Chapter Fifty-Seven: Overtime

Scottie Pippen once taunted Karl Malone at the free throw line, saying, “The mailman doesn’t deliver on Sundays,” implying Malone was off his game. In He Xinghui’s eyes, that level of trash talk was laughably weak. It was only by sheer coincidence that Malone missed both free throws that the line gained its legendary status.

Now, He Xinghui had upgraded that phrase, and the result was overwhelming. Truly, it was a must-have for any home, travel, or psychological warfare—words that cut to the bone.

“Today, God wants to work overtime.”

He compared himself to God, suggesting that hitting the game-tying shot was simply his way of extending the contest into overtime.

Paul Pierce, ever confident in himself, didn’t react much to this declaration. But the fringe players on the Celtics, hearing such boldness, felt a chill of unease creep into their hearts.

Of course, He Xinghui’s words were meant more for the audience and fans—a performance for effect.

And what an effect it was. “Today, God wants to work overtime”—the line was simply too domineering.

His fans erupted in wild cheers, many echoing his words.

“We just got the audio from the court—He said, ‘Today, God wants to work overtime.’ That’s so cool,” marveled Smith.

“Cool? I call it shameless—comparing himself to God,” Barkley retorted.

Regardless of whether He Xinghui’s performance today warranted such comparisons, even if he deserved it, such words ought to be spoken by others, not by oneself. To proclaim it about yourself—well, that took nerve.

“Hey, that doesn’t matter. What matters is he just hit a game-winner. He’s only played nine games so far, and already has three game-winners—against the Spurs…” Smith rattled off a statistic that left people stunned.

Many players go their entire careers without a single game-winner, yet He Xinghui already had three. With results like that, the nickname “Big Heart” was sure to stick.

On CCTV, Zhang He Li, who had just been shouting “Brand’s calling for the ball,” immediately exclaimed, “Beautiful!”

“A’Xing just hit a crucial shot. I have to say, his composure is truly impressive—the higher the stakes, the steadier he gets,” Zhang said with delight.

For the nation to produce such a player was truly something to celebrate.

“We just got the audio—A’Xing said, ‘Today, God wants to work overtime.’ Incredible—he treats playing basketball like clocking in for work,” Sun Zhengping remarked.

“For them, as professionals, playing really is their job,” Zhang He Li replied.

“Working overtime—that’s bold.”

“Why God? Why not the Jade Emperor?”

“Come on, who in America would understand the Jade Emperor?”

On the court, the brief timeout ended and overtime began.

He Xinghui, exhausted to the bone, was forced back onto the floor; the fans simply wouldn’t have it any other way.

Fortunately, the system shop offered a dizzying array of items, including stamina-restoring ration pills. The name might be a bit odd, but the effect was the real deal.

A pill that restored 40% stamina cost 200 rage points—He Xinghui bought one without hesitation.

Normally, he didn’t care much about winning or losing a single game, but after showing off and comparing himself to God, he couldn’t afford to lose. That would be laughable.

After consuming the ration pill, He Xinghui felt instantly rejuvenated.

Returning to the court, he bounced over to the Celtics players with an innocent expression and asked, “Hey, you guys look really tired.”

[32 rage points from Pierce.]

[78 rage points from Davis.]

[24 rage points from Jefferson.]

…

All five Celtics contributed rage points, each to a different degree.

He Xinghui’s words were just too infuriating. At this stage, who wouldn’t be tired?

Everyone was just waiting for the game to end, silently cursing He Xinghui countless times. If he hadn’t made that tying shot, none of this would have happened.

Wait—why wasn’t he tired?

They suddenly realized that while they were dead on their feet, He Xinghui was full of energy.

And so, their frustration and anger deepened.

The game resumed. On the jump ball, Kendrick Perkins of the Celtics tipped it to his teammates. Kaman, more depleted than He Xinghui, could hardly get off the ground.

The Celtics, with a deep rotation at center—having used Blount and LaFrentz earlier—had Perkins, who was fresh and full of energy.

Delonte West brought the ball up and lobbed it to Perkins in the post. Perkins went one-on-one with Kaman and scored.

Kaman made only a token attempt to contest, just enough to prove he wasn’t loafing.

The Clippers came down on offense; the ball found He Xinghui, who took advantage of a tired Davis to break through, but missed the shot.

His “King in the North” badge had expired—no more bonus to shooting.

On the other end, the Celtics clanked one off the rim as well.

Both teams’ shooting percentages began to drop, turning the game into a bricklaying contest.

At times like this, attacking inside was the most reliable option.

Three minutes into overtime, the Celtics led 8-5, with Perkins—now a third-year player—scoring six of those points, completely overpowering Kaman.

Coach Dunleavy had no choice but to call timeout and bring in the struggling Jaroslav, sliding Brand over to center.

“Give me the ball,” He Xinghui demanded as they returned to the court.

Since his teammates couldn’t hit a shot, whether he could score or not was beside the point.

“This guy really has some leadership in him,” thought Cassell. In moments like this, those willing to step up and shoulder responsibility rarely fail to achieve great things.

He himself had once been that ambitious—and had had his chances. But he missed too many shots in overtime and was harshly criticized. After that, he realized he didn’t have the temperament of a leader and was content to play a supporting role.

“Will this guy break through, or will he end up like me—wasting his chances and becoming a second-tier player?” Cassell tossed the ball to He Xinghui and stood off to the side, eager to see what he would do. In his eyes, this was a defining moment for He Xinghui.

He Xinghui, of course, had no idea Cassell was having such an internal monologue. He caught the ball and feinted a drive.

He wanted to trick Davis into backing up, giving himself more room to shoot. Otherwise, with Davis’s height, the contest would be tough.

This time, He Xinghui’s luck held—Davis took the bait, believing He Xinghui was going to drive.

At this stage of the game, going to the basket was the smart choice.

But He Xinghui was a bit different from his contemporaries—he valued the three-pointer more.

He stopped abruptly, stepped back, and launched the shot.