Chapter 106: The Monkey Trick

January 22nd.

The Clippers were facing the Mavericks, and this was a crucial matchup. After three quarters, the Clippers were trailing 62-80 by 18 points. He Xinghui had shot 17 times and made only 7, plus free throws, totaling just 17 points.

The reporters off the court were already beaming with smiles. They had not forgotten that He Xinghui had once declared in an interview that he would help the Mavericks forget the agony of 62 points after three quarters.

He Xinghui had spoken in jest, yet the media eager to blackball him had taken those words as solemn truth. Now that three quarters had passed, He Xinghui was not even close to scoring 63 points, and the gap to 36 remained vast. Such an opportunity to humiliate He Xinghui was truly one they had long awaited.

They only wanted the game to end immediately, the fourth quarter no longer mattering.

In the fourth quarter, He Xinghui did not perform a miracle like a god descending from heaven. The Mavericks employed a focused double-team strategy, clamping down tightly on He Xinghui. Even as they led by 20 points, they showed no mercy, denying him any chance to rack up points and preferring to let the other Clippers players score instead.

Not only the reporters remembered He Xinghui's bold boasts, but the Mavericks players did as well. The Mavericks, who had already endured mockery, were already furious, and He Xinghui's taunts only deepened their disdain. In this contest, they treated He Xinghui exactly as they had Jordan, the scene growing increasingly brutal.

Finally, after the full game, He Xinghui shot 22 times and made 8, totaling 19 points. For a rookie still climbing the ranks, this record was not particularly poor. Durant's rookie season had achieved only 43 percent shooting.

Yet now, no one regarded He Xinghui as a mere rookie; they demanded stardom-level performance from him. A star player posting such numbers was clearly unqualified.

After the game, He Xinghui attended the press conference, compelled by league protocol on one side and unafraid of sparring with the reporters on the other. It was merely a few cutting remarks; if he could not bear that, he should not dream of succeeding in the entertainment industry. In truth, he even looked forward to the berating and smearing, believing that the harsher the current defamation, the fiercer the fans' rebound would be once his dazzling performances followed.

Some neutral fans might even grow to support him out of sympathy for He Xinghui.

Of course, all of this hinged on his ability to deliver a spectacular showing in the future.

Others might hesitate to promise it, but He Xinghui possessed such confidence.

Thus, amid his teammates' worries, he walked tall and proud to the press conference. It did not resemble a march to execution; it appeared more like a trip to vacation.

He Xinghui sat before the reporters, and before any questions could be posed, he declared, "Congratulations, I lost again. Laugh all you like; such opportunities are rare."

The silence that followed left the reporters utterly awkward, as if their innermost thoughts had been laid bare.

"He Xinghui, it is regrettable that you lost the game. What are your thoughts?"

The first reporter attempted to maintain a semblance of starstruck admiration, asking in a veiled tone.

"Wanting to hurry home and sleep—does that count?" He Xinghui replied.

The game had drained him completely, and he craved nothing more than a deep, restorative slumber.

The reporters fell silent once more; He Xinghui had clearly not answered as intended.

Helpless, the reporters pressed on with greater bluntness. "Brand and Cam are suspended, and then you suffered back-to-back defeats. Do you feel that you have been overrated?"

This question caused the corners of several reporters' mouths to twitch involuntarily into smirks.

For a conceited individual, admitting overestimation was painfully humiliating. And if He Xinghui refused to acknowledge it, that would prove even better, as they could use the two losses as irrefutable proof to slap him across the face.

"Of course."

The first word He Xinghui uttered stunned the reporters; they had never anticipated such an admission.

But then his twist arrived. "Elgin is already considering using me to trade Daniel back—the asset the Clippers used to acquire me. Mike just told me he hopes I play off the bench next game."

He Xinghui spoke.

This seemed like a jest, yet it effectively deflected the questions. A player's worth is not determined by media opinions or two games.

No matter how the reporters slandered or mocked He Xinghui's abilities, the Clippers would not sell him, which already spoke volumes.

Such blatant nonsense, the reporters could not accept, lest fans question their intelligence.

Confronted with He Xinghui's sharp retort, the reporters suddenly found themselves at a loss for words.

Having lost only two games, their argument lacked conviction.

Just then, Johnson stepped forward.

"You previously claimed you would score 62 points in the matchup against the Mavericks, yet today you managed only 19. May I interpret that as evidence you are someone who enjoys blowing hot air?"

If they could not tarnish his skill, they would assail his character.

"If I recall correctly, I did not specify which game. I failed to achieve it here, but I can in the future. Are you leaping out to accuse me of exaggeration perhaps a bit hastily?"

He Xinghui chuckled.

Some reporters even began mentally replaying the interview, searching for any flaw in He Xinghui's words.

Yet they found none; He Xinghui had indeed omitted any specific reference to the game.

The situation again turned unfavorable for the reporters.

The audience watching on television burst into laughter; they rarely witnessed reporters in such disarray, toyed with throughout the entire event.

At first glance, it was quite entertaining.

Humiliated before a sea of spectators, Johnson grew furious.

"You are clearly dodging the issue; we all know you refer to this game. If you lack the ability, cease uttering such showy phrases. Why not emulate Kobe, who speaks only through actions? He scored 81 points in the game against the Raptors mere moments ago—that is the conduct befitting a true superstar."

"Really?"

The other reporters gasped in shock.

Eighty-one points? Impossible!

"Of course, that is the news I have just received."

Johnson stated, which was also his primary source of distress.

By coming to witness He Xinghui's humiliation, he had abandoned his Lakers report, missing this major scoop.

With such a heavy loss and yet failing to embarrass He Xinghui, how deeply frustrated he must feel.

"Calm yourself, Johnson. I can grasp your longing to slander someone into failure. Given your pitiful plight, I shall grant you one more chance to turn the tables. Quickly seize your recording devices; I am truly about to blow hot air here..."

He Xinghui adopted the pose of a street performer, yet the reporters could only grit their teeth and endure their rage, gripping their pens and awaiting his audacious declaration.

"Next game, I will score 82 points. Are you satisfied with the hot air I am blowing?"

He Xinghui smiled, this time clearly specifying the occasion. If he could not deliver, he could no longer quibble as before.

Still, he harbored no regret.

He did not wish to witness Kobe basking in glory, so regardless of the cost, he would strive to steal the spotlight from Kobe.