35: The Birth of a Hero

Gasol landed, feeling as if his chest were about to burst.

He tilted his head back toward the lights of the Staples Center dome and let out a beastly roar that had been suppressed the entire game.

He was releasing all his emotions, all his pent-up frustration.

The next second, he turned around like a charging bull and lunged at the Eastern kid who had just scrambled up from the floor.

He grabbed Lin Feng in a death grip, his immense strength nearly suffocating him.

"Beautiful pass! Lin!"

Gasol's voice was hoarse with excitement as he shouted with all his might.

"You damn hero!"

All the Lakers players rushed over.

Nick Young let out a weird cry and jumped straight onto Gasol's back, forming a comical human pyramid.

Nash rushed over and vigorously ruffled Lin Feng's hair; this usually gentle and refined gentleman was now laughing like a child.

"Genius! You are an absolute genius!"

"What kind of pass was that? Magic? How did you do it?"

Kaman, Jordan Hill—every teammate swarmed them, surrounding Lin Feng and Gasol at the center, venting their victory's euphoria in the most primal way.

Lin Feng was jostled by his teammates as shouts, cheers, and the roars of his comrades flooded his ears.

He was tossed high into the air.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

With every ascent, he saw the purple and gold ocean of the Staples Center boiling for him.

With every descent, he saw his teammates' faces, distorted with excitement.

He smiled.

Sweat slid down his cheeks, mixing with his smile in a state of hearty, dripping satisfaction.

At the other end of the court, it was a completely different scene.

The Clippers players stood in place like a group of puppets whose souls had been snatched away.

Griffin leaned on his knees, gasping for breath as sweat dripped onto the floor; he couldn't believe he had been fooled just like that by a single pass.

DeAndre Jordan stared blankly at the rim, where the lingering vibration of Gasol's slam dunk seemed to remain.

Chris Paul stood with his hands on his hips, his gaze complicated as he looked at the figure surrounded by Lakers players.

He replayed the final play over and over in his mind.

That trap should have been perfect.

That double-team should have been fatal.

But that rookie had broken it all in a way no one expected.

It wasn't a conventional choice; it wasn't even a rational one.

To place one's fate in the hands of a teammate during a game-winning moment...

What level of courage and trust did that require?

Paul's gaze finally landed on the big screen.

On the screen, Lin Feng was being tossed high by his teammates, a bright smile on his face as he waved to the camera.

In this moment, he was the hero of this city.

By the sidelines.

Kobe Bryant stood slowly; he did not join the reveling crowd.

While the entire arena fell into a frenzy, the smile on his face actually faded.

He just watched Lin Feng quietly, clapping his hands firmly and continuously.

The applause was steady and powerful.

In his eyes was a sense of relief and pride that outsiders could not decipher.

He felt incredibly gratified by Lin Feng's choice to make a 'game-winning pass' at the end.

A true leader must not only be able to kill the game with scoring but also know how to make the most correct choice at the most critical moment.

Tonight, Lin Feng had done it.

In the VIP seats.

"My god... this is crazy."

Taylor Swift's Agent, Andrea, covered her mouth, her heart still racing from that game-winner.

Taylor Swift slowly stood up from her seat.

She didn't cheer, nor did she clap.

Those sapphire-like eyes gazed unblinkingly at the radiant Eastern boy in the center of the court.

He possessed a peculiar charm.

At times, he was like a cold-blooded assassin, destroying opponents with inconceivable scoring skills.

At other times, he was like a commander strategizing, deciding the outcome of the entire battlefield with a single pass.

This contradictory yet harmonious temperament gave her an unprecedented sense of novelty.

"Andrea."

Taylor spoke softly.

"Hmm?"

"I need his contact information."

Andrea blanked for a moment, then immediately understood her boss's intent.

She nodded, her gaze scanning the sidelines, quickly locking onto a man in a suit communicating with the staff.

That was the Lakers' PR manager.

