The moment Lin Yi set the scoring record in the first quarter, the travelling Knicks fans and a few Pelican fans rose to their feet and applauded.
It wasn't a case of home fans betraying their own team. This was different. They knew they had just witnessed something remarkable, the kind of performance that forces even rival supporters to tip their hats.
Chris Paul sat on the bench for a brief spell, watching Lin Yi with a quiet, almost resigned admiration. To put up 33 points in one quarter, only George Iceman Gervin and Carmelo Anthony had ever done that in league history. And now Lin Yi had etched his name into that same conversation.
Even more astonishing was the detail: 33 points in the first quarter. That record, for the moment, belonged to Lin Yi alone.
Paul exhaled, shaking his head. He knew better than anyone how much effort it took to carry a team. To see Lin Yi make it look this effortless was almost insulting.
Shaquille O'Neal, who had been courtside, leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. All season, working around Lin Yi's presence in New York had reshaped his view of basketball. Lin Yi's style was fluid and deceptively simple.
Chauncey Billups, who once fed Anthony the ball during his famous 33-point quarter, probably understood this better than anyone. After moving to New York, Billups had adjusted his own game. In Denver, he'd take three threes a night. In New York? If he wasn't hoisting up six or seven, he felt uneasy.
Lin Yi's style looked reckless at first glance—heat checks from deep, post fades, quick drives. But when you broke it down, it was systematic. Logical even. From a point guard's perspective, the goal wasn't who got the buckets; it was whether the team hit its scoring quota every night.
And Lin Yi had figured that balance out. When he was hot, he pressed the advantage. When he wasn't, he moved the ball and trusted his teammates. Tonight was proof enough: Lin took nearly 90% of the Knicks' shots in the opening quarter, yet the team still put up 39 points in twelve minutes.
Mike Breen, sitting in commentary, chuckled, "Sometimes basketball's simple. When the guy's in rhythm, you feed him until the rim looks like the Atlantic Ocean. The rest of the team? They don't mind."
The final buzzer confirmed what the first quarter had already foreshadowed:
Knicks 117, Hornets 104. Lin Yi's eruption had set the tone.
Chris Paul, brilliant as ever with 28 points and 16 assists, walked off visibly drained.
His fans applauded him, some even with tears in their eyes, but the sight of Paul bent over, hands on his knees, told the story clearly enough.
Lin Yi walked off the floor with a stat line that felt more like something out of a video game than a regular-season matchup: 58 points, 15 rebounds, 4 assists, and 3 blocks.
The Knicks' 22nd straight win was in the books, and with it, the noise around the league only grew louder. Fans in New York had already started chanting "My Knicks, NBA Champions!" as if the parade was scheduled for tomorrow. Around the league, analysts began whispering about championship potential.
The story of the night, of course, was still that first quarter—33 points in twelve minutes. Reporters swarmed Lin Yi postgame, shoving microphones into his face, desperate to grab a soundbite that could capture the absurdity of what he had just done.
Lin, however, stayed calm. "It's not just me," he told them with a polite smile. "If my teammates didn't keep looking for me, none of this would have happened. They trusted me, and I just tried to keep rewarding that trust."
Lin Yi himself wasn't eager to boast. Deep down, he knew how fickle basketball could be. Records fell, history bent, but the league had a way of humbling anyone who talked too much. Better to stay quiet, stack the numbers, and let the story tell itself.
"Explosions like this don't happen every night," he admitted. "Basketball has a way of keeping you honest."
Even so, 58 points was the third-highest total of his young career. Online, debates exploded: was Lin Yi already worthy of consideration for the NBA's Top 50 players list? Some fans had stopped comparing him to his contemporaries. He was past that.
Others pushed back. "He's only in his second season," critics argued. "Pump the brakes. Greatness takes time."
On TNT, Charles Barkley offered his verdict. "Lin's gonna make the Top 50 eventually. That's not a debate. But if he wins MVP this season? Put him in now. He's that good."
Up in the league offices, David Stern could hardly contain his excitement. The commissioner had long hoped for a star who could draw global attention, just as Michael Jordan once did. Lin Yi was on the road to delivering that. Stern privately hoped people would start calling him the "next Jordan," though the shadow of the old number 23 still loomed large.
…
In Oklahoma City, Kevin Durant sighed during practice.
"Russ," he asked half-jokingly, "you think I've still got a shot at MVP this year?"
Russell Westbrook squinted at him, thought for a moment, then deadpanned: "Maybe. If you tweet David Stern and he likes it."
Durant rolled his eyes, but the point was clear—Lin Yi had become the favorite, and everyone knew it.
The ripple effects spread across the league. In Miami, LeBron James was grinding through another late-night workout. He had doubled down on shooting drills ever since the All-Star break, desperate to add another weapon. Improvement was slow, frustrating. Building muscle memory midseason was a cruel task. Still, he pushed himself.
"If I can't get past the Knicks," James muttered under his breath, sweat dripping down his forehead, "then what was the point of coming here? I came to Miami for championships. There's no retreat. Only forward."
The urgency was raw, almost primal. He hadn't felt this desperate since being swept by the Spurs years before.
Across the country, Stephen Curry sat with his own thoughts. Watching Lin Yi dominate the league stirred something in him. "Man… he's unreal," Curry said softly, remembering their days together at Davidson. "This summer… I need to work even harder."
Lin Yi, blissfully unaware of how much his play was shifting the NBA landscape, kept moving forward. For him, it was just another game, another win, another step toward something bigger.
But for the rest of the league, it felt like the opening salvo of a much larger war.
...
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