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...
Ever since David Lee found out he'd made the Eastern Conference All-Star bench, his energy had been off the charts.
"David, calm down. What if you tweak something before the game?" Lin Yi warned him with a half-smile.
David froze mid-drill. He thought about it for a second… Lin had a point.
The All-Star Game was right around the corner. If he got injured now from going too hard in training? That'd be a disaster.
And just like that, David flipped the switch, entering 'maintenance mode' during practice. Lin couldn't help but laugh.
Classic David. A walking contradiction of hustle and caution.
Unlike the league's superstars who'd skip the weekend festivities if they could get away with it, David knew this might be his only All-Star appearance. Of course, he was going to treasure it.
Meanwhile, SBC Gallinari had gone full throttle in training. He was drilling 1,000 three-pointers daily since receiving his invite to the three-point contest.
As for Lin Yi? He'd passed on the invitation. Not because he couldn't shoot, but because he understood the trade-off.
"Leave the sharpshooting to Danilo," he joked to the media. "Some of us have dunk contests to win."
He wasn't kidding either. Behind the scenes, Lin had quietly begun working on a few new moves he planned to debut in the dunk contest.
Veteran Al Harrington caught a glimpse of one during training and got chills. "Lin, if you pull that off in Dallas, the fans are gonna lose their minds."
Lin grinned. He wasn't just competing—he was planning to steal the show.
With Kobe and Iverson both sitting this one out, the stage was wide open.
...
February 2nd.
That night, under the direction of David Stern, the NBA released its feature documentary A Fairy Tale of a Season across all major U.S. streaming platforms.
"Yo, Lin!" Curry called over the phone, laughing. "Never thought the two of us would end up in a documentary together."
Curry's January had been phenomenal. The Warriors' front office was buzzing with renewed confidence in him, and the timing of the doc couldn't have been better.
More importantly? He was riding Lin's wave of popularity.
"You riding my coattails now?" Lin teased.
Curry laughed. "Man, let me shine a little."
Lin rolled his eyes. He remembered the interviews. The camera crew had shadowed them both in January, asking questions about their paths, their chemistry, and their future.
Now it was official—his story wasn't just being written on the court.
It was being filmed, edited, and streamed across the country.
