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Chapter 255: Past Vs Future
🕑 Added 2025-07-24 09:37:51 +0000 UTCOctober 4 — Beijing, Wukesong Basketball Stadium.
The Knicks-Rockets matchup in the NBA China Games drew a huge crowd, with thousands of fans turning out for what was easily one of their most anticipated games of the year.
After all, this wasn’t just a preseason matchup—it was the return of Yao Ming, and Lin Yi was back on home soil after a whirlwind summer tour in China that could only be described as insane.
These two? They practically own the headlines.
Tickets were nearly impossible to come by. Even nosebleed seats were being scalped for ridiculous prices. The scammers were also having a field day, reaping benefits like it was Christmas.
Lin Yi had to step in on Weibo to calm things down.
“Don’t let yourselves get scammed,” he wrote. “If you can’t make it to the arena, catch the game at home. Your hard-earned money shouldn't be reaped. There’ll be more chances.”
...
Inside Wukesong, the place was electric. Celebrities flooded in: actors, singers, pop idols, internet sensations—everyone wanted a piece of this historic showdown. After all, it was the first real clash between two of China’s biggest basketball icons.
And the crowd? Unhinged.
Wukesong didn’t stop roaring for a second. Even before tip-off, the atmosphere was unreal.
In the warmups, entertainment stars kept coming up to Lin Yi for selfies. Some of these people he’d only ever seen on TV in the past. Now they were standing beside him, asking for photos. Of course, getting a good shot with Lin and Yao in the same frame was a challenge. The two giants made everyone else look miniature. Therefore, a good picture was a testament to how good your photography was.
When the DJ introduced Yao Ming with heartfelt excitement, the Rockets’ bench erupted. It was Yao’s moment. After all, the big man had worked hard for this. He’d lost kilos to get back on the court. It wasn’t the kind of weight loss you brag about for aesthetics; it was a painful grind.
Few knew how much he had sacrificed.
But tonight? He looked like the same guy who lit up the NBA alongside Yi Jianlian years ago.
The roof nearly came off when Lin Yi was introduced. His Knicks teammates weren’t surprised. Those who played with him last season knew this kind of reception came with the territory.
He wasn’t just popular—he was New York.
“Lin— Yi!!!”
“MVP!!!”
“MVP!!!”
“MVP!!!”
Yao just smiled.
O’Neal muttered under his breath.
Not that Yao minded. He wasn’t jealous—he understood the moment. He even joked about giving Lin a taste of a classic Houston-style elbow in the paint later.
Shaq, meanwhile, decided he wasn’t going to be left out of the spotlight. As his name was mentioned, the Big Diesel broke out, hamming it up for the fans. They ate it up.
Ewing Jr. leaned over to Gallinari and quipped, “Still not even one percent of Lin’s cheers.”
Shaq’s head snapped around. “How’s Danilo still breathing?”
Lin laughed, then helped O’Neal prop up a sandbag with Gallinari’s face on it. A couple of mock jabs later…
“I’m gonna get turned into pizza,” Gallinari groaned.
On CCTV, commentator Zhang Xilin chuckled. “Honestly, O’Neal fits the Knicks vibe perfectly.”
“You mean personality-wise?” Yu Jia asked.
“Everything,” Zhang smiled. “By the way, both teams are starting their big men tonight. O’Neal and Yao—it’s a little nod to the ‘Yao vs. Shaq’ duels of the past.”
“Exactly,” said Yu Jia. “Say what you will, the organizations know how to put on a show. They know what fans want.”
The Knicks’ starting five:
Shaquille O'Neal
Lin Yi
Danilo Gallinari
Wilson Chandler
Shaun Livingston.
This game wasn’t about rotations or strategy—it was about putting on a show for the Chinese fans. Lin and D’Antoni understood that. And Stern? He was probably smiling from ear to ear.
Even Tyson Chandler didn’t mind coming off the bench. Lin had already told him:
“This one's for the fans. Yao and Shaq—it’s a nostalgic matchup.”
Tyson waved a towel like it was Game 7 of the Finals.
Before tip-off, Yao shared a warm moment with Battier. Old teammates, catching up. Most of that Rockets' core had moved on, and Yao was starting to feel the weight of time.
He looked around, suddenly nostalgic. Lin noticed and clapped him on the shoulder.
