Chapter 140: New York Welcomes You
Crazy, utterly crazy—the crowd had completely lost their minds.
The consecutive explosive displays left the spectators at a loss for words to describe their feelings.
All the exaggerated exclamations had been exhausted during the earlier goals before Xinghui He’s remarkable performance.
Facing He Xinghui’s increasingly dazzling show, they were speechless, able only to shout to express their overwhelming excitement.
He Xinghui’s extraordinary display continued relentlessly. Just when the audience thought it was the final goal, he would prove them wrong—far from finished.
Six goals in a row.
Seven goals in a row.
Eight goals in a row.
Nine goals in a row.
He Xinghui kept breaking his own consecutive scoring record.
Meanwhile, the score gap between the two teams widened rapidly.
By the time He Xinghui took his tenth shot, the Knicks were trailing by 15 points, and their players were visibly frustrated.
It was unbearable, utterly disrespectful.
Scoring a few times might be forgiven, but this endless streak was intolerable.
They couldn’t imagine how mercilessly the media would mock them after the game.
On He Xinghui’s tenth attempt, Morris, seeing he was about to be outmaneuvered, resorted to a chokehold to bring him down.
His ferocious expression looked as if he intended to kill He Xinghui.
He Xinghui immediately felt suffocated, his body collapsing to the floor, but instinctively, he tossed the ball forward.
Astonishingly, the ball still went in.
The Clippers players who had rushed in to confront Morris were stunned speechless.
Referees and staff quickly intervened, separating the two groups to prevent a brawl.
He Xinghui’s miraculous performance had already made this game a classic; it would have been a pity if it had ended with a fight.
Morris was ejected, and the crowd booed him relentlessly.
This filled Morris with profound sorrow—he couldn’t understand why, after sacrificing so much for the Knicks, the fans still jeered him.
Morris was assessed a flagrant foul, two free throws and possession awarded to the Clippers.
He Xinghui rubbed his reddened neck and calmly made both free throws.
Shortly after, Dunleavy substituted him out.
Dunleavy worried about He Xinghui’s injury and feared further malicious fouls from the Knicks.
At this moment, he even sympathized with the Knicks players; if he had been humiliated like that, he might have lost his temper too.
The Knicks also pulled their starters, and the two teams’ bench players finished the remainder of the quarter.
In the final quarter, Barkley and Smith abandoned commentary entirely, engrossed instead in discussing He Xinghui’s stunning goals.
“Charles, I remember you once said that Brother He was just boasting,” Smith chuckled.
“...” Barkley was left speechless, unable to fathom where he had gone wrong.
His analysis had been logical, reasonable, scientific.
At last, the game ended.
The Clippers triumphed over the Knicks 104 to 88, a commanding 16-point victory.
He Xinghui had played just 22 minutes, scoring 36 points—24 of them in the third quarter alone.
More astonishing was his shooting: 18 attempts, 15 made, an 83.3% shooting rate, even more accurate than LeBron James’s free throws.
Five of eight in the first half was respectable, but an unblemished 10 for 10 in the third quarter was unbelievable.
This was no mere training session 10-for-10, nor an ordinary game.
Those ten shots were almost all solo battles against the Knicks’ entire defense.
In the end, he not only made all ten shots but also drew several fouls and even caused Jalen Rose to leave the game injured.
In short, his third-quarter performance was even more spectacular than his record-breaking 82-point night.
The crowd’s reaction made this clear.
The Knicks’ fans had completely switched allegiance, chanting He Xinghui’s name and other slogans such as:
“MVP.”
“He, come to New York.”
“He, New York welcomes you.”
When the crowd loudly shouted “New York welcomes you,” He Xinghui suddenly stood.
Holding the microphone, he raised his hand, signaling for silence.
The arena, once roaring over a hundred decibels, instantly fell quiet.
Everyone waited in anticipation, eager to hear if He Xinghui would indeed come to New York.
Even some Knicks players poised for confrontation fell silent.
Staff stopped their tasks, commentators fell mute—everyone awaited He Xinghui’s words.
When he finally spoke, the crowd erupted with excitement.
He Xinghui began with a beatbox prelude to the song “New York Welcomes You.”
“Bong shi, bong shi, bong shi shi...”
This was a classic tune from Taylor Swift’s later years, once used as background music for a Chinatown Detective movie, now perfectly echoing the fans’ chants of “New York welcomes you.”
“Through the bustling crowds.”
“The whole city shines bright.”
“Everyone here longs for more.”
...
“Welcome to New York.”
“It awaits you.”
...
“Oh... my God.”
Barkley’s jaw dropped like it was ten blocks long.
“Brother He is singing—a brand new song, an impromptu creation, a response to the fans right here. The theme is exactly ‘New York Welcomes You.’”
“Charles, Charles, slap me hard, slap me hard—I can’t believe this is real. I must be dreaming.”
“It’s impossible, impossible, impossible for someone to compose a song instantly, and one that fits the moment perfectly.”
Smith was utterly shocked, verging on hysteria.
But no one mocked him, because everyone felt the same.
He Xinghui’s ability to create and sing a song live, instantly and so beautifully, was beyond any movie script.
Yet this surreal event truly unfolded before their eyes.
Their worldviews shattered and reshaped.
Taylor Swift, standing nearby, felt the same.
Though still an unknown, she was immensely confident and proud of her songwriting skills.
But compared to He Xinghui, she suddenly realized how inferior she was; a single song could take her days, even weeks to write.
Had she been a man, this defeat would have stung deeply.
Fortunately, she was a woman—and women don’t mind their men being superior.
At that moment, Taylor decided to devote herself to He Xinghui alone.
Every other man was a mere novice compared to him.
No one on the planet could match his talent.
She even recalled something He Xinghui once said:
“I only came to basketball because I couldn’t find rivals in singing.”
She had thought it was just his humor, but now, tears streaming down her face, she realized it was true.
Unable to contain herself any longer, she rushed forward after he finished singing, leapt onto He Xinghui, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him passionately.