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Chapter 201: All Star Weekend 2
🕑 Added 2025-06-28 16:03:06 +0000 UTCNBA President David Stern didn’t attend the Rookie Challenge this year.
The old man had been in high spirits lately, feeling healthier than ever. With a spring still in his step, Stern was convinced he had a few more good years left in him. So instead of heading to the arena, he stayed behind with several league executives to discuss the logistics and programming for the next All-Star Game.
“Lin Yi’s got the rookie game covered,” Stern waved it off with a grin. “Time for him to take on something real.”
Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of coffee and spun around like a kid on a sugar high.
Everyone in the room could tell—the boss was feeling good. And why wouldn’t he? Lin Yi’s emergence had breathed new life into this year’s All-Star Weekend in Dallas. Even with big names sidelined by injury, ticket sales were stable, and fan excitement was through the roof.
“I heard the rookie game’s already sold out,” one exec chimed in. “ The crowd’s insane.”
“Turn on the TV,” Stern nodded to his assistant. “Let’s watch it live.”
The screen flickered to life. The cameras panned across a packed American Airlines Center, buzzing with energy.
“Dallas really showed up,” Stern said, nodding approvingly. “Great call putting it here.”
“Absolutely,” another exec agreed. “Perfect venue.”
For the first few minutes, everyone was just soaking it in.
“This rookie squad... they’re not messing around.”
"Impressive ball movement. These rookies are clicking like they’ve been teammates for years.”
By halftime, the mood in the room had shifted.
“Uhh... the sophomores might need a wake-up call.”
“This gap’s getting kind of ridiculous.”
“They’ve got no rhythm. Disappointing showing.”
And then, the final buzzer.
Silence.
The room froze, as if trying to process what had just happened.
58 points.
The rookie team had destroyed the sophomores by 58 points—the largest margin in Rookie Challenge history.
Even crazier? No one in the crowd had left early.
Stern sat still, coffee in hand. “Wait, who got the MVP?”
“Lin and Stephen,” someone replied.
He slowly nodded, then broke into applause. The rest of the room followed.
“These kids… just keep surprising us. Brandon with his 55 points. Lin putting up star numbers, and Steph proving he is the No. 2 pick for a reason lately. The rest are no slouches either.” Stern said, glancing up at the ceiling.
Someone muttered under their breath, “President, at this point… It’s not a surprise. It’s a full-blown shock.”
This wasn’t just a game—it was a statement. And it was going to be everywhere by morning.
“I’m starting to think Derrick made the right call skipping this one…” a senior exec said. “Can you imagine if he played and got caught up in that mess? These rookies are on another planet.”
...
Back at the American Airlines Center, the sophomore squad made their quiet exit.
Westbrook exchanged a few short words with Harden and walked off, clearly frustrated. He came in fired up, ready to lead, but tonight? It felt like swinging punches at the air.
Gallinari slipped away in a hurry, hoping no one remembered the big talk he had before tip-off.
Brook Lopez? Resigned, as usual. Losing had become routine with the Nets. Besides, whenever Lin was on the other side, he knew it was going to be rough. At least he wasn’t posterized this time.
Six points and four boards for Lopez—not bad.
“It’s not all on me,” he told the press afterward. “The rookies just played a great game. You win some, you lose some.”
Marc Gasol, though? He took it hard. The pressure of being Pau’s younger brother was already heavy. And now? Getting stripped by Lin on national TV?
The highlight was already viral, guaranteed.
...
Meanwhile, the rookie locker room was a different world.
Relief. Joy. A bit of disbelief.
And more than anything, gratitude that Lin Yi was on their team.
Coach Dan looked like he’d won the lottery. Sure, the game didn’t officially “matter,” but a 58-point win? That meant something. Especially for a rookie coach.
Reporters swarmed. Everyone wanted Lin, but he was already dodging the media, so they went for the rest.
Curry: “Lin’s the best teammate you could ask for. Our chemistry? Man, it’s like we were born to hoop together. Sharing the MVP with him? An honor.”
