Chapter 39: A Twenty-Point Gap in a Single Quarter

After intercepting the ball, Yi Sheng Feng made a beautiful spin as he dribbled, sprinting swiftly toward the opposing basket. His speed was nearly that of a hundred-meter dash, and since the entire sophomore basketball team was focused on defending the paint, they simply couldn’t keep up with his fast break. As a matter of course, Feng scored an ordinary but flawless layup.

5:0

...

Silence. Utter silence blanketed the court.

Then, in the next heartbeat, a thunderous roar of cheers erupted, waves crashing over the stands. No one had expected this—a basketball team with two years of training was being outplayed by a makeshift team, and now the score stood at five to zero, all the points scored single-handedly. It was simply unbelievable.

On the sidelines, Zhiming Jiang and Qian Da were momentarily stunned, so shocked they forgot to cheer. They had never seen Yi Sheng Feng play like this before—the way he read the play, chased down the defense, and ultimately stole the ball.

Once the basket was made, the referee handed the ball to the sophomore team for the inbound. Feng’s team began to fall back on defense.

But this time, none of Feng’s teammates got back in time. Instead, the sophomores seized the opportunity with a fast break, scoring two easy points.

Feng tried to defend but was a step too slow, and after being screened by Hui Zhao, their small forward, Xiaoming Chen, managed to break through and score.

The other four on Feng’s team were even slower to recover, forced to watch helplessly as the points were conceded.

5:2.

...

Now it was Feng’s team’s turn to attack. The ball was passed to Yunlong Kong, who brought it across half-court before handing it off to Feng at the three-point line.

This was the tactical plan they had agreed to and would stick to; unlike the unruly play on street courts, none of the other four dared to go one-on-one—they wouldn’t risk it.

Unlike before, when they had left Feng open, this time Xiaoming Chen marked him closely, wary and attentive.

Feng received the ball and tested his touch, dribbling at a leisurely pace, his gaze fixed on Chen, a smile on his lips.

Chen felt his composure slipping. What’s he smiling about? I’m guarding him this tightly—he shouldn’t be so casual. I’ll steal the ball from him this time, just wait.

Chen watched Feng carefully, noticing how slowly he was dribbling. The urge to intercept became even stronger.

Yi Sheng Feng saw through Chen’s intentions, reading his expression like an open book. He sold a feint, pretending to drive right with a forceful dribble, his right hand quickening in tempo.

And sure enough, Chen took the bait, lunging to block Feng’s right. But he was wrong.

Feng slapped the ball forward to his own left—Chen’s right—then sent it spinning behind Chen, splitting man and ball in a flawless maneuver.

Chen, meanwhile, was left off-balance, moving to where he thought Feng would go, only to find nothing but air beneath him. He stumbled, losing his footing and falling to the court.

The entire gym burst into laughter. This was the most dramatic essence of breaking through a defense—both offense and defense had to sell the act. But clearly, that was no act just now.

...

Meanwhile, with Chen out of the way, the sophomore team’s defense was wide open. Feng, from the right of the free-throw line, executed a smooth fadeaway jumper, sending the ball cleanly through the hoop while the others could only watch, too slow to contest.

7:2.

On the sidelines, many were starting to get anxious. Beyond the bet between Chu Yi Zhou and Zhidao Guan, a lot of people had wagered on today’s match.

Things on the court were spiraling out of control; some who had bet large sums were beginning to regret it.

But for the bookmakers, this turn of events was bringing in profits, and Feng had even quietly told Jiang and Qian to bet on his own team’s victory—though he didn’t know whether they’d actually done it.

As for Chen, he felt humiliated, played like a fool for the amusement of the crowd. His anger flared.

Barely two minutes had passed in the opening quarter, with four offensive exchanges between the teams, yet the game had already become one-sided—and not in the way anyone expected.

The match continued. The basketball team didn’t call a timeout; Bi Zhuang, their captain, hadn’t signaled for one, and the sophomore coach watching from the sidelines was in no position to defy him.

From then on, both teams traded blows, scoring back and forth.

At the end of the first quarter, the score stood at 36:16.

For a sophomore team in a top Chinese high school, putting up sixteen points in a quarter was actually impressive—until you looked at the opposition’s score. The gap was staggering.

A twenty-point deficit. Of Feng’s team’s thirty-six points, thirty belonged to him, the other six coming from three of his assists.

By contrast, the sophomore basketball team’s sixteen points included four three-pointers and a 2+1 play drawn by Chen. But those made little difference in the grand scheme.

Those four three-pointers had cost them eighteen attempts, a hit rate under twenty percent. With twelve players taking about 1.5 shots each, only four had found the net.

Of course, someone might ask: with such a poor three-point percentage, why not drive inside where it’s easier to score?

Easier said than done!

The twelve on the basketball team all felt the same: it wasn’t for lack of trying, but every time they managed to break inside the arc, Feng would steal the ball, every single time.

Nine steals—that was his tally for the quarter. All singlehandedly. The sophomore team could only despair.

Twelve minutes, thirty points, five rebounds, three assists, nine steals.

That was the stat line of an NBA star.

Even Xiaoming Zhao, known as the “James of Southwater,” felt uneasy. Feng was simply a monster on the court. He’d known those girls from the other night wouldn’t be easy to impress, and that thousand-yuan reward tonight would be tough to claim.

How could he fulfill his promise to Zhuang Bi now?

But Zhao’s hopes were rekindled when he realized that, apart from Feng, the rest of the opposing team had little to offer. If he could just hold out until the third quarter, their lack of stamina would show. Unlike his own teammates, Feng’s team wasn’t used to daily training. They wouldn’t be able to keep up physically, and then he’d have his chance to humiliate them.

In the past, Feng’s skills were decent, but he was still just an enthusiast—he couldn’t match the basketball team’s two years of systematic training in terms of physicality and all-around ability.

...

As the referee’s whistle sounded, the second quarter began. The atmosphere was electric, with both sides playing aggressive, tight defense.

Then, as Yunlong Kong guarded Zhuang Bi, Zhuang’s iron elbow caught him on the chin, sending him crashing to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth.