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Chapter 295: Bounce Distance +1
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 16:49:17 +0000 UTCThe call came just as Lin Yi was about to doze off on the couch.
“Lin! The Basketball Association wants me to thank you,” boomed Yao Ming’s voice on the other end, as if the man had no concept of indoor volume. “They said some of your prep work made the difference. Because of them, the men’s team cruised to the Asian Games championship.”
Lin Yi blinked, sat up, and scratched his head. “This…” He didn’t want to rain on Yao’s parade, but in the back of his mind, he remembered that in his original timeline, China had taken gold at the Guangzhou Asian Games anyway. Still, this version had been smoother—less of a slog, more of a stroll.
Wang Zhizhi had played like it was 2001 all over again, and the guys—Guo Ailun and the rest—had stepped up big. The Basketball Association insisted the win was thanks to that summer camp in the States and the tactical ideas Lin had introduced. Lin knew better.
In Asia, even a malnourished, dehydrated USA team could still run through the competition. Ok, not to that high of an exaggeration, but the point stands, China the USA of Asia, could still blow through the majority of the competition when not a hundred percent.
Still, Yao’s thinking was sound. He knew young Chinese players weren’t getting NBA minutes, so sending them abroad for offseason training was the next best thing. Splitting resources between two national squads seemed like it would weaken the main team, but in reality, it gave more players the chance to cut their teeth on international competition. No one gets better sitting at home.
The long-term picture didn’t require another once-in-a-generation Yao Ming. A handful of NBA fringe guys, properly trained and tested, could push China into that elusive world-class category.
Well… everyone except the Americans. That mountain was still Everest.
And the Basketball Association wasn’t about to pick a fight with Lin Yi. Not with him leading the NBA scoring race this season. With Yao acting as the bridge, they were eager to stay on his good side—especially with Yao’s basketball plans quietly moving forward.
The 2011 Asian Championship was already on the Association’s mind. Word was, several countries were planning to naturalize foreign-born players in bulk. They didn’t want a gold-medal “accident” on home soil.
“Lin,” Yao continued, his tone shifting into that rare mix of persuasive and earnest, “the Association wants you as a consultant. The young guys who went to the U.S. last summer—most of them came back sharper. I want to make it an annual thing. Your insight, your… let’s call it persuasive way of speaking—it’s exactly what they need. And don’t worry, it’s not charity work. On the national team side, I’ll make sure you have a real voice in decisions.”
Lin Yi leaned back, phone pressed to his ear, smiling faintly. He knew Yao had the pull to make this happen. And yet, in the pauses between Yao’s words, there was something else—a quiet loneliness, the kind that comes with carrying a vision few others fully grasped.
“No problem, Brother Ming,” Lin said without hesitation. After they hung up, his phone buzzed again. A text from Yi Jianlian.
The message was simple: Game in D.C. coming up. I’ve booked us a table—my treat.
Lin chuckled. The Wizards matchup was only days away, and in some small, unplanned way, he’d already nudged Yi’s career onto a different path. Washington was talking about a contract extension. Wall liked running pick-and-rolls with him, and while Yi’s defense wasn’t lockdown, it was dependable. As long as he avoided reckless play, his injury risk would stay low.
In today’s NBA, a stretch four with size has value. Yi had come to accept he wasn’t going to be the focal point of an offense—and in doing so, he’d found his lane. Funny enough, his reputation now was better than the one Lin remembered. And with Lin absorbing most of the media’s attention, Yi could just play without every move being dissected.
If things stayed on course, Lin thought, maybe—just maybe—when the next wave of monster big men hit the NBA, Yi Jianlian might still be there, holding down a roster spot.
...
In the afternoon, Zhong came back from Europe, lugging a couple of boxes like he was smuggling treasure.
He grinned, slid one over to Lin Yi, and said, “Hot off the plane. Grim Reaper 2s—second generation.”
Lin popped the lid and whistled softly. Nike hadn’t wasted time. The runaway sales of the Grim Reaper 1 had pushed the sequel’s release forward. The design drew clear inspiration from the AJ3—sleek lines, a classic silhouette—but still carried Lin’s unmistakable mark: that split red-and-blue colorway and his custom logo stamped on the heel.
Zhong Muchen had been earning his keep lately. A lot of next year’s draft hopefuls were Lin’s extended basketball family by now, and Zhong was already making sure they’d be laced up right.
Lin was still admiring the detailing when it happened.
Congratulations to the host—Bounce distance +1!
“…Huh?” Lin froze mid-thought. Bounce distance? +1?
The last time he’d gotten a bonus from a pair of shoes, it was the Grim Reaper 1 giving him a boost. But this? This was new.
His mind jumped back to college, when he’d earned a Bounce talent +1 on a pair of Kobes for completing a sneaker challenge. If bounce talent was raw spring, bounce distance sounded more like the length of his leap.
Taller guys, heavier frames—it’s physics. They rarely glide like Jordan or Zach LaVine. Lin’s most efficient takeoff spot had always been a step inside the free-throw line. But now… with +1 in bounce distance…
“Hold on,” he muttered. “Where exactly can I jump from now?”
From across the room, Muchen commented. “Kind of prophetic since those were what Jordan wore when he dunked from the free-throw line, and you are entering the dunk competition this year.”
Zhong wasn’t wrong.
Plus, this could give him an edge at the upcoming Los Angeles Dunk Contest.
And for a guy obsessed with adding weapons to his arsenal, it was one more reason to train harder. If he ever earned the nickname NBA Offensive Encyclopedia, well… that would be a legacy worth having.
He decided right then: extra jump drills were going into the routine. Most players in-season focused on maintenance. Not Lin. He was the guy who’d throw himself into the fire if it meant coming out sharper.
...
On the 10th, the Knicks boarded their flight to New Orleans, gearing up for the away clash with the Hornets.
The Hornets in the West were in an awkward, maybe, maybe not playoff bubble territory this season. The change left former coach Byron Scott quietly smiling on the sidelines of his post-Hornets life. In his mind, the message was obvious: Without me, you can’t even make the playoffs?
Well, as it turned out, Scott might have had a point.
Chris Paul ran the offense like a finely tuned machine had seen his numbers had dipped noticeably. He was still producing, sure, but 15.9 points and 9.8 assists a night were a step down from his usual output. Injuries had played their part, but there was more to it. Paul’s drive had taken a hit, dulled by the sinking realisation that the Hornets’ future looked more like a holding pattern than a chase for a title.
The NBA, determined to keep a team in hurricane-stricken New Orleans, had stepped in and taken ownership from franchise founder George Shinn. For Paul, that meant no quick turnaround, no major rebuild — just more waiting. The man who’d once played every night with a chip on his shoulder now looked like someone just trying to get through the season.
During warm-ups, Paul couldn’t help glancing over at Chauncey Billups on the other side of the court. Billups, who’d spearheaded the Hornets’ 58-point embarrassment in the 2009 Playoffs, now wore Knicks colours. He was smiling, relaxed, free of the constant uphill battle.
Paul felt that familiar sting of envy — and it deepened every time Trevor Ariza took an open jumper in practice and bricked.
Ariza was shooting 39.8% from the field this season, with a three-point percentage barely scratching 30.3%. That kind of efficiency didn’t exactly help a point guard rack up assists. And every clanked shot was another reminder to Paul of just how far this Hornets team was from where it needed to be.