Harden: “Tonight was wild. Loved the pace, loved the energy. Sorry to Russ, but hey, this is how the game goes.”
DeRozan: “With this squad, you’ve gotta stay locked in. The moment you get open, the ball’s already in your hands. It’s unreal.”
Flynn: “We came out to prove something. Last year, people called 2009 a weak draft. Some even said some of us wouldn’t have been a lottery pick in a ‘real’ class. Well? What do they say now? I think some scouts owe us an apology.”
Wu Xiaolei and Qi Jun, working on the Chinese media coverage, were scrambling to keep up. Every outlet wanted post-game footage. Every reporter wanted quotes. Chinese fans were losing their minds.
And the momentum wasn’t slowing.
With the dunk contest coming up tomorrow and the All-Star Game on Sunday, expectations were off the charts.
Lin Yi had just proved it—he wasn’t just a player. He was made for the spotlight.
The internet exploded. Social media, forums, sports shows—everyone was talking.
“This 2009 class might be special after all,” one post read.
“No, scratch that. They just bullied the sophomores.”
Somewhere across the country, Blake Griffin sat watching from his couch, his Shiba Inu curled beside him.
He stared blankly at the screen, helpless.
His entire crew had just crushed it… and next year, they’d be sophomores.
And I’ll still be a rookie, he realized, rubbing his dog’s head in despair.
....
As the lights dimmed over Dallas that night, something strange happened.
No one was talking about the stars who didn’t play—Kobe, Iverson… forgotten.
People were already looking ahead.
The dunk contest.
The All-Star Game.
And most importantly—
What is Lin Yi going to do next?
When asked about the upcoming dunk contest, Lin Yi smiled.
“Tomorrow? All I’ll say is… if you miss it live and try to watch the replay, you’ll regret not seeing it in real time.”
The reporters ate it up.
And the fans? They couldn’t get enough.
...
February 13, Dallas.
All-Star Weekend continued under the bright lights of American Airlines Center tonight. But tomorrow? The grand finale—the All-Star Game—would shift to the colossal home of the Dallas Cowboys.
And right now, the city was starting to feel a pang of regret.
Had they known the dunk contest would generate this much buzz, they’d have just held it in the stadium that seats 80,000.
The Mavericks’ home? Suddenly, it felt way too small.
...
Lin Yi woke up early, energized. His custom Death Series shoes had arrived yesterday—two exclusive pairs, each one a showstopper.
Still, he’d resisted the urge to unveil them.
No sneak peeks. No teasers.
Tonight, during the dunk contest, was the time to let the world see them.
He held one pair up to the light. Nike had nailed it this time. The custom logo? Clean. Sharp. Just flashy enough.
As Lin tried them on, a familiar system chime rang out in his mind—
Ding! Congratulations to the host for unlocking an exclusive signature shoe. +10 Flashiness
“Wait, what? Flashiness?” Lin Yi blinked.
He didn’t have time to figure it out. He called his agent, Zhong Muchen.
“Hey,” Lin said, “we’re unveiling the shoes tonight. Be ready. It’s showtime.”
...
That evening, American Airlines Center was packed to the rafters.
President David Stern was in the building, perched courtside, looking less like a commissioner and more like a proud spectating grandfather.
His assistant leaned over, whispering updates about ratings.
Stern waved him off. “What do I care? I know they’re good.”
CCTV’s top trio—Yu Jia, Zhang Weiping, and Yang Yi—were on-site too, covering the action for fans back home.
Yu Jia glanced around, visibly impressed. “Dallas brought the stars out tonight.”
No exaggeration—celebrities were everywhere.
Football's own sexy man in the front row? David Beckham.
The tall blonde waving to fans? Taylor Swift.
Even Scarlett Johansson was here—the one Durant famously wanted to drink bathwater for. She was all smiles tonight.
Michael Jordan was shaking hands near the court.
Bill Russell, decked out in a suit, was catching up with Jerry West.
And in the middle of it all, Kobe Bryant, sidelined by injury, made sure he didn’t miss Lin Yi’s big moment.