The clamor of the celebration gradually subsided, and field reporters carrying cameras and microphones rushed onto the court immediately.

Undoubtedly, there was only one focus in the entire arena.

"Lin! Lin! Look over here!"

Countless flashes and microphones were aimed at Lin Feng, who had just 'escaped' from his teammates' encirclement.

Although Gasol was the one who completed the game-winner, everyone knew who was the director of tonight's comeback drama.

A veteran female reporter from ESPN snatched the first opportunity to ask a question.

Her voice trembled slightly with excitement.

"Lin, congratulations on winning the L.A. Derby! On the final play, you had completely beaten your defender; facing two of the league's top interior players, you could have easily tried to shoot yourself. What made you choose to pass at the last moment?"

This question was also the doubt in the hearts of the nearly twenty thousand spectators in the arena and all the fans in front of their TVs.

Lin Feng took the towel handed to him by a staff member and wiped the sweat from his face.

Flashbulbs continued to pop in front of him, but he appeared exceptionally calm.

He glanced at Gasol, who was still in a state of excitement beside him, and answered seriously into the camera:

"Because I believe in my teammates."

That simple sentence caused the noise in the arena to lessen significantly.

Lin Feng continued: "When I broke inside, I saw Pau's (Gasol) position."

"He was unguarded under the basket; giving him the ball was the only correct choice at the time."

His voice carried clearly through the microphone throughout the entire stadium.

"I just did what a guard should do."

"The victory belongs to the whole team, to Pau's tough dunk, and to everyone in the Staples Center."

After speaking, he gave a clean smile to the camera.

This answer left the reporters stunned.

They had anticipated many kinds of answers.

Arrogant ones, wild ones, or official polite ones.

But they didn't expect this young man, who had just staged a shocking game-winning assist and was at the height of his fame, to attribute all the credit to the team and his teammates.

After a brief silence, the arena erupted into even more enthusiastic applause and cheers than before.

"Well said! Lin!"

"That's our Lakers player!"

Beside him, Gasol was even more moved upon hearing these words.

He stepped forward, hugged Lin Feng tightly once more, and whispered in his ear:

"Thank you, Lin. Truly."

Someone who could perform both flamboyant individual heroism and selflessly trust teammates at a critical moment.

Someone who had the flamboyance of youth yet a maturity and humility beyond his years.

Who could not love such a superstar rookie?

The television broadcast captured this scene faithfully.

Kenny Smith was filled with emotion at the commentary booth.

"High basketball IQ, a big heart, and so humble... the Lakers have truly found a treasure."

Barkley also nodded in agreement: "That's right, he didn't just win the game; he won the hearts of his teammates and fans. This young man's future is limitless."

Inside the player tunnel.

Andrea stopped Scott, the Lakers' PR manager, who was preparing to leave.

"Hello, Mr. Scott."

Scott looked at the capable-looking woman before him with some confusion.

"Hello, and you are?"

"I am Andrea Finlay," Andrea handed over an exquisite business card with only a name and a phone number on it, "Taylor Swift's Agent."

Scott's hand paused as he took the card, a look of surprise appearing on his face.

"Taylor... Swift?"

"Yes." Andrea maintained a professional smile, "Taylor watched the game tonight; she really appreciates your team's number one player."

"She hopes to have an opportunity to get to know him."

...The night was deep.

After Lin Feng finished his shower, the full weight of his exhaustion surged up.

Once the adrenaline faded, the muscle soreness and the pain from that final fall became clear.

But mentally, he was in a state of extreme excitement.

Lying on the soft bed of his apartment, the cheers from the arena still echoed in his mind.

He grabbed his phone, wanting to see the post-game news.

The screen lit up; a text message from an unknown number sat quietly at the top of the notification bar.

He instinctively tapped it open.

The message was short, just one sentence.

"Hi, I'm Taylor."

"Great game tonight, like a true artist."