Chapter Sixty-Two: Back to Back

He Xinghui was oblivious to the heated debates raging outside. In fact, he hadn't even read all the reports concerning him. He was simply too exhausted—he had to play back-to-back games. Moreover, he needed to study his next opponent before each match, searching for their sore spots. Ordinary trash talk only went so far; to truly hit home, he had to find the opponent's Achilles’ heel, and that required a deep understanding of their past and story.

In his previous life, He Xinghui had been a die-hard basketball fan, familiar with all the classic gossip swirling around the league. But that was hardly enough; he still had to use the Internet to dig up more. At the same time, he had to analyze whom he could provoke and whom he should best avoid. Take Randolph, for example, their next opponent: there were plenty of ways to taunt him, and it was easy to make him lose his temper, but he was not an ideal target—if Randolph got mad, he would actually throw punches. Getting beaten up on the court, even if it meant the opponent would be suspended, was never a glamorous outcome and best avoided. He needed to pick on those who weren’t particularly aggressive.

It might seem a little cowardly to pick softer targets, but it was the wisest choice.

On January 1, He Xinghui arrived in Portland with the team. On the bus heading to the arena, the Clippers players looked weary; even their usual banter was scarce. Only those who had played a full professional season could truly understand this grind. Kaman, sitting next to He Xinghui, glanced at the sports news and suddenly remarked, “He, you’ve only got 30,000 votes in the first round of All-Star voting. Isn’t that a bit low?”

At that moment, the league had just released the first round of All-Star voting results, showing He Xinghui with only 30,000 votes. Among guards, he ranked behind Kobe, Nash, Ray Allen, Parker, and others. Without considering his nationality, these numbers made sense. But taking his identity into account, the ranking felt far too low.

“My agent mentioned that the league filters and counts both overseas and online votes—probably because they’re wary of our country’s huge population,” He Xinghui replied with a smile. It wasn’t hard to guess that the league was manipulating the numbers behind the scenes. Otherwise, with his recent performances, there was no reason domestic fans wouldn’t support him. Yao Ming, averaging 13 points, had managed to edge out Shaquille O’Neal for a starting spot; if He Xinghui was averaging 20, it would only be reasonable for him to surpass Kobe. Clearly, though, the league didn’t want to see that happen again.

“Aren’t you upset?” Kaman asked—he knew He Xinghui loved the spotlight. And the All-Star Game was the world’s stage, broadcast to dozens of countries simultaneously.

The All-Star Game was the best place to shine. “What good would anger do? Am I supposed to go and kill Stern? Besides, if I don’t make it this year, I’ll definitely make it next year,” He Xinghui said nonchalantly. It was only a year’s wait, and he didn’t mind that much. Of course, with Stern pulling strings against him, He Xinghui wasn’t about to simply accept it. He was already planning to put on a show at the Rookie Challenge—something that would embarrass Stern without giving him a reason to get truly angry. He had a rough idea in mind, but wasn’t sure if it would work; after all, the All-Star festivities were still a long way off, so he wasn’t going to worry about it just yet.

Meanwhile, CCTV was airing an interview with He Xinghui recorded in Houston. After discussions with the station's executives, the full unedited interview was broadcast to fans. The game was still an hour away, but already a crowd of fans had gathered in front of their TVs. Zhang He Li had told viewers the day before that He Xinghui’s interview would air today. Thanks to yesterday’s game, He Xinghui’s fame in China had soared once again. At least within the basketball community, he was now a household name—only a step away from breaking into wider popular culture.

“I think, when you first enter the league, you shouldn’t expect instant success. Don’t set your sights too high in your rookie season. Maybe just set a small goal—like averaging 20 points per game,” He Xinghui said earnestly on TV.

“Damn—oh my god!” “This guy’s bragging—full marks from me!” “Averaging 20 points as a ‘small goal’? Ninety percent of players would cry if they heard that!” The audience burst into laughter.

Before television became widespread, humor was a rare commodity among everyday people. With TV’s arrival, and thanks to Zhao Benshan’s comedy sketches, the average person started to develop a sense of humor. It was only with the rise of the Internet that the era of mass entertainment truly began. By now, Chinese people’s lives were improving, and their appetite for spiritual fulfillment was growing rapidly. He Xinghui’s witty style instantly won everyone’s hearts. After all, it’s hard to dislike someone with a sense of humor. Otherwise, Zhao Benshan wouldn’t have become a national sensation just by talking.

“Ninety-five million dollars? Damn, basketball pays this well now?” When He Xinghui’s endorsement deals were revealed on TV, even the shopkeeper was drawn in. At that time, such a sum was almost unimaginable.

“Of course! You old folks are behind the times—you’re underestimating the power of basketball,” a young basketball fan watching TV boasted, as if He Xinghui’s wealth gave all basketball players bragging rights. And indeed, the shopkeeper began to look at these truant teenagers with newfound respect. He started to realize that maybe playing basketball wasn’t such a waste of time after all.

“It’s not a matter of whether I’ll win MVP—it’s a matter of how many I’ll win…” He Xinghui dropped another memorable line on TV.

“This guy’s the king of bragging!” “So cocky, but I love it!” “If he keeps playing like this, it’s not impossible for Brother Xing to win MVP.” “What’s an MVP?” the shopkeeper asked, his curiosity piqued. Someone quickly explained. Basketball culture was spreading, almost without anyone noticing.

“Sing a little, dance a little, flirt with girls on campus—that’s my simple, unadorned life. Damn, I want a life that simple!” one viewer complained, and the others all nodded in agreement. Who wouldn’t want such a life?

“I don’t buy that he comes from an ordinary family. The internet’s already dug up that his family owns several apartments in Guangzhou, his grandfather has a company, and his mother’s an executive.” “Wow, these photos are something else. Face blindness, my ass—I don’t believe a word of it.” “The biggest regret of my life is not making it to the NBA. I can’t take it! Somebody, please send a hero to deal with this monster!”

Domestic fans went wild with their banter—there were just too many talking points in He Xinghui’s remarks. Through this interview, fans got a pretty good sense of his personality: in a word, mischievous. All jokes and no seriousness, yet somehow impossible to dislike—talented, charming, a pleasure to listen to. Anyone would want to hang out with someone like that—even if it meant stealing mopeds together.

After the interview ended, the broadcast cut to the arena. Both teams’ players had already taken the court.