The East All-Stars sat on one side, the West on the other.
But this wasn’t an awards show. This was Saturday Night—the Skills Challenge, the Three-Point Shootout, and of course…
The Dunk Contest.
More than 19,000 fans were buzzing. But they had to wait.
Because, as always, the dunk contest was saved for last.
...
First up? The Shooting Stars challenge. A fun warm-up act, sure—but tonight, it felt like time was crawling.
Fans were fidgety. Whispers turned into chants.
“We want the dunk! We want Lin!”
Stern sighed, half-amused, half-nervous.
Was it a blessing that Lin Yi had drawn this much attention—or a curse?
The hometown team—Becky Hammon, Kenny Smith, and Dirk Nowitzki—took the Shooting Stars title. The crowd gave Dirk a respectful ovation…
But the chants returned before the trophy even left his hands:
“We want the dunk! We want Lin!”
...
Back on the bench, NBA players were chuckling and shaking their heads.
“Wanna go grab food and come back later?” LeBron asked Wade.
Tim Duncan—The Stone Buddha—absently rubbed Kidd’s head next to him, then frowned. Not much hair left. Not as satisfying as he remembered.
Over on the side, Kobe leaned into Westbrook, giving advice.
“Russell,” he said with that Mamba stare, “when it’s your moment… don’t hesitate.”
Westbrook nodded seriously.
So that’s why I didn’t make it—hesitation...
Durant, meanwhile, sulked silently.
How am I the scoring champ and not even starting the All-Star Game?
He’d even tried saying hi to Scarlett earlier. She nodded politely… and turned away.
T/N: What do you expect, dude? LOL.
...
Next came the Skills Challenge.
Steve Nash made it look easy, gliding through the course and taking the win. He smiled like a teacher grading an easy quiz. Duncan scooted over to make room, watching Nash’s hair sway like it had its slow-mo.
Then came the Three-Point Contest.
Curry was in. So was Gallinari. Lin Yi sat this one out—gotta conserve energy for later.
Gallinari only managed 13 points in the prelims. Didn’t make the cut.
In the final round, Curry went cold. Billups underperformed.
Paul Pierce came through with 17 points, claiming the trophy.
“I’ve worked so hard for this,” Pierce told the crowd. “2002 haunted me. This means everything.”
The crowd started to clap—until they were drowned out again.
“We want the dunk! We want Lin!”
Pierce’s face went flat. Can I not have a moment?!
Though… yeah. He even wanted the dunk contest to start.
The other shooters didn’t even go back to the locker room. They just parked it courtside for the best view.
Curry quietly nudged Howard’s gear aside to claim a front-row seat while Superman was in the bathroom.
...
Finally.
In Lin Yi’s memory, the 2010 dunk contest had been a letdown. Nate Robinson’s third win? Controversial. Lacking flair.
But now, history was changing.
The four finalists tonight:
Lin Yi
Gerald Wallace
DeMar DeRozan
Shannon Brown
The crowd roared as each player was introduced. But when Lin Yi’s name was called—
“LIN ———— YI!!!”
The stadium erupted.
It wasn’t just excitement anymore. It was a movement.
Even Scarlett Johansson gasped at how noisy the stadium became, but joined in the clapping.
Taylor Swift took it a step further and blew a kiss from her seat.
Lin Yi made his way across the court, slapping hands with All-Stars as he went.
“Let’s go!” LeBron grinned. “I’ve been waiting all night for this.”
Wade puffed his cheeks. “Show us something crazy, Lin!”
Even Duncan couldn’t resist. The stoic legend gave Lin a firm head pat.
“The future’s yours, kid.”
“Still can’t dodge that blessing,” Lin muttered.
Kobe pulled him in for a handshake.
“You ready?” Bryant asked, eyes gleaming.
“I was born ready.”
“Good.”
Lin chuckled.
After dapping up Curry, Harden, and the rest of his rookie squad, Lin took his place at center court.
The spotlight found him.
Then came the judges. Not the usual fluff.