Lin whispered something into his ear.
Yao burst out laughing.
To complete the throwback vibe, O’Neal took the tip.
Back on the Knicks’ bench, the whispers started:
“You think Shaq can still jump?”
“Man, he’s lucky if he’s got five centimeters left in those knees.”
O’Neal, hearing them, flipped the bench the bird, drawing a huge laugh from the crowd.
The Rockets' starting five:
Yao Ming
Luis Scola
Chase Budinger
Courtney Lee
Aaron Brooks.
Coach Adelman kept things balanced. Yao was still coming off injury, and his minutes were being managed carefully over the two-game China stint.
But when Yao and Shaq stepped into the center circle?
For a moment—just a second—it was like turning back time.
And every old-school fan in the arena felt it.
...
The Rockets drew first blood.
A roar swept through Wukesong Arena. No pressure, no tension—just thousands of fans soaking in the magic of watching Yao Ming and Lin Yi share the court.
Brooks brought the ball up, already aware of what was coming. He and Yao ran a simple pick-and-pop to open the game.
O'Neal raised an eyebrow as he watched Yao drift beyond the arc.
He already knew.
This wasn’t the same Yao Ming he used to battle in the paint. This Yao was leaner—several kilos lighter, by Shaq’s guess—and looking to play with more freedom. Less stress on the knees. Less wear on the body.
This Yao was trying to rewrite the ending.
Swish!
“Yao Ming for three!” Yu Jia’s voice lifted, a mix of pride and awe. “He’s been working on that shot while rehabbing. He’s always had the touch—now he’s adding range!”
Zhang Xilin, the former national team standout turned analyst, chimed in with a nostalgic smile. “He’s not the young center he used to be. But that’s the beauty of it—he’s evolving.”
Around the arena, fans were blinking back tears. It was supposed to be a fun, lighthearted exhibition.
Maybe because some things only hit you when you realize they’re almost gone.
The Knicks answered with a pick-and-roll between O'Neal and Lin Yi. Lin read Shaq’s look right away—he wanted his moment, too.
He slipped him the ball.
Shaq stepped into a three.
Brick.
Scola grabbed the board, and the Rockets were off again.
The crowd chuckled. Whatever tension had started to build melted instantly.
“Shaq let that fly, huh?” Zhang laughed.
“Maybe he’s just telling us all to lighten up,” Yu Jia said with a grin.
But Lin knew better.
That clunky three-pointer wasn’t just for laughs.
Shaq had shared the court with Yao. And as one of his opponents during the twilight of his prime, Yao had meant more than just another big man in the league.
Shaq’s message was simple:
“If you’re changing your game—if you’ve chosen a new path—own it. No regrets.”
He wasn’t the Diesel of old. But he wasn’t done either.
He came to New York for a reason—for a shot at one last run.
This young Knicks team gave him something he hadn’t felt in a while: hope.
Narrator: That is what I inferred, or Shaq just threw a shitty three.
On the floor, Brooks and Yao ran it back. Another pick. Another pop.
Swish!
The second three of the night.
Wukesong erupted. Fans chanted “M-V-P! M-V-P!”—this time, for Yao.
Even the celebrities on the sidelines stopped pretending to be cool. They stood and clapped, caught in the moment.
Meanwhile, O’Neal casually walked to the baseline, tossed the ball in, and smiled.
Then, like a gust of wind, Lin Yi tore across half court.
Shaq had hit him with a perfect long pass in stride. Yao, fresh off the made three, hustled back to cut him off.
The first real "Yao vs. Lin" clash of the night was here.
Dribble.
Dribble.
Dribble.
Lin Yi’s rhythm changed—faster, sharper. Then, in a blink, he glided past Yao like water slipping between fingers.
You had to be there. TV wouldn’t do it justice.
He rose.
BOOM.
One-handed slam.
Wukesong exploded.
And in that instant, it was as if Yao Ming handed over the crown himself.
He didn’t sulk. He didn’t scowl.
He smiled.
Because he didn’t see Lin Yi as a rival. He saw him as a torchbearer.
They high-fived on the way back.
The past and future. On the same floor. In the same moment.
Yu Jia took off his glasses, his eyes misty.
“One giant showed us what the NBA truly was,” he said. “Now another is taking us even higher.”
Zhang Xilin nodded.
