77: The Prophet on the Field

Chris Paul scrambled up from the floor, staring intently at Lin Feng as if he were looking at a monster.

What was going on?

How could he have known?

Paul's brain worked at lightning speed, yet he couldn't find any logical explanation.

That play just now was an exchange of glances between him and Griffin, a moment of improvisation.

It was the tacit understanding built from countless times playing together.

Even his own teammates, seeing him drive right, thought he was going to take the shot himself.

But Lin Feng, the rookie standing still, barely even in a defensive stance...

Why could he foresee the exact passing lane he would use?

He even directed Gasol to wait like an ambushing hunter along his inevitable path.

This was unscientific!

This defied the logic of basketball!

Paul felt his brain crash for the first time.

His proud court vision and judgment felt like a joke in the face of Lin Feng's calm gaze.

The entire arena erupted!

The Lakers fans at the Staples Center recovered from their initial shock and burst into a roaring cheer!

"My God! What did Lin just do?"

"He didn't even move! He just shouted something!"

"He stopped Chris Paul just like that? The league's number one point guard?"

Kobe, sitting on the bench, watched the scene and jumped up from his seat excitedly.

He knew that the Lakers' true core and future had officially been established tonight!

Possession changed; it was the Lakers' turn to attack.

Lin Feng slowly brought the ball across half-court without rushing.

The Clippers' defensive formation immediately shifted.

Jamal Crawford, known for his flashy streetball moves and streaky scoring as the 'Sixth Man of the Year,' stepped up to guard Lin Feng.

Crawford's defense, just like his style of play, was full of deception and unpredictability.

He constantly used small shuffles and upper-body fakes to disrupt Lin Feng's dribbling rhythm.

His eyes held a streetball-style provocation.

"rookie, let me see what you've got."

Lin Feng's expression didn't change at all.

[Eye of the Heavenly Emperor, activate.]

In his vision, Crawford was no longer a living person.

Instead, he was a stream of constantly fluctuating data.

[Target: Jamal Crawford]

[Status: Defensive Stance (Center of Gravity 73% to the left)]

[Muscle Tension: Right calf gastrocnemius preparing to exert force, left shoulder shows tendency for a downward fake.]

[Predicted Action: In 0.5 seconds, he will use a fake to the right, attempting to force you to drive left.]

Every intention of Crawford, every subtle muscle reaction, was completely deconstructed in Lin Feng's eyes.

Lin Feng could even 'see' Crawford's cerebral cortex thinking about how to pull off a flashy steal to regain the team's lost face.

What a... boring performance.

Lin Feng couldn't even be bothered to use any complex techniques.

Just as Crawford's body began to execute that fake to the right, causing a 0.1-second shift in his center of gravity.

Lin Feng moved.

No flashy behind-the-back dribble.

No rapid crossover.

Just the simplest, most fundamental move, one that looked almost outdated even in instructional basketball videos—

A simple in-and-out dribble.

The ball gently tapped from his right hand to his left.

Crawford's brain reacted instantly.

Too simple!

Such a basic move must be a trap!

He must be connecting it to a between-the-legs move or a wide spin!

This was the fixed mindset of top players; they always interpreted an opponent's simple move as the beginning of a complex tactic.

Crawford's body, based on this 'high-level prediction,' made an excessive counter-movement.

His center of gravity lurched violently in the opposite direction of Lin Feng's change—to his own right!

He wanted to preemptively block any potential follow-up move from Lin Feng.

However.

There was no follow-up.

Lin Feng's move was truly just that one simple in-and-out dribble from right to left.

The ball went past.

The player went past, too.

And Crawford, because of that full-force counter-lunge, completely lost his footing.

His left ankle made a teeth-grinding scraping sound against the slick floor.

"Screeeech—!"

Under the gaze of tens of thousands of spectators.

This master of streetball, whose joy was making others fall, suddenly went limp as if his spine had been removed, collapsing onto the floor in a heap!

Ankle Breaker!

Ankle Ender!

Lin Feng didn't even glance back at him.

He easily blew past Crawford and charged into the Clippers' paint like a gust of wind.

The Clippers' 'Beast' power forward, Blake Griffin, and center DeAndre Jordan immediately converged like two walls to help defend!

They raised their arms high, blocking every possible angle for Lin Feng's layup.

However, the moment both men jumped.

Lin Feng flicked his wrist slightly.

The ball didn't go toward the rim.

Instead, as if it had eyes on its back, it flew out from under Griffin's armpit at an unbelievable angle.

A precise no-look pass!

The ball landed perfectly in the hands of the trailing Paolo Banchero.

There was no one in front of Banchero.

He easily rose up with one hand and gently laid the ball into the basket.

"Swish!"

Score!

Assist!

After a half-second of silence, the entire Staples Center exploded!

"OH MY GOD!!"

"He crossed up Crawford! He dropped Jamal Crawford with the simplest in-and-out dribble!"

"And that pass! How did he see that? Does he have eyes on his back?"

If the defensive command earlier had only caused shock.

Then this offensive possession was blatant, unreasonable 'dimensional reduction!' (A crushing display of superior power)

Using the simplest method to achieve the most humiliating result!

Chris Paul, standing at the backcourt, stared blankly at the scene.

He looked at Crawford, who was being helped up by his teammates, his face flushed with shame and anger.

Then he looked at Lin Feng, who, after scoring, still had an expressionless face and was quietly turning to head back on defense.

An unprecedented sense of powerlessness washed over him.

It was the first time he had felt such absolute despair against an opponent—a feeling of being completely seen through and utterly unable to resist.

His prized basketball IQ seemed so ridiculous and childish when faced with Lin Feng's prophetic vision.

"BEEP—!"

Clippers head coach Del Negro could no longer sit still.

He abruptly stood up from his seat and made a timeout signal toward the scorer's table.

The game had only been underway for a few minutes.

He was forced to call his first timeout.

He grabbed the whiteboard, intending to draw up a defensive strategy targeting Lin Feng.

But he held the pen, sketched on the board for a long time, and couldn't write a single word.

How do you defend him?

How do you guard a prophet who can foresee your next move?

Double-team him? His no-look pass just proved that trapping him is ineffective.

Leave him open to shoot? He possesses historically deep three-point range.

Man-to-man? Even Crawford was dropped by a simple change of direction!

Del Negro irritably threw the whiteboard onto his chair.

He realized he was utterly helpless.

Meanwhile, on the Lakers' bench.

Kobe did not join his teammates in celebration.

He simply watched Lin Feng walk off the court, his eyes shining with an unprecedented light.

He turned to his assistant coach, Phil Handy, beside him, and said softly in a tone that was both relieved and slightly wistful.

"He no longer needs me to teach him."

"He has started to define this game."