If the NBA were a colossal mountain, then its countless records would be the steps carved into its side—each one a challenge to those climbing, each one proof of how high the summit truly stood.
Jordan once said, and Kobe echoed it: "Never be comfortable with your current self."
That truth stuck with Lin Yi. He repeated it to himself like a mantra. Because, as far as he was concerned, he still wasn't strong enough.
He wasn't at the peak. Not yet.
And the only way to ever reach it? Constantly surpass yourself. Never standing still.
Inside the New Orleans Arena, Billups made up his mind—he wasn't going to let Paul toy with him again. Paul tried his classic hesitation, that fake into the lane, but Billups anticipated it. The veteran's body might not move like it once did, but the mind was sharp. He forced Paul to pick up his dribble earlier than planned, pushing him into a pass.
West took the mid-range jumper. Clang. Off target. Lin Yi, reading the play two beats ahead, swallowed up the rebound. Without hesitation, he zipped it forward to Billups.
Now, the Chauncey of old—the Mr. Big Shot of his Pistons days—would've gone barreling straight at the rim. But tonight, Paul was in no mood to give up easy points. He darted back, cutting Billups off, making him slow. Billups didn't force it. He lowered his shoulder, used his body to shield the ball, and then, with a subtle glance, swung it backward.
Screen set. Ball released. And who was there waiting? None other than Lin Yi.
The crowd groaned in unison, as though every knee in the arena had just been struck with an arrow. They knew what was coming. They'd seen it before. That suffocating helplessness: the sight of Lin Yi pulling up from way, way beyond the arc.
It didn't matter if you'd scouted him. It didn't matter if you knew he could hit it. Every single time, it still hurts to watch.
Ding!
Your friend Lin Yi has logged in.
Billups' feed was perfect—two meters beyond the line, right into Lin Yi's shooting pocket. No hesitation. None.
Plant. Elevate. Core tight, wrist snap clean.
Swish!
Thirteen points in the first quarter already.
On the floor, Jason Smith picked up the ball for the inbounds. He looked crushed. He glanced at his teammates, searching for some reassurance, but none of them wanted to meet his eyes. West's shrug basically said it all: Don't look at me. What do you want me to do?
Smith's confidence dropped like a stone.
Paul, though, wasn't done. He came back with fire. Quick cross, a sudden step back—Billups was right there, hand up, but Paul leaned into the glass and banked in a three.
Bang!
13–10. The arena erupted. That one shot didn't just put points on the board—it lit a spark under the Hornets. Paul waved his arm, urging his teammates to retreat, to lock in. His eyes burned with determination.
Yesterday's chicken incident had hurt, never get between a man and his food, but that wasn't the real fuel. Paul lived for this. He loved challenges. If the Knicks were the league's apex predator, then he wanted to see how far he could drag his Hornets into that fight.
Years later, against the Warriors, he'd say, "If I don't give my all against this team, what's the point of basketball?"
That spirit?
It was already here, simmering tonight.
Back on the Knicks' side, Billups and Lin Yi exchanged a quick look.
Billups raised an eyebrow: Keep going?
Lin Yi smirked: Keep going.
So they pushed harder. Billups used his body off the ball, circling, screening, and feeding. In an instant, he and Lin Yi formed a triangle with Danny Green spacing the wing. Options opened everywhere. If the Hornets doubled, someone was waiting outside with a clean look.
West stepped up, though. The Hornets' veteran wasn't about to let Lin Yi torch them without resistance. West was a warrior. Years later, he'd willingly leave millions on the table for a ring. That mentality showed now—grit, toughness, sacrifice.
But grit alone didn't stop skill.
Lin Yi dribbled low, pounding the ball into the floor.
Thump, thump, thump.
He leaned left, selling the drive, and West slid with him. Then—snap—Lin Yi cut back right, leaving West lunging in the wrong direction.
The Hornets' defense scrambled to collapse, but Lin Yi didn't attack the rim. Instead, he rose from the high post, smooth as silk.
Release. Follow-through. Net.
Swish!
Fifteen points in the quarter.
The duel was set: Lin Yi and Paul, both in rhythm, both refusing to back down.
The Hornets' problem, though, was structural. They didn't have anyone who could truly check Lin Yi. Smith's length was useful, yes, but his foot speed and mentality weren't holding up. And once your head drops against a player like Lin Yi, you're finished.
Lin Yi, by contrast, had a mind forged through trials. Before his growth spurt, he'd been flattened over and over in China and by Curry in practice at Davidson. That hardened him.
Plenty of NCAA stars entered the league thinking they'd dominate, only to vanish when their confidence crumbled. Lin Yi wasn't one of them. Even last year, against Boston's old warhorses, he kept firing shots despite getting outclassed.
Because his belief was simple: if you don't take the shot, you'll never score.
..
With just over three minutes left in the first quarter, the Knicks huddled during a timeout. Lou Williams nudged Lin Yi with a grin and whispered, "Hey, Lin, you've already dropped 25 points…"
Lin Yi laughed and reached out to ruffle Lou's hair, treating him like a kid brother. His eyes, though—his eyes were burning again. The competitive fire that had briefly calmed was back, raging hotter than ever.
O'Neal, sitting courtside as part of the broadcast team, noticed it right away. He leaned back in his chair, muttering as he pulled out his phone, "Man… this kid might actually break the record for most points in a first quarter."
For Shaq, the thought came with a pang of frustration. Back in his prime, he had dominated games in ways few could dream of. But he also remembered the constant Hack-a-Shaq, the deliberate fouls that slowed him down, robbed him of rhythm, and forced him to the free-throw line.
He shook his head with a half-smile. If I had threes and free throws in my bag… it would've been over for the league. Forget history books—we'd be talking about how I had more rings than fingers in basketball lore right now.
The arena roared back to life after the timeout. The Hornets struck first—Trevor Ariza nailed his second three of the night from the corner. The scoreboard ticked: 29–25. The Hornets weren't going away quietly.
Chris Paul let out a small breath of relief. For a point guard, nothing is more deflating than crafting the perfect setup only to watch a teammate brick an open shot. When Ariza converted, Paul felt a weight lift off his shoulders, if only briefly.
On the Knicks' next trip down, Lin Yi called for an elevator screen. His shot was electric tonight, and the Knicks knew it—so they kept designing ways to free him up from deep. Tyson Chandler and Billups closed the doors perfectly. West tried to fight through the screen, but it was like slamming into a wall.
Lin Yi rose effortlessly from the top of the arc. No hesitation. Pure form.
Swish.
His 28th point of the quarter.
The game settled into a furious exchange of baskets. The Hornets hung tough, but Lin Yi kept adding to his tally, cashing in another two points at the free-throw line.
As the clock wound down toward the end of the first quarter, the ball once again found its way to Lin Yi's hands. He dribbled into a pull-up three, his defender draped over him.
West stayed disciplined this time. No foul. Just a hand in the face.
Lin Yi didn't care. He banked it in off the glass—clank, then swish!
The arena erupted, half in disbelief, half in awe.
"Thirty-three points in the first quarter!" Mike's voice cracked with excitement on the broadcast. "This is officially a new NBA record for first-quarter scoring! And Lin Yi has just tied Carmelo Anthony's record for points in a single quarter!"
Fans watching across China went wild. Social media feeds exploded. Living rooms turned into arenas. For them, this wasn't just basketball—it was history unfolding live.
But on the court, Lin Yi's expression was almost… unsatisfied. He shook his head slightly, speaking under his breath as teammates slapped his back.
"How did Klay get 37 in a quarter? I swear, I made everything I could tonight…"
...
Please do leave a review and powerstones, helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a