Chapter 25: Make Way

The game continued, and while He Xinghui kept running his mouth, the other Clippers players were hardly well-behaved either.

The most affected was probably Kaman; in this match, he had already thrown at least five pieces of trash talk at Big Ben.

“Ben, as the only All-Star afraid to shoot, what’s your take on that?” Kaman said.

Big Ben didn’t bother answering, but instead prepared to respond with action. He took a shot right in Kaman’s face, which, unsurprisingly, resulted in a miss. It didn’t matter if he was guarded or wide open; Big Ben’s shooting percentage was always low.

The trash talk had its effect—the Clippers players were secretly laughing, and their appreciation for this tactic only deepened.

On the live broadcast, Barkley and Smith were discussing the influence of trash talk on the game. Before this, nobody considered trash talk a factor that could sway the outcome of a match. It was seen more as a way to vent emotions; few players ever thought to beat their opponents with words.

But with He Xinghui’s arrival, many were forced to reconsider the power of trash talk. The Lakers’ defeat obviously had something to do with Kobe being provoked. The Heat’s loss was even more directly related to several players being harassed by trash talk—O’Neal even picked up a technical foul because of it. The Spurs’ failure was self-explanatory; if their mindset hadn’t been shaken, they wouldn’t have made such rookie mistakes.

“Some trash talk really packs a punch,” Barkley sighed.

“That’s true, like ‘Barkley, you’ve never won a championship,’” Smith joked.

“…….” Barkley.

As the game entered the final minute, the Pistons led 92-90, up by two points. Clippers’ ball.

The ball went to Brand, who in the paint used his footwork to school Rasheed and contributed a brilliant basket.

The 05-06 season was the peak of the Captain’s career; after this, Brand would quickly decline due to injuries. At his prime, Brand averaged 24.7 points, 10 rebounds, and shot 52% from the field. Beating Rasheed was no problem for him.

The score was tied—those previous 47 minutes might as well have been for nothing, as every possession from here on out was precious.

Pistons’ offense: Billups and Hamilton ran a play, and soon He Xinghui found himself guarding Billups.

Billups gave He Xinghui a hard bump, easily muscling him aside—an open path lay ahead.

Although Billups was a point guard, his strength far surpassed He Xinghui’s. In fact, among the nearly thirty players on both teams, none had less strength than He Xinghui. As He Xinghui played more games, his weaknesses began to show.

Maggette had no choice but to help defend, covering for He Xinghui.

Billups then delivered a superb pass—Prince caught it and took it to the basket for two.

“So savage, not graceful at all,” He Xinghui cursed inwardly, then resolved to focus on strength training and raise his strength level as soon as possible. It was unpleasant to be bullied by force, but if you could bully others...

He chuckled to himself.

Each side scored once more. The scoreboard read 96-94, with the Clippers still trailing by two. Only eight seconds remained, Clippers’ ball.

Faced with the last possession, Dunleavy called a timeout and began to draw up a play.

All the other players gathered around Dunleavy, but He Xinghui ran over to the Pistons.

“Coach Saunders, our last shot will definitely be taken by me. Rip, do you dare guard me? Do you dare accept my earlier bet?” He Xinghui said, acting as though he were familiar and friendly with the Pistons.

Little did they know, if not for all the cameras in the arena, the Pistons players would have already pinned him to the floor.

Saunders wore a bitter smile; he’d never seen a player like this.

He didn’t believe He Xinghui, suspecting instead that the final shot would go to another Clippers player.

“Get out of here, this isn’t your turf,” Big Ben had learned to be clever—he just talked, didn’t get physical.

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the referee,” Saunders said helplessly.

If He Xinghui didn’t leave, Saunders couldn’t set up his defensive strategy.

“You don’t appreciate my insider info, huh,” He Xinghui scoffed as he walked away.

Barkley remarked, “He successfully wasted thirty seconds of Saunders’ timeout with trash talk.”

Timeout ended, Clippers inbounded.

Dunleavy’s play called for the ball to go to Mobley, Brand and others to cut, Maggette to screen for Brand, then Brand to receive and tie it up for overtime. Dunleavy wanted a safe play—taking a risk for a three-pointer was too dangerous.

But the plan failed at the inbound—the ball ended up in He Xinghui’s hands.

He Xinghui had no intention of following the play; he immediately purchased “Lillard Time.”

The man who checked his watch before hitting game-winners—his clutch abilities surpassed even Kobe’s, unmatched in the league.

“Rip, if you dare accept my bet, I’ll go one-on-one with you for this shot,” He Xinghui said.

“F***, bring it on!” Hamilton couldn’t stand the provocation; it was simply outrageous.

In every team’s game-winning moment, they would use a hundred and eight plays to confuse the defense. No one just told the opponent straight out. But He Xinghui did.

Hamilton decided to focus with every fiber of his being—to stop He Xinghui on this play. If he could, he would be the hero, and his earlier poor performance would be forgotten.

Hearing Hamilton accept, He Xinghui flashed a sly, victorious smile.

Then he shouted, “Clear out! This is a duel between Rip and me!”

“……” The referee really wanted to remind He Xinghui that this was an official game—could he be serious? Who discusses plays with the opponent?

But was He Xinghui’s behavior breaking any rules? Not really.

Such tense moments often saw players going head-to-head, and teammates usually let them be. But never in a game-winning scenario had anyone called for a one-on-one duel.

The other eight players on the court were dumbfounded, unsure what to do.

With the ball in He Xinghui’s hands, he refused to pass; the Clippers players could do nothing but let him have his way.

For the Pistons, it was easier to let Hamilton guard He Xinghui than to guess who would take the shot.

He Xinghui had shown strong isolation skills only briefly at the start—otherwise, his solo plays were a sight for sore eyes.

Letting Hamilton guard He Xinghui’s isolation was not a bad deal for the Pistons.

So, the Pistons players quietly agreed—not stepping up to double-team.

Thus, the court became a stage: eight players watching, Hamilton poised at the three-point line, He Xinghui lazily dribbling beyond the arc.

Meanwhile, Dunleavy on the sideline was utterly crestfallen.