Chapter Fifty-Eight: What Is It That You Desire

“Tied, a crucial three-pointer to stop the bleeding!”
Sun Zhengping shouted excitedly.
With this shot, the score was tied, and the psychological advantage shifted back to the Clippers.
Therefore, this three-pointer was anything but ordinary.
“In critical moments, you can always count on Star.”
Zhang Helì said happily, for he didn’t need to praise his own player against his conscience; the facts spoke for themselves.
Such plain truth was what Chinese fans loved to hear, and a thought arose spontaneously in their hearts.
See, in key moments, it’s always our Chinese players who make the difference.
[National pride +1.]
On the court, the Celtics were on the attack.
Pierce took the shot and missed.
Zhang Helì: “The Celtics wasted an offensive opportunity.”
Back on the other end, Hexinghui also missed his shot.
At times like these, Zhang Helì fell silent.
This was the art of commentary; ordinary people wouldn’t understand.
The two sides battled back and forth until the final 25 seconds, with the score tied at 112–112.
The Celtics attacked, and Pierce stalled for time, wanting to take the last shot.
The Clippers’ players were naturally unwilling to let him run down the clock; Yaroslav pressed up to challenge, but Pierce seized the opportunity and broke through, driving to the basket for a layup.
He didn’t waste the chance, sinking the shot.
114–112, the Celtics led by two.
And the Clippers had only three seconds left, all the pressure shifted onto them.
Fans watching the game often fall into the illusion that a buzzer-beater is easy, and think the leading side is more nervous at that moment.
But in reality, the chance of failing a game-winner is far higher than succeeding.
Only, the games where buzzer-beaters succeed become classics, remembered by many, while those that fail are mostly forgotten.
In short, with only three seconds left and trailing by two, a comeback was exceedingly difficult.
Yaroslav clutched his head, as if putting on a show of regret, thinking the fans would forgive him.
In truth, were it not for security, angry fans would likely have stormed down to deal with him.
Dunleavy called his last timeout, preparing to set up a game-winning play.
But as he was about to begin, he realized Hexinghui was nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s He?”
Dunleavy asked; Hexinghui’s movement was crucial to his play.
“He seems to be showing off in front of the fans again.”
Mobley smiled wryly; in the whole team, only Hexinghui dared to act so unruly and undisciplined.
They all feared being benched for disobedience; Brand wasn’t afraid of being benched, but he cared about his image.

Only Hexinghui, who cared nothing for appearances and wasn’t afraid of offending the coaches or management, could act so recklessly. It was enviable.
At that moment, Hexinghui stood by the court, somehow having gotten hold of a microphone, and asked the fans, “Do you want to see another overtime, or do you want me to win the game right now?”
With the microphone in hand, his words echoed throughout the arena.
The Celtics players, still listening to their coach’s instructions, were instantly furious.
How outrageous! Hexinghui spoke as if he could choose overtime or a game-winner at will, as if the Celtics didn’t even exist.
Damn it, even during shooting practice, no one would dare claim a hundred percent accuracy.
Hexinghui’s words implied the Celtics’ defense was no better than thin air.
“I’ll kill him.”
Davis clenched his fists, wanting to walk toward Hexinghui. He had endured much in this game, and now his patience was gone.
“Stop. We’ll settle this on the court. Stop his game-winner, let him taste humiliation.”
Rivers was also extremely annoyed, but he didn’t lose his temper.
Meanwhile, the Clippers players were wide-eyed, completely unsure what Hexinghui was up to.
“Game-winner! Game-winner! Game-winner!”
The fans responded ecstatically, finding Hexinghui utterly adorable.
Other players would sit quietly on the bench after subbing out, never interacting with the fans.
For fans, exchanging a few words with their idol was a joy, something to brag about after the game.
Hexinghui, now even asking for their opinion, was simply too awesome.
“As you wish, I’ll win the game for us in the last second.”
Hexinghui said.
“Game-winner! Game-winner! Game-winner!”
The fans screamed wildly.
Among the fan base, there were both maniacs and cultured people—every kind of person.
But at this stage, most of Star’s fans were flamboyant types, for Hexinghui had always acted boldly. Mature, steady fans didn’t yet appreciate him.
These flamboyant fans, when fired up, were like soccer hooligans, their momentum so fierce it seemed they might overturn the arena.
“Holy shit, this guy really knows how to put on a show.”
Barkley said sourly, regretting that he’d never thought of this trick to gain fans during his own career.
But soon he understood why: he didn’t have the confidence of making the shot.
If you talk big and miss, the negative impact is severe, and you might be mocked for life.
That’s why no player dares act this way.
Thinking of this, Barkley couldn’t help but sincerely admire Hexinghui’s guts.
“Isn’t this basically telling the Celtics he’ll take the last shot?”
Smith worried aloud for Hexinghui.
“It serves him right. Kenny, let’s bet— I bet he misses, and the loser has to do a livestream in women’s clothes, deal?”
Barkley said.

He was doing everything he could to lure Smith into a bet, hoping Smith would also cross-dress.
“No, no, no, I know you’re addicted to cross-dressing now, I won’t give you the chance.”
Smith refused.
As they chatted, the timeout ended and both teams returned to the court.
The Clippers’ timeout was wasted; Dunleavy set no play, only said, “Give the ball to He.”
He had no choice; the fans wouldn’t allow otherwise.
Dunleavy wasn’t about to ruin the mood.
Besides, even if he risked fan outrage by not giving Hexinghui the ball, Hexinghui might steal it from his own teammates—he’d done it before, and had a reputation for it.
So, it was better to let Hexinghui have his way.
Dunleavy’s calculation was shrewd: if Hexinghui made the shot, it would be the right choice.
If he missed, even better.
At the cost of a regular season loss, he could pressure Hexinghui to follow orders and play by the tactics in the future.
The whistle blew. Hexinghui ran beyond the three-point line, Cassell immediately passed him the ball.
Hexinghui took control, with Pierce guarding him.
Two seconds remained; Hexinghui, having already used his killer move, spoke arrogantly, “Ready to be the background in my highlight?”
Pierce was fully focused, ignoring him.
To shut down Hexinghui and make a name for himself—Pierce’s mind was clear and empty, intent on the moment.
Time seemed to slow.
Fans could see the clock counting down, second by second.
With 0.5 seconds left, Hexinghui jumped, released the ball—a seamless motion.
Pierce lunged at him, but it was useless; the ball still found the net.
Hexinghui sprang to the sideline, leapt onto the scorer’s table, and pointed to his left wrist with the index and middle fingers of his right hand, signifying he had checked his watch and executed the buzzer-beater, leaving no time for his opponent to respond.
“You wanted a game-winner, so I delivered. Satisfied?”
Hexinghui asked.
“MVP! MVP! MVP!”
In that moment, no one thought it inappropriate to chant those words.
Certainly, the team’s record, Hexinghui’s stats, and his place in history were not enough to nominate him for MVP.
But, for this one game, chanting MVP was justified.
To win on command—what could be cooler than that?
Satisfied?
There could be no ending more satisfying than this.