Chapter 112: He Has Gone Mad

Taking advantage of the Clippers’ early 14-point lead, the Cavaliers’ players finally realized something was wrong.

If this continued, He Xinghui was fully capable of scoring 82 points.

Though they recognized the problem, Jones and the others hesitated to step forward and double-team LeBron—it was a matter of pride for LeBron.

All along, James had been crafting an image of himself as an all-around player.

To maintain well-rounded statistics, he sometimes quietly sacrificed rational play.

For instance, even when his teammates had worse shooting opportunities, he’d still pass to them.

Unlike Kobe, who would confront challenges head-on.

The same applied on defense; James always tried to prove he could guard multiple positions.

Throughout his career, he had defended point guards to centers—and with seemingly decent results.

If the audience looked closely, they’d notice James tended to pick weaker centers and slower point guards.

There were so many subtle court tactics that one could fill a book.

Now, with He Xinghui playing small forward, James had even less reason to call for help.

Even if continuing to guard one-on-one hurt the team, James still hoped he could keep pace with He Xinghui.

So, despite He Xinghui’s hot streak, the Cavaliers stuck to single coverage.

He Xinghui was somewhat surprised but welcomed the situation—it was exactly what he wanted.

Over the next five possessions, He Xinghui showed the world what a true cancer on the court looked like; compared to him, Kobe’s exploits might as well be called child’s play.

In those five offensive possessions, every final shot for the Clippers was taken by He Xinghui—and all were three-pointers.

No matter how well or poorly LeBron defended, no matter the degree of interference, He Xinghui shot without hesitation.

On the surface, James looked like he was doing a decent job—He Xinghui made only 2 of 5 shots.

From the scoreboard, it looked like he missed many shots, but looking closely at the stats—

Wait, he had 6 points already; that’s not too bad.

Not too bad? That was just the casual observer’s view.

To He’s fans, this was excellent—carrying the whole team on his back, excellent.

Besides He Xinghui, could anyone else on the Clippers score? Everyone else was too scared to shoot.

The score was 17 to 20, the Cavaliers trailing by three.

In those five possessions, the Cavaliers actually played well, even narrowing the gap.

But Mike Brown still called a timeout.

He had no choice—goodness, He Xinghui had already racked up 20 points, and the first quarter was barely eight minutes in.

If he didn’t call a timeout now, the audience might start suspecting he had been secretly bribed by He Xinghui.

If He delivered such an epic performance, the one who would take the blame certainly wouldn’t be LeBron.

For the sake of his job, Mike Brown shouted passionately, spitting as he frantically scribbled on the tactical board like a madman.

During the timeout, while others listened to the coach’s instructions, He Xinghui stepped to the sidelines, picked up the microphone staff had prepared for him, and addressed the crowd:

“I heard some say I’m a fake superstar.”

“I heard some don’t believe I can score 82 points.”

“I heard some are waiting to see me make a fool of myself.”

His words came in a steady rhythm, light in tone but sharp with pride and undeniable confidence.

“Cool.”

He Xinghui’s words ignited the passions of both fans and casual viewers, who roared even louder.

Meanwhile, those who opposed him, the “star haters” and LeBron loyalists, dared not even boo.

They were simply stunned by He’s explosive performance, too afraid to utter a word.

This was the intangible aura—unseen, untouchable, yet undeniably real.

They could only hope their king would rise and slay this mighty villain standing before them.

And where was their emperor at this moment?

LeBron was zoning out, not even paying attention to the coach’s instructions.

He was quietly watching He Xinghui, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him.

Envy, defiance, jealousy, confusion, frustration, irritation, anger...

In all his years, he had never experienced such a complex emotional storm.

Back in the game, the Cavaliers began double-teaming He Xinghui.

James silently accepted this.

If any naïve reporter asked after the game why he was double-teamed, he could simply say it was the coach’s decision and he knew nothing.

As He crossed half-court, Jones closed in to defend his three-point attempt.

James hung back a step behind Jones, ready to help double-team or guard against a drive.

Facing such tight defense, Barkley remarked during the broadcast, “The Clippers basically have a four-on-three elsewhere—others should try to attack.”

Before he finished, Cassell passed the ball back to He Xinghui.

“He should pass; winning is what matters most,” Barkley tried to reason.

But before he could finish, He, facing the double-team of Jones and James, squeezed through a gap and took the shot.

“He’s gone mad,” Barkley said, unwilling to admit his suggestion had failed.

If He ignored advice, then the fault lay with him being crazy.

Yet the ball swished cleanly through the net.

Barkley was left speechless, unable to spin it any other way, helplessly letting Smith mock him.

Commentating is truly a tough job.

“LeBron, you can hold hands with your other four teammates and form a circle to guard me,” He Xinghui taunted.

[LeBron’s anger gauge: 100 points.]

Enraged, LeBron began to fight back.

His ceiling might not be as high as Kobe’s, lacking that explosive sudden scoring burst.

But his floor was steadier—no matter the situation, his stats rarely looked bad.

Achieving this was no small feat.

LeBron dribbled past half-court, suddenly accelerating with the speed of a point guard.

He charged to the basket; facing Wilcox’s defense, LeBron soared up, causing Wilcox to instinctively shrink his shoulders.

Then, unsurprisingly, he dunked over him.

“Ahh...”

LeBron’s celebration—or perhaps his way of venting—was painfully awkward to watch.

“LeBron, your celebration is so lame. I can teach you a few moves,” He Xinghui said amicably.

But LeBron scowled and retreated on defense, ignoring He completely.

The last time he responded kindly, He had used the chance to shake him off and take a shot, making LeBron look ridiculous.

Having suffered that humiliation, he’d never trust a word from He again.

The Clippers resumed offense, and two defenders hovered near He Xinghui.

The camera focused on him, ignoring Mobley, who had the ball.

Fans eagerly awaited to see if He would shoot again.

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