Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Battle of Words Against the Crowd

On January 6th, the Lakers hosted the 76ers. Kobe was in blazing form, scoring 45 points with only 29 shots, leading his team to victory over Philadelphia. Yet, at the post-game press conference, the journalists cared little for the outcome. Instead, they turned their attention to his challenge with He Xinghui.

"Kobe, will you go easy on He tomorrow when you face the Clippers, so he gets what he wants?" a reporter asked.

"I won't go easy," Kobe replied, his tone resolute. "If he wants to win the beauty, he has to get past me first."

"Do you have confidence that you'll defeat He—and outscore him?" another reporter pressed.

What a brainless question, Kobe thought, inwardly mocking. Of course he had confidence; even if he didn't, he would never admit it. There was only one way to answer such a question.

"Absolutely. He picked the wrong opponent. He'll pay the price."

...

That same day, the Clippers played the Kings on the road. With the real showdown scheduled for the back-to-back the following day, He Xinghui's playing time was limited; he played only twenty-five minutes and scored fourteen points. The Clippers lost again to Sacramento, suffering a consecutive defeat.

He Xinghui was required to attend the press conference; the league doesn't allow players to skip under such circumstances, or fines are imposed. Not that He Xinghui minded. He rather enjoyed the verbal sparring.

"He, did your poor performance and loss tonight come from being distracted by tomorrow's game?" a reporter began, aggressive from the outset.

"Yes," He Xinghui admitted candidly.

His answer would surely impact his image, painting him as unprofessional—bad for his commercial value, inviting criticism and the disdain of rigid fans. But so what?

Maintaining a positive persona was something ordinary people like James had to do. James, knowing he couldn't dominate the league, needed to cultivate an appealing image. He Xinghui, though, was never worried about the consequences of a ruined reputation, for he was certain of his ability to reign over the league.

If you can crush your opponents on the court, does professionalism even matter? If anyone objects, ten championships are enough to silence them. Let others maintain their personas; he would simply enjoy himself in this league.

...

The reporter muttered a curse in his heart—it hadn't gone as planned. He had expected He Xinghui to deny the accusation, so he could expose his hypocrisy and make a name for himself. Who could have known He Xinghui would admit it so brazenly, leaving all his prepared lines stuck in his throat.

"Frankly, your attitude towards the game is problematic," another reporter fired.

"So what? Why don't you call Stern and have him kick me out of the league, or ring up Sterling and get him to trade me?" He Xinghui tossed his phone onto the table, stunning several journalists.

Many couldn't help but laugh inwardly. Stripped of professional antagonism, they rather admired He Xinghui's candor.

Faced with his reckless indifference, those hoping to provoke him were left helpless. They could criticize him later in their stories, but looking at his indifferent expression, it was clear their words would have no effect.

"I heard you insisted on a kissing scene with Charlize Theron before agreeing to a cameo in her movie. Should I take it that you don't actually love her, but simply want to take advantage of her?" asked Johnson.

"Have you ever wanted to kiss your wife?" He Xinghui shot back.

"Of course," Johnson answered without hesitation.

"And do you love your wife?" He Xinghui retorted.

The other reporters silently applauded. With a simple question, He Xinghui left Johnson speechless.

"You can only go on a date with Charlize if you outscore Kobe. Do you really think you have a chance?" another reporter challenged.

"Does it matter if I have a chance? When you meet someone you like, do you need a hundred percent certainty before confessing? If you try, you won't have regrets," He Xinghui replied.

His words made many reporters suspect he had a split personality. Otherwise, how could his remarks swing from childishly naive to brilliantly sharp?

...

"So you just want to give it your best shot, without confidence in beating Kobe?" a reporter asked.

"Of course not. It's only Kobe—how hard could it be to beat him?" He Xinghui declared.

The reporters exhaled in relief; this was the He Xinghui they knew.

"That's nonsense. You're just trying to attract attention. With your ability, you're not even worthy to carry Kobe's shoes. If you have the guts, bet with me—the loser does a drag performance," Johnson jumped up again, his words sharp.

"I love betting. If it were Barkley, O'Neal, Stern, or Bush who wanted to bet, I'd be happy to oblige. But who are you? When you reach my level, then come talk about betting," He Xinghui scoffed.

A superstar wagering against an unknown reporter—win or lose, only the nobody would benefit.

"That's all for today's questions. Any further ones can wait until after tomorrow's game," the press officer cut in, seeing the reporters' agitation and intent to challenge He Xinghui, ending the session to protect him.

The journalists were dissatisfied, but there was nothing they could do. They watched He Xinghui leave, but not without some gains. His recent remarks could be cleverly edited into eye-catching headlines: He Xinghui admits his attitude is problematic; He Xinghui boasts that Kobe is nothing; He Xinghui insults reporters, calls Johnson a nobody.

With a little creative wording, they could easily mislead readers and tarnish He Xinghui's reputation.

He Xinghui understood this perfectly, but he didn't care. In sports, results speak for themselves. If he beat Kobe tomorrow, what did his attitude matter? If he beat Kobe, what was wrong with saying Kobe was nothing? If he beat Kobe, mocking Johnson wouldn't be an issue at all. Everything hinged on tomorrow's game.

To win, He Xinghui had made extensive preparations; his rage points had reached 1800, and he had prepared a grand gift for Kobe.

"Kobe, don't blame me for playing dirty. You're just too fierce," He Xinghui said, a mischievous smile appearing on his face.