Julius Dr. J Erving
Anthony Jerome Spud Webb
Dominique Human Highlight Film Wilkins
Clyde The Glide Drexler
Chris Mullin
Stern wasn’t playing around. The league was all in on this dunk contest.
“Zhang Weiping, how do you think Lin will perform?” Yu Jia asked on CCTV.
Zhang laughed. “I don’t know, but he said he’s got a ‘big move.’ So let’s see if he delivers!”
Yang Yi added, “The challenge for taller players is always elegance and agility. If Lin Yi can combine both… this could be special.”
The players were warming up. The arena held its breath.
DeRozan opened things up. He sprinted in, switched hands in mid-air, and threw it down over the rim.
Score: 42
Clean, but not eye-catchingly new.
Next: Shannon Brown. He attempted something ambitious with a group of schoolchildren assisting. But he missed the flashy attempt and settled for a standard dunk.
Score: 37
Wallace followed. Muscular. Powerful. But uninspired.
Score: 38
The crowd was... underwhelmed.
Stern could feel it—the tension.
Please, Lin, he thought. This is your moment.
The lights dimmed.
The DJ’s voice boomed.
“AND NOW… LIN ———— YI!!!”
The arena stood as one.
The chants echoed like thunder.
This was it.
Lin Yi stepped forward. His heartbeat was steady. Eyes focused.
In that moment, Stern was holding his breath. Everyone was.
“Did Lin Yi just slip?” Yu Jia’s voice cracked with surprise from the commentary box.
The crowd in Dallas gasped in unison.
Even David Stern looked a little uneasy, his expression flickering with concern.
On the court, Lin Yi frowned and glanced down at his sneakers. Something felt off. Without hesitation, he bent down and started unlacing his shoes.
“Wait, is Lin Yi about to go barefoot?” Yu Jia was stunned. “What on earth is going on?”
His fellow commentators, Zhang Lixin and Yang Yi, looked just as baffled. No one knew what to say.
The celebrities courtside exchanged awkward glances. Even the stars in attendance didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned.
Then—out of nowhere—a guy in a courier uniform sprinted onto the court.
“Huh? What’s this? A prank?” the crowd buzzed in confusion.
But curiously, no security came to stop him.
That courier was none other than Lin Yi’s agent, Zhong Muchen. He had arranged everything ahead of time with the event staff. Only a handful of insiders were aware of Lin Yi’s little show. Everyone else—including Stern—thought Lin had genuinely slipped due to ill-fitting shoes.
Lin took the package from Zhong and opened it right there on the court. The referees paused the clock—they were in on it now, too. This wasn’t a mishap. This was theater.
From the box, Lin Yi pulled out a pair of sneakers—the first signature pair of his new line with Nike: the Death Series 1.
“Oh! Would you look at that!” Yu Jia exclaimed. “Lin Yi just unveiled the debut model of Nike’s brand-new Death series made just for him!”
The camera zoomed in for a close-up.
Up in the stands, Nike designer Caesar exchanged high-fives with his team. “Brilliant,” he muttered. “You couldn’t buy an ad better than this.”
“Check out the logo,” Yu Jia pointed out. “A Chinese seal design with an English ‘Y’ formed by two intersecting swords—that’s unique! And the shoe itself… doesn’t it look more like a guard’s shoe than something for a center?”
Zhang Lixin nodded. “Exactly. Lin Yi mentioned in an interview that he prefers wearing guard-style shoes, even though he’s a big man.”
Yang Yi added with a smile, “Lucky fans tonight. These shoes look amazing.”
Now wearing the new kicks, Lin Yi jogged over to the sideline and casually placed his old pair—Kobe’s signature shoes—right in front of the man himself.
Kobe chuckled, shaking his finger at Lin Yi as if to say, Don’t blame my shoes for that slip.
Lin laughed, picked them back up, and gave Kobe a quick high-five. He bounced on his feet a few times, getting a feel for the new pair.
“Man, these are comfy,” he thought to himself. “Nike didn’t hold back.”
