't Possibly Be This Powerful

Waving a finger in provocation had always been forbidden by the league. Even Uncle Mutombo was only granted an exception in 2007, when the league finally allowed him to make that gesture. By then, Mutombo was already getting on in years and close to retirement. Since he refused to change his ways, the league could only indulge him with this small privilege. As for anyone else, they shouldn’t even think about it.

Off the court, Mutombo watched as Xinghui He mimicked his iconic move, grinning from ear to ear. It was hard to tell whether he was pleased because Xinghui He got a technical foul or because someone was carrying on his legacy.

“Tracy, why didn’t you just hit him?” Alston asked.

“The game comes first,” McGrady answered, though his eyes darted away. In truth, he had frozen for a moment, and by the time he came to himself, the momentum was gone. He never expected Xinghui He would dare provoke him that way. In that instant, McGrady had to admit that Xinghui He was a real troublemaker, not some obedient rookie. If a fight really broke out, it would be a lose-lose situation; in fact, he himself might come out worse. After all, he was an All-Star starter, while the other was just a first-year novice.

As McGrady took his free throw, Xinghui He wore a broad smile, as if he were the one who had earned the free throw. Truth be told, Xinghui He had reason to be happy. Although he had given up a free throw, he’d managed to put on a show. Blocking McGrady was no easy feat, so when the chance finally came, he had to show off a little and give fans something to talk about. As for the technical foul, it wasn’t much of a loss; at worst, he could just play a little more conservatively for the rest of the game. For Xinghui He, shifting from a troublemaker to a model player was no challenge at all.

The game continued with both sides trading baskets, the gap holding steady between three and six points—a fiercely contested battle. The turning point came midway through the fourth quarter. After a drive to the basket, McGrady attempted a thunderous dunk but collided with Kaman under the rim. As he landed, McGrady fell hard, his face twisted in pain, the extent of his injury unclear. In that moment, the entire crowd rose to their feet.

The Rockets players hurried to his side. Xinghui He wanted to check on McGrady too, but considering how unwelcome he was, he restrained himself, standing quietly at a distance to avoid any misunderstandings.

Though Xinghui He enjoyed trash-talking to rile up opponents, he played the game cleanly. He might use some sneaky moves, but never anything meant to injure. He knew all too well what injuries could mean for a player. Sometimes a single injury could destroy a career—a tragedy bordering on a crime. That kind of regret could haunt a person for a lifetime. He had no respect for players who deliberately hurt others, whether out of malice, a desire to seem tough, or for some grand reason like chasing a championship.

To sum up, hurting others is simply going too far.

With McGrady forced out by injury, the Rockets’ morale plummeted. Even if they managed to win, they couldn’t feel any joy; a regular season victory meant nothing compared to the health of their core player. Already trailing, now with spirits low, the Rockets soon found themselves overwhelmed. Even though Yao Ming put on a stellar fourth-quarter performance, shedding his reputation for fading late in games, he still couldn’t stop the Clippers’ relentless assault.

The Clippers had no intention of showing mercy; striking while the opponent was weak was the law of survival in the league. With a 15–7 run, the Clippers blew the game open. Van Gundy, seeing that a comeback was hopeless, pulled Yao Ming and the other starters—they couldn’t risk another injury.

In the end, the Clippers triumphed 112–99.

On the Rockets’ side, the Yao–McGrady duo was again their best hope. Yao Ming shot 10 for 18, sank four of five free throws, and tallied 24 points and 12 rebounds—extremely efficient. McGrady went 12 for 26, posting 31 points and three assists. Together, they accounted for more than half the team’s points, while the role players struggled: Alston had 8, Howard 10, Swift 6, Luther Head just 4…

For the Clippers, as usual Xinghui He and Elton Brand led the way. Brand shot 9 for 17, hit four of six from the line, and notched 22 points and 13 rebounds. Xinghui He went 13 for 23, including a remarkable 9 for 14 from three, finishing with 35 points. Most of those came in the first half; his 2-for-6 in the second half was more representative of his real ability, though no one noticed. All that mattered was he had the game-high 35 and was the hero of the Clippers’ victory.

Some even wondered: had Xinghui He already usurped power and become the new captain? Otherwise, how could he have more shot attempts than Brand?

As the game ended, Yao Ming didn’t forget to embrace Xinghui He.

“Great game,” Yao said.

“You too,” Xinghui He replied.

The two burst into laughter. Luckily, those around them couldn’t understand Chinese; otherwise, their mutual praise might have been a little embarrassing.

Soon, Zhang Heli approached for a post-game interview.

“Xinghui, say something to the fans,” he said.

“Hey everyone, have you eaten yet?” Xinghui He rapped on the camera lens, mimicking Stephen Chow in Shaolin Soccer.

Yao Ming and Sun Zhengping both burst out laughing.

“Scoring 35 points and winning this high-profile game—how does it feel?” Zhang Heli pressed on.

“I got 35 points? That many? No, no, no, that can’t be—I’m not that good!” Xinghui He first gave a look of exaggerated surprise, imitating Fu Yuanhui, then turned his face sideways and waved his hands in front of his chest like Shen Teng, looking utterly ridiculous.

Zhang Heli was speechless; he didn’t believe for a second that Xinghui He didn’t know his own stats. Getting a straight answer from this guy was nearly impossible.

“Yes, 35 points, the highest in the game. Tell the fans—how did you do it?” Zhang Heli had no choice but to play along and continue his difficult job.

“All right, no more pretending—I’ll just admit it. I’m actually a top-tier player. I wanted to keep a low profile in my rookie season, but my talent just won’t allow it,” Xinghui He spread his hands, his smug expression surely provoking the urge to punch him in anyone watching.

In contrast to Xinghui He’s offbeat responses, Yao Ming’s reply was much more official: “Both teams played very well tonight, but Xinghui’s scoring ability caused us a lot of trouble…”

Fans glued to their TVs found the post-game interviews thoroughly entertaining. Compared to Yao’s seriousness, they much preferred Xinghui He’s mischief.

“Have you eaten yet? Xing-ge is hilarious.”

“If Xing-ge ever made movies, he’d be the next Stephen Chow.”

“Xing-ge is an actor whose basketball career is just getting in the way.”

The fans buzzed with excitement.

“I’m not that good, no way.”

“I’ll admit it—I’m actually top-tier.”

“I wanted to keep a low profile, but my talent just won’t let me.”

These catchphrases quickly became all the rage among fans. Outsiders were baffled, even thinking they were a little crazy. But the fans themselves reveled in it.