I made all five of my shots right from the start, and the whole league was stunned.

Chapter 21 The Silent Killer

November 27, 2008, Thanksgiving.

Li Xiangbei's luxury apartment in Tribeca, Manhattan, New York.

Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the Hudson River flows quietly in the night, while inside, the air is filled with the aroma of roasted turkey and the allure of something called a "carb bomb."

"Hey! Zack! That chicken leg is for Wilson!"

Nate Robinson jumped up to try and snatch a huge turkey leg from Randolph, but the black bear gently nudged him with its rear end, sending him sprawling onto the soft, long-haired carpet.

"Come on, little potato," Zach Randolph mumbled, his mouth greasy as he stuffed meat into his mouth. "Wilson's on a diet, and we should respect his choice. As for me? I'm just trying to survive."

Randolph swallowed a large mouthful of meat, a look of both pain and pleasure on his face.

"My God, Mike (D'Antoni) is a monster! You know what? I've lost 10 pounds in the last two months since that Italian came! 10 pounds! I feel like my soul has lightened!"

"If I keep running like this, I'll become a guard! Then I'll shoot threes and steal your jobs!"

A burst of laughter erupted in the room.

David Lee, who was elegantly leaning against the bar with a glass of red wine in his hand, almost spat it out when he heard this: "Zack, if you go to play guard, our floor repair budget might double."

Li Xiangbei came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of freshly sliced ​​Wellington steak. He was wearing a simple casual T-shirt, and without the fierce aura he exuded on the court, he looked like a friendly boy next door.

He handed Randolph a bottle of beer.

"Don't worry, Zack." Li Xiangbei patted Randolph's still quite impressive belly. "Even if you get as thin as lightning, you'll only be a nimble fat guy. Besides, we need your ass; it's our best cover."

"Eat more, buddy." Li Xiangbei pointed to the table full of high-calorie food. "Let's not talk about calories tonight. Because tomorrow, we're going to play that guy Kobe called 'the hardest to defend.' You need the strength to push past those Portland lumberjacks."

Randolph took the beer, gulped it down, and let out a loud burp.

"You mean that 'Yellow Mamba' Brandon Roy? Hmph, I heard he's pretty steady. But when it comes to my big ass, there's no such thing as 'steady'."

……

The next day at 10:00 AM. Knicks training facility, tactical analysis room.

The festive atmosphere has faded, replaced by the solemnity of the impending battle.

The curtains were drawn, and the projector beam projected a man wearing a Portland Trail Blazers No. 7 jersey onto the whiteboard.

Brandon Roy.

Nicknamed "Yellow Mamba." The most regrettable genius of that era, and also the top assassin.

D'Antoni held a laser pointer and pointed at several offensive plays that were being replayed in slow motion on the screen.

"Gentlemen, put away your smiles." D'Antoni's tone was serious. "Tonight's opponent is different from any of the previous ones."

"Roy has no obvious weaknesses."

D'Antoni pressed the pause button, and the screen froze on the moment Roy pulled up for a jump shot.

"He's not fast, he doesn't jump high, and he doesn't even have any fancy dribbling skills. But you just can't guard him. His sense of rhythm is masterful, his post-up game is textbook-perfect, and his clutch play is cold-blooded."

"Kobe once said that Roy was the player he least wanted to guard in the Western Conference. Because you never know what he'd do next."

Assistant coach Kenny Atkinson added, "And Roy is a mute. Literally. He barely talks on the court, doesn't trash talk, and doesn't complain about the referees. He's like an emotionless killing machine, just silently putting the ball into your basket."

Hearing this, Nate Robinson shrank back: "That sounds much scarier than Arenas's big mouth."

All eyes turned to Li Xiangbei. Tonight, the responsibility of defending Roy undoubtedly fell to him again.

Li Xiangbei sat in a chair, twirling a tactical pen in his hand, his eyes fixed on Roy on the screen, who was making the game-winning shot with a blank expression.

"No weaknesses?"

Li Xiangbei chuckled softly, the kind of excitement a hunter feels when spotting their top prey.

"As precise as a robot, it's indeed very difficult to deal with."

He stood up, walked to the whiteboard, and drew a circle at Roy's knee.

"However, since it is a machine, it must need energy."

"The machine will stop as soon as its battery runs out. Even the most delicate parts will jam due to overheating."

Li Xiangbei turned around and looked at his teammates.

"I'll go and unplug it. You guys keep those Portlanders out."

……

2:00 PM. Headlines across major sports media outlets.

All-Star voting is about to begin, and although it's only the end of November, discussions about the All-Star starters are already rampant.

With his explosive performance and high profile since the start of the season, Li Xiangbei has become a strong contender for the starting point guard position in the Eastern Conference All-Star Game.

ESPN timely published a column titled "East Evil West Poison?", comparing Li Xiangbei and Brandon Roy.

The article writes:

"This is a clash of two extreme styles. Li Xiangbei represents the ultimate in 'physical style'—physical strength, tough confrontation, arrogant personality, and excellent shooting. He is the flame of New York."

"Brendan Roy represents the pinnacle of 'technical style'—perfect rhythm, solid fundamentals, and a quiet personality. He is the ice of Portland."

"Tonight at Madison Square Garden is not just about winning or losing, but also a preview of who will be the best shooting guard of the future."

During a pre-match interview in the away team's locker room, the reporter attempted to sow discord.

"Brandon, I heard Li Xiangbei has recently been called the 'New York Villain' because of his trash-talking and throat-slitting gestures on the court. What do you think of this style?"

Roy, who was adjusting his protective gear, looked up, his slightly mature face showing no emotion.

"I only pay attention to the scoreboard."

Roy's voice was calm.

"He's very energetic, which is great. But I think basketball is a sport that requires quiet thinking. Sometimes, being too loud makes it impossible to hear the ball hitting the net."

This interview quickly reached Li Xiangbei's ears.

Li Xiangbei, who was tying his shoelaces in the home team's locker room, tightened the last knot after hearing the reporter relay this "quiet theory," then looked up and gave the camera his signature, slightly roguish smile.

"Quiet?"

Li Xiangbei stood up and stretched his neck.

"That's something only libraries need."

"This is Madison Square Garden. The roof here is meant to be ripped off by screams."

"Brandon likes quiet? That's perfect. I'll let him enjoy that solitude amidst the noise of 20,000 people."

Opening ceremony.

The lights went out.

Brandon Roy stood in the center circle, hands on his hips, looking calmly ahead, as if the surrounding noise had nothing to do with him.

Li Xiangbei walked to the opposite side of him and extended his hand.

"Ready, Brandon?"

Roy didn't shake hands, he just glanced at him indifferently, and turned away.

See you at the stadium.

Li Xiangbei withdrew his hand, looking at the indifferent back, and the smile on his lips deepened.