As Lin Yi got ready to warm up for his dunk attempt, the Rockets mascot—Clutch the Bear—trotted over playfully.
“Here comes the show-stealer,” Yu Jia laughed. “What’s the Bear up to now?”
The truth? Lin had coordinated this in advance. Since the Knicks didn’t have a traditional mascot—unless you count Spike Lee—he asked for help from Clutch’s performer, a young Albanian-Hispanic guy named Albaro. Lin had always liked the Rockets’ mascot and knew Albaro was a natural entertainer.
“Oh man, Rocket Bear is joining in too?” Zhang Lixin chuckled.
Clutch grabbed the ball from Lin and stood under the rim, holding it high above his head.
“Wait, is Lin about to jump over the mascot?” Fans started whispering.
It had been done before. Maybe too many times. Some fans began to sigh, thinking the trick was already played out.
But Clutch wasn’t done.
Facing Lin, he mimicked Kobe’s earlier finger wag. No, no, no—too easy.
Then, to everyone's surprise, Clutch dashed to the sidelines, dragged out a bench, stepped on it, and held the ball even higher above his head.
The crowd gasped. Now this-this was different.
“That has to be over two meters high!” Yu Jia said, eyes wide.
Yang Yi nodded. “Definitely. But how the hell is Lin Yi supposed to clear that?”
And then—here it came.
Lin Yi took a deep breath, backed up to the baseline, and started sprinting.
With the crowd of 19,000 holding its breath, Lin Yi took flight, snatching the ball midair from Clutch’s raised hands, using the mascot’s body for just the slightest support.
His legs formed a sharp ^ shape as he floated over the mascot. And then—in one breathtaking move—he swung the ball beneath his legs, switched hands, and hammered it home with a reverse slam!
BOOM!
The arena exploded.
Curry dropped his towel and charged the court. Kobe laughed and pulled Durant and Westbrook aside like, “Yo, did you see that?”
James and Wade stood frozen, mouths wide open. Even Howard—usually Lin’s fiercest rival—jumped out of his seat.
Michael Jordan couldn’t stop pointing at the replay screen. “Run that back! Play it again!”
But the judges didn’t need a replay.
Dr. J raised his sign first. 10.
Then Mullin. 10.
Then the rest. A perfect 50 across the board.
Had to be. Otherwise, the fans might riot.
The crowd went absolutely nuts. The slow-motion replay made it look even more unreal, like a scene straight out of a sci-fi movie. Lin’s body control, the switch in mid-air, the sheer difficulty… it was beyond words.
“Fifty!” Yu Jia shouted, barely audible. “The crowd is drowning out the commentary!”
Yang Yi joined in, straining his voice. “How do you even follow that? Lin Yi’s dunk just blew up this contest!”
Zhang Lixin chuckled in disbelief. “Honestly, the next contestants must be wondering why they even showed up.”
DeRozan, Brown, and Wallace had their heads in their hands.
“Too late to drop out?” someone joked.
After the dunk, Lin Yi high-fived the stars on the sidelines and gave Clutch the Bear a big hug.
What a performance—not just the dunk, but the story, the buildup, the showmanship.
Nike’s execs could barely contain their joy. Their massive gamble on Lin Yi was already paying off big time. The broadcast zoomed in on his sneakers once more, capturing every detail.
“LIN—YI!”
“LIN—YI!”
“LIN—YI!”
The entire arena chanted his name.
And to think—he still had two dunks left.
In the second round, Brown followed up with a basic one-handed dunk, clearly shaken. Just 35 points. Out of contention.
Wallace tried a self-alley-oop. Scored 36. Not enough.
DeRozan finally brought some heat—Harden lobbed the ball off the backboard, and DeRozan caught it mid-air for a one-handed windmill. Slick.
Applause all around. It was clean, crisp, and exciting. Still, it only scored 48.
Lin Yi’s first dunk was too overwhelming. The bar had been set ridiculously high.
Now, it was time.
Lin Yi stepped up for his second attempt. The fans rose to their feet. Everyone—everyone—was waiting.
