44: Forget basketball, let's talk about art.
The whistle for the second half blew.
Lin Feng stepped back onto the court.
His eyes tried to refocus, but the shadow of the first half clung to him like a persistent shadow.
D'Antoni's tactical adjustment was to have Gasol and Nash set more off-ball screens for him.
The intention was clear: use more complex movement to create even a sliver of space.
But Tony Allen was like a defensive machine programmed with a precise tracking sequence.
Wherever Lin Feng went, he followed.
Every attempt to shake him off using a screen was met by Allen fighting through with force or anticipating with a fronting move to stick to him again.
The constant physical exertion made Lin Feng's steps heavier and heavier.
Once, he finally found a momentary opening on the wing through a double screen.
He caught the ball and jumped.
The moment the ball left his fingertips, Tony Allen's figure lunged in front of him, his large hand almost completely obscuring his vision.
The ball's arc was clearly off.
"Clang!"
Another dull sound of the ball hitting the rim.
The Memphis fans in the arena erupted in loud laughter.
"MVP! MVP! MVP!"
They began chanting at Tony Allen.
Every one of Lin Feng's struggles became another bright mark on Allen's badge of honor.
Lin Feng's confidence was being eroded bit by bit.
He began to hesitate.
Should he pass, or should he attack himself?
Should he drive, or should he shoot?
When a shooter starts to doubt his shot, he has already lost.
The final minutes of the game had devolved into garbage time.
Lin Feng was subbed out; he sat at the end of the bench with a towel over his head.
The final whistle blew.
The scoreboard at the FedExForum displayed a glaring score.
92-115.
The Lakers suffered a crushing defeat.
Lin Feng's personal stats were frozen at 3-of-15 shooting, 0-of-7 from three-point range, finishing with 9 points.
This was the worst game he had played since rising to fame.
After the game, he didn't speak to anyone and was the first to head back through the player tunnel.
On both sides of the tunnel, the reporters who had been smiling at him before now aimed their cameras and microphones at him like heavy artillery.
"Lin! What are your thoughts on Tony Allen's defense?"
"Do you think tonight's loss proves that you're just a system player?"
"There are rumors that your scandal with Taylor Swift affected your performance. Is that true?"
The sharp questions stabbed at him like knives.
Lin Feng looked straight ahead, walking through the crowd without saying a word.
For the first time, he refused all media interviews.
In the locker room, the atmosphere was deathly silent.
Everyone was silently changing clothes; no one spoke.
Lin Feng sat in front of his locker, isolating himself in the corner like a wounded lone wolf.
The pain of failure.
The backlash from public opinion, falling from heaven to hell.
The mockery of the fans.
All the pressure converged like a massive mountain, weighing heavily on his heart.
He had never felt such immense pressure.
A hand lightly patted his shoulder.
It was Steve Nash.
"Hey, kid, keep your head up."
Nash's voice was very gentle.
"Michael Jordan was once beaten bloody by the Pistons' 'Bad Boys'."
"Shaq was also outplayed by Olajuwon in the NBA Finals."
Nearby, Pau Gasol also walked over and handed him a bottle of water.
"Steve is right, Lin."
Gasol's face carried a brotherly concern.
"Every superstar has gone through nights like this; it doesn't mean anything."
"What's important is how you bounce back from this."
Lin Feng looked up at the two veterans and nodded, but didn't speak.
He understood all of this.
But understanding it and truly feeling it were two different things.
Just then, a figure blocked his path.
It was Kobe.
He had already changed and was looking down calmly at Lin Feng, who was sitting on the floor.
Everyone's eyes in the locker room converged on them.
Kobe didn't say anything comforting.
He simply said one thing in his unique, raspy, and piercing voice.
"Remember this feeling."
Lin Feng's body jolted.
"Let it be your fuel."
After saying that, Kobe turned and walked out of the locker room without looking back.
Remember this feeling.
Let it be your fuel.
Those words hit Lin Feng's nerves like an electric current.
He clenched his fists.
Back at the hotel.
Lin Feng threw himself onto the bed. The lights in the room were off, with only the city lights from outside filtering in, casting mottled shadows on the floor.
He turned on his phone.
On the internet, news about him was already everywhere.
Iron-Blooded Grizzlies Crush the Purple and Gold Fairy Tale, the New King from the East is Exposed!γ
γ3-of-15! Lin Feng's Magic Vanishes in Memphis!γ
Tony Allen: I Let Him Know What the Real NBA Is Like!γ
The comment section below was even more of a frenzy.
"Hyped to the heavens, I thought he was so great, but this is it?"
"Softie! He folds as soon as there's any physical contact!"
"Hurry up and go back to dating your diva; basketball isn't for you!"
Lin Feng looked at these words expressionlessly and turned off the screen.
A fire was suppressed in his chestβa fire mixed with anger, resentment, and humiliation.
He needed an outlet.
He needed a breakthrough.
Waitβ
The phone vibrated.
It was a new text message.
From Taylor Swift.
"I watched the game."
Those few words made Lin Feng's heart skip a beat.
He thought a few comforting words would follow.
Like "Don't worry about it" or "You were already great."
But he was wrong.
The phone screen lit up again, and a second message followed immediately.
"When an artist hits a bottleneck, what they need is an ultimate experience, not cheap sympathy."
Lin Feng's pupils dilated slightly.
He stared at the line of text on the screen, his breath hitching.
An ultimate experience... not cheap sympathy... This woman, she actually... understands him?
Before he could reply, a third message arrived.
"Come to my recording studio."
"Let me see your other side."
This message was like a bolt of lightning, precisely cutting through all the fog and suppression in Lin Feng's heart.
What he needed was never comfort.
What he needed was power!
The power to tear through any defense and crush any opponent!
It was [Daiki Aomine's Formless Shot]!
And Taylor, this woman at the top of the vanity fair, had handed him the key to the door of power in the most direct and seductive way.
Lin Feng sprang up from the bed.
All his hesitation, resentment, and anger vanished in an instant.
In their place was an unprecedented resolve and desire.
He didn't hesitate for a second.
He picked up his phone and opened an airline app.
He booked the last flight of the night from Memphis back to Los Angeles... Late at night, Los Angeles, Hollywood Hills.
A taxi stopped in front of a secluded villa.
Lin Feng paid and got out, finding an unassuming side door according to the address in Taylor's message.
He took out the black metal card and swiped it on the access control.
"Beep."
The door unlocked.
He took out the silver key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it.
"Click."
He pushed the door open.
A warm breeze, mixed with incense and a faint scent of alcohol, wafted over him.
The room was dimly lit, with only a few floor lamps casting a soft glow.
Sultry jazz music flowed softly through the air.
Taylor Swift was standing by the bar not far away.
She had changed out of her formal attire and was wearing a sexy black silk robe with a perfectly cut V-neck that outlined breathtaking curves.
A pair of snowy white, slender legs were partially visible beneath the silk hem.
She wore no makeup, and her long blonde hair was draped casually over her shoulders, looking more languid and authentic than she had at the party.
Seeing Lin Feng, her red lips curled into a charming arc.
She picked up a glass of red wine already poured on the bar and walked toward him step by step, barefoot on the soft carpet.
The burgundy liquid swirled gently in the glass.
She stopped in front of Lin Feng and handed him the glass.
Her blue eyes, in the dim light, seemed to be covered in a mist, dreamy and alluring.
"Tonight, forget basketball."
She spoke, her voice carrying a hint of tipsy raspiness.
"We'll only talk about art and inspiration."
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