Chapter Three: The Elbow

Barkley exclaimed, "Oh my god, this rookie is absolutely fearless! Does he think he’s the star of the team, playing like that? Wait—oh, no way, he made it again! And now he’s talking trash to Kobe. Kobe’s getting angry, hahaha…" Barkley performed a real-life version of pounding the desk with laughter.

It had been a long time since such an entertaining newcomer appeared—someone who could actually get under Kobe’s skin. That, in itself, was a skill.

“He’s nothing like the Chinese players I’ve seen before—so different from Yao Ming,” Kenny Smith remarked, reflecting on how Chinese players always struck him as honest and gentle.

But ever since He Xinghui stepped onto the court, his mouth hadn’t stopped for a moment. Even Garnett might not be as talkative as him.

Back in China, Zhang Heli was left speechless for a moment, mouth agape, not knowing how to comment. On one hand, it was their own young player; on the other, it was his favorite star. The choice was tough.

“It seems Xingzai is quite a character—seems to enjoy jawing back and forth. But talking trash is part of the game, and sometimes it helps,” Yu Jia offered some support for He Xinghui. Since He had played one year in the NCAA before entering the draft, the domestic fans knew little about him.

Fans watching at home were also shocked by He Xinghui’s antics, quickly splitting into two camps. One thought He was reckless and disrespectful toward Kobe. The other saw him as gutsy and full of spirit—a real man.

Back on the court, Kobe went on the attack.

After being scored on twice in a row by a rookie, if Kobe didn’t answer back on offense, he might lose his mind.

This time, He Xinghui learned from his earlier mistake and didn’t get beaten off the dribble.

Still, lacking in strength, he was muscled aside by Kobe, who spun and launched a fadeaway jumper.

But luck wasn’t on Kobe’s side this time. Despite being nearly wide open, the shot missed.

“Kobe, I’ve got a nickname for you—‘Fe3O4.’ In our country, magnetite means that out of four fadeaway jumpers, three are bricks. It suits you perfectly,” He Xinghui continued his endless stream of banter.

Magnetite? Although Shaq often mocked him for not being cultured, Kobe had been to high school and knew what magnetite was. Why would that represent a low shooting percentage in China? What a strange country. Wait, that’s not the point—this guy’s mocking my shooting.

Kobe’s expression darkened further as he realized he was being played.

In fact, Kobe’s shooting percentage at this time was 45%—not exactly brick city. But everything’s relative. Compared to Shaq, Kobe’s numbers were fair game for teasing.

At that moment, Kobe found He Xinghui even more infuriating than the big fella himself.

The Clippers went on offense, and this time, He Xinghui didn’t even need to reach for the ball—Livingston handed it right over, eager to see more sparks fly between He and Kobe.

This time, Kobe gave He no room at all. Even if he suspected He was gay, he glued himself to the rookie. Kobe’s fierce will to win outweighed any discomfort.

The difference in strength was apparent—He Xinghui couldn’t even get a shot off, nearly losing his balance from being bodied so hard.

With no other choice, He returned the ball to Livingston.

He desperately wanted to say, “Big bro, my bad, please go easy on this rookie.”

“Hahaha, Kobe’s not playing around anymore! He’s giving a rookie the full force of his defense—absolutely brutal,” Barkley laughed, not so much praising Kobe as mocking him for going all-out against a rookie and lowering his own stature.

Livingston drove and scored.

The Lakers attacked again, with Kobe leading the charge.

“You’d better pass the ball, or Phil’s not going to be happy. If he quits, you’ll miss the playoffs again,” He Xinghui taunted, eager for Kobe to pass—he couldn’t defend him at all.

Kobe was furious. Last season, after Shaq left the Lakers, Phil Jackson departed too. Coincidentally, the Lakers missed the playoffs as soon as Kobe was left to lead on his own. That black mark became a punchline for his critics.

He Xinghui’s non-stop jabs were starting to really wear on Kobe. It wasn’t enough to just torch the kid on the court; he wanted to teach him a lesson.

Shaq was gone, Jackson was gone, and now Kobe’s elbow was about to be gone, too.

As he muscled past He Xinghui, Kobe dropped an elbow squarely on He’s head.

He Xinghui had been expecting something—he knew how annoying he’d been and would probably have wanted to hit himself if the roles were reversed.

So when facing one of the league’s most notorious elbows, he was careful.

Even so, Kobe’s move was so sudden that He still got hit. But as the elbow landed, He let himself fall backward, lessening the force.

Grimacing in pain on the floor, He found Kobe’s elbow far from gentle.

The whistle blew.

The referee, having seen it clearly, called an offensive foul on Kobe. But he didn’t call a technical—after all, Kobe was the league’s golden boy, while the rookie was just a nobody.

“That was intentional! He should’ve been hit with a tech,” Livingston protested, having seen everything.

Kobe was unhappy too: “He flopped—I never even touched him.”

Kobe, with his vast experience in throwing elbows, could easily tell if someone had really been hit or was just faking.

The referee ignored both and told them to keep playing.

He Xinghui’s teammates helped him up, and he went back to guarding Kobe.

“Why does your elbow hit like a girl’s? Made me have to flop on purpose just to save you the embarrassment—otherwise, everyone would see how soft your elbow actually is,” He sneered.

The whistle blew again—the ref hit He Xinghui with a technical.

The referee was furious. This rookie didn’t seem to care about playing basketball—just making trouble and showing no respect for his authority. Didn’t he know the ref was the real boss on the court?

“Oh, Kobe gave the rookie an elbow! He’s elbowed plenty of people before, but this time, I think he’s justified. A superstar can’t let a rookie talk endless trash in his face, even if the kid is playing well,” Barkley commented, unconcerned with Kobe’s status—if he could roast Shaq, he certainly wasn’t afraid of Shaq’s protégé.

“That flop was a bit much. I think the kid should focus on the game,” Kenny Smith said in Kobe’s defense.

“Oh, the ref gave him a tech. That’s a little much—even though he’s been chirping at Kobe, trash talk is still part of the game,” Barkley added as He Xinghui was called for the technical.

After He’s technical, Dunleavy was fired up on the sidelines, protesting. So far, He had played well—drawing a foul on Kobe, scoring six points, and rattling Kobe’s nerves. It was perfect.

Dunleavy was hoping for more from He, but the ref had handed out a technical for no good reason. Since when was trash talk not allowed on the court?

The protest went nowhere. Kobe made the technical free throw, and the Clippers retained possession.

At that point, Jackson called a timeout—not to draw up a play, but to remind Kobe to keep his cool.

You’re a superstar—no need to get into it with a rookie. Just dominate with your play, don’t risk everything throwing elbows. If you get hit with a flagrant two and get ejected, what then?

These days, the Lakers relied almost entirely on Kobe. If he wasn’t on the floor, the team had nothing.

“Kobe, you need to calm down. He’s just a rookie—all you need to do is keep your composure,” Jackson reminded him.