His original plan? A homage to Zach LaVine’s first dunk contest-winning move.
But with the crowd roaring, Lin Yi knew he had to go bigger.
That’s when he noticed David Beckham sitting courtside.
Perfect.
Lin Yi jogged over and whispered something in Beckham’s ear.
The football legend blinked. Then smiled. “You got it.”
Beckham grabbed a basketball and juggled it a few times with his feet, warming up. He knew exactly what Lin needed—a pinpoint cross-field pass. Just like the old days.
Lin Yi retreated to the opposite baseline, ready for a full-court dash.
“He’s running from the other end?” Yu Jia exclaimed.
“This is nuts,” Yang Yi said. “Let’s see what he’s planning.”
The whistle blew.
Beckham launched the ball from the wing—a flawless cross.
Lin Yi charged forward, leapt just behind the free-throw line. It was far..
But Lin’s wingspan saved him.
He reached out mid-air, snatched the ball with his left hand, and in a single motion, windmilled it behind his back and threw it down with force.
BANG!
Electric.
Curry and LeBron sprinted onto the court. Kobe pumped his fist. The entire arena lost its mind.
Yu Jia couldn’t even speak.
The Dallas crowd had just witnessed another masterpiece.
The arena was on fire. The whole building shook with energy. Fans roared, stars laughed, and the atmosphere? Pure electricity.
Years later, people still say: If social media had been what it is now back in 2010… just imagine the records this night would’ve broken. The memes. The hashtags. The absolute chaos online.
On the court, Curry and Harden had both given up trying to watch from the bench—they were lying flat on the hardwood, soaking in the madness. LeBron and Wade stole a camera from a stunned cameraman to record the moment themselves. Even the usually stoic Tim Duncan threw caution to the wind and—yes—broke out into a surprisingly graceful dance.
In the stands, Taylor Swift and Scarlett Johansson were losing it like giggling and cheering in their own girly way.
Back by the judges’ table, Michael Jordan nudged Vince Carter and grinned.
“Vince,” MJ asked, eyes twinkling, “what do you think of that dunk?”
Vince just shook his head. “Man... those two dunks alone? I’m done. He can have it.”
Jordan smiled. He knew Carter was being modest. Lin Yi didn’t jump higher than Vince in his prime, but the way Lin floated, the style, the control? Pure poetry in motion.
But still—what was he planning for the third dunk?
Back on the bench, DeRozan looked like a man deep in existential crisis. He wasn’t even thinking about winning anymore.
The 2010 rules gave fans the final vote after the third dunk. And judging by the crowd, Lin Yi already had it in the bag.
No wonder Brown and Wallace had looked at DeRozan with such pity earlier. This wasn’t just a dunk contest—it was a one-man show. Lin Yi wasn’t just dunking—he was storytelling.
DeRozan couldn’t believe it. Most big men need raw power—just look at Dwight Howard’s Superman slam. But Lin Yi? He made it look effortless. Like he was born to defy gravity.
If I’d been more prepared, DeRozan thought bitterly, maybe I wouldn’t win—but we could’ve had an all-time classic battle.
Because that’s how legends are made. Jordan vs. ‘Nique. Carter’s 2000 masterpiece. They weren’t just great dunks—they had rivals, pacing, escalation.
Tonight? It was Lin Yi vs. the world.
Even Kenny Smith couldn’t stay still. “It’s here, folks! The dunk contest is BACK!”
When Lin Yi threw down his second dunk, Barkley leapt over the commentary table and pretended to kneel to him, shouting, “We are not worthy!” Kenny cracked up.
And Kobe? He led a chorus of players courtside chanting, “Third dunk! Third dunk! Third dunk!”
This—this chaos, this joy—this was what David Stern always dreamed of when he imagined the All-Star Weekend. Nobody cared when the cheerleaders came out. All eyes were still locked on the man of the night.
...
The Finals
Lin Yi and DeRozan advanced. Fueled by pride—and maybe a little spite—DeRozan switched things up. His third dunk was a respectful nod to Vince Carter: a clean 180-degree windmill. Nice elevation, smooth rotation—but nowhere near Carter’s violence.
The judges appreciated the tribute but weren’t wowed. Straight 9s. DeRozan didn’t mind. He knew the crown had already been claimed. So why not pay homage to a Raptors legend?
The crowd buzzed again. Everyone knew what was next.
“Lin’s third dunk!” Yu Jia practically shouted.
Lin Yi smiled as he strolled back onto the court and gestured to Clutch, the Rockets’ mascot, to come over again.
The bear had already become a crowd favorite, and the audience cheered as he jogged out.
“What now?” people wondered. “A third mascot stunt?”
This time, Clutch wheeled out a motorized spinning platform, handed over by Lin Yi’s agent, Zhong.
Clutch climbed on, balancing carefully with one paw holding the basketball aloft. Xiao Zhong hit the switch—the platform began spinning slowly clockwise.
“Wait, what’s he planning now?” Clyde Drexler leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
Beside him, Dr. J and Spud were craning their necks over the judges’ table to see better.
And then—GO!
Lin Yi sprinted toward the twirling mascot, his strides long and powerful.
At the perfect moment, he reached out and snatched the ball from the spinning bear’s paw—then, mid-air, spun 360 degrees in the opposite direction, and BOOM—double-hand dunked it.
CRASH!
The roof nearly came off the building.
Curry ran over shouting, “BRO, WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!”
Slow-motion replays made jaws drop. Lin Yi had timed the spin perfectly, catching the ball mid-motion and reversing his body for a counter-spin slam. That kind of coordination and body control? Unreal.
It didn’t have the elegance of the second dunk. But it was fierce. Raw. A pure showcase of athleticism.
The judges didn’t even hesitate. Another 50.
Three dunks, three masterpieces.
Yu Jia was breathless. “It’s unbelievable! The difficulty! The control! And did you see that hang-time?!”
Zhang Lixin nodded furiously. “Most bigs can't float like that. That hover—insane!”
Yang Yi was already emotional. “This will go down in history. Lin Yi just proved that Asians can fly, too.”
The crowd? Boiling.
Even with three perfect dunks, they weren’t satisfied.
“FOURTH DUNK!” they roared.
Lin, wanting to satisfy the crowd, went for a last dunk.
He rotated his ankle, took a deep breath, and raised his arm to signal the crowd. As if the cheers weren’t already loud enough.
He tossed the ball up, ran from the wing, caught it with his left hand in the air, switched behind his back—
WHAM!
A reverse windmill slam in one fluid motion.
Not the hardest dunk of the night.. But for a crowd pleaser was solid.
“DAMN!” someone shouted.
Curry rushed forward, but was body-blocked by Westbrook. Kobe dashed past both of them. It was chaos. Beautiful chaos.
Jordan, ever the showman, slapped Lin Yi on the back. “Have you ever thought about joining the Bobcats?”
Even Carter looked impressed.
David Beckham gave Lin a big hug. But as Lin turned to greet Scarlett Johansson.
“Hey Lin,” Scarlett grinned. “I’m a fan now.”
Durant clutched his chest. He had been emotionally dunked on.
And Taylor Swift? She kissed Lin on the cheek and whispered something into his ear. Lin smiled faintly.
...
The Votes?
Yeah, no suspense. Lin Yi got 99% of the fan vote.
The remaining 1%? Probably misclicks from nervous fans.
DeRozan was reportedly found sobbing in the locker room, muttering, “They pressed the wrong button… they had to…”
But Lin wasn’t done yet.
As the confetti fell, Lin Yi turned to the camera and grinned.
“Next year… I’ll be back. And trust me—I’ve still got more tricks.”
David Stern nearly fainted with joy.
“More? MORE?! My God—the gift that gives on giving.”
The fans went into overdrive.
“LIN ——— YI!”
“LIN ——— YI!”
“LIN ——— YI!”
And Lin? Soaked it all in. This was why he played the game.
