27: A tough guy's "greeting"

The war drums of the Los Angeles Derby officially began to beat at the Staples Center.

This temple of basketball was split into two distinct worlds tonight.

One half was the Lakers' noble Purple and Gold dynasty, and the other was the Clippers' rising Red and Blue power.

The arena was packed, and the smell of gunpowder in the air was thick enough to be ignited.

Deafening music and fans' shouts intertwined, converging into a vast ocean of noise.

The player introduction ceremony began.

The arena DJ, with his highly provocative voice, introduced the home team players one by one.

“The Bull from Spain! Pau—Gasol!”

Cheers erupted.

“Two-time MVP winner! The Son of the Wind! Steve—Nash!”

The cheers became even more enthusiastic.

“The black mamba! The eternal king of the Lakers! Kobe—Bryant!”

Kobe, wearing a suit and sitting on the sidelines, simply waved to the fans, and the entire arena fell into a frenzy.

Finally, the DJ's voice drew out long.

“And our new surprise from the East! The artist on the three-point line! Lin Feng!”

The moment the name “Lin Feng” was shouted, the half of the arena belonging to Lakers fans erupted in a mountain-shaking cheer.

Countless fans stood up, holding high hastily made Chinese signs and Lin Feng's No. 1 jersey.

Meanwhile, the other half of the arena, the Clippers' fan zone, unceremoniously sent up a massive wave of boos.

The two extreme sounds collided above the arena, forming a strange vortex of sound waves.

Lin Feng, wearing the Purple and Gold battle robe, calmly walked out of the player tunnel.

The spotlight hit him, and that divine Eastern face didn't waver in the slightest amidst the boos.

He stepped onto the court, feeling the solid touch of the floor beneath his feet.

Just then, an aggressive figure walked straight toward him.

Matt Barnes.

He had a shaved head and a fierce look in his eyes, his entire muscular frame exuding a hostile aura of "keep away."

He didn't stop, and as he passed Lin Feng, he deliberately dropped his shoulder and slammed it hard into Lin Feng's shoulder.

A powerful force transferred over.

“rookie.”

Barnes's voice was very low, squeezed out through his teeth with heavy malice.

“Welcome to the real NBA.”

Lin Feng's footsteps only paused for a moment.

He didn't look back, didn't say a word, and didn't even move an eyebrow.

He simply moved his bumped shoulder as if no one else was there, as if the collision just now was nothing more than a passing breeze.

His gaze moved past the shouting thug in front of him and looked calmly toward the opponent's half of the court.

There, a figure wearing a No. 3 jersey was directing his teammates in their warm-up.

Chris Paul, the absolute brain of the Clippers and the league's premier point guard.

That was the key to this game.

Barnes watched Lin Feng's back as he completely ignored him, the murderous light in his eyes growing even stronger.

The whistle sounded to start the game.

The Lakers won the tip-off and gained the first possession.

Nash held the ball, slowly crossing half-court.

Lin Feng didn't actively call for the ball.

He strictly followed Kobe's teachings and the plan he had made last night, beginning to move actively without the ball.

His feet moved quickly on the court, attempting to use continuous cutting and back-running to wear down Barnes's stamina.

However, as soon as he started moving, a hard body pressed up against him.

Matt Barnes was like a piece of sticky plaster that couldn't be shaken off, or more accurately, like an enraged mad dog.

He stayed right beside Lin Feng, never leaving his side.

When Lin Feng used a screen from Gasol to run to the perimeter, Barnes used his chest to push against Lin Feng's back and forced his way through.

When Lin Feng tried to back-cut into the paint, Barnes's arm immediately wrapped around him, covertly pulling and tugging at his jersey.

Shoving.

Boxing out.

Trash talking.

All sorts of small movements on the edge of a foul were used incessantly.

Lin Feng could even feel the other man's knee constantly and very skillfully bumping against the muscles on the back of his thigh.

With every explosive run, that spot would feel a wave of soreness and numbness.

“Run, kid! Aren't you fast?”

“Where's your Chinese Kung Fu?”

Barnes's voice rang constantly in his ear, full of provocation.

Lin Feng's heart remained as calm as water.

The footage he had watched last night flashed through his mind.

All of this was expected.

Nash observed the situation from the perimeter; he saw Lin Feng being frantically hounded by his opponent.

He wanted to pass the ball over.

He made a passing feint, trying to create a sliver of space for Lin Feng.

But Barnes's defense was airtight, his arms like iron pincers held in front of Lin Feng, cutting off all possible passing lanes.

Lin Feng was completely smothered, unable to even find space to receive the ball.

Only a few seconds remained on the shot clock.

Nash had no choice but to lob the ball to Gasol in the post.

Gasol played back-to-the-basket against Blake Griffin.

This was a mismatch.

But Barnes's harassment had completely disrupted the rhythm of the Lakers' first offensive possession.

Gasol's hurried turnaround hook shot missed under Griffin's interference.

“Clang!”

The basketball bounced off the rim.

The rebound was easily snatched by the Clippers' center, DeAndre Jordan.

After landing, DeAndre Jordan immediately handed the ball to Chris Paul.

The Clippers' offense instantly ignited!

Paul caught the ball and, without even looking ahead, threw a precise one-handed long pass. The ball was like a guided missile, flying directly across the entire court.

On the other side, Griffin, who had just interfered with Gasol's shot, was already charging toward the Lakers' basket like a beast.

He leaped high and caught Paul's pass in mid-air.

“Boom!”

A thunderous alley-oop dunk!

The rim groaned in pain.

2-0.

The Clippers took the lead.

The Red and Blue sections of the Staples Center instantly erupted in massive cheers.

At the commentary desk, TNT commentator Kenny Smith spoke up.

“As we expected, Matt Barnes has unleashed a playoff-level strangulation on Lin Feng from the first second of the game.”

“He's not giving Lin Feng any room to breathe at all.”

His partner Charles Barkley nodded in agreement.

“This is NBA-level physical confrontation; it's a completely different concept from the preseason.”

“Clearly, Lin Feng has encountered the first real trouble of his career, a pure defensive villain.”

On the court, the Clippers retreated on defense.

Barnes ran past Lin Feng smugly, a disdainful smile hanging on his lips.

“See that, rookie?”

“With me here, don't even think about catching a comfortable pass.”

The Lakers took the ball out and continued their offense.

Lin Feng was still moving to get open.

His expression didn't change, but his running routes became more elusive.

He constantly used the bodies of Nash, Gasol, and even Nick Young as screens, trying to shake off Barnes.

But Barnes's defensive experience was too rich.

He was like a hound with a keen sense of smell, always able to anticipate Lin Feng's route and box him out ahead of time.

And on the off-ball end, his movements were getting increasingly aggressive.

The Clippers' second offensive possession.

Paul was organizing on the perimeter, running a pick-and-roll with Griffin.

Everyone's attention was focused on the ball handler.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the court, at the weak-side 45-degree angle.

Lin Feng and Barnes were still entangled.

The moment Paul broke through, Barnes used a teammate's body as a screen to make an extremely covert move.

He bent his right elbow at an angle and, in the referee's blind spot, slammed it backward with force.

The target was precisely Lin Feng's right ribs.

“Thud!”

A dull sound rang out.

A sharp pain radiated from his ribs.

Lin Feng let out a muffled groan, his body uncontrollably staggering as his breathing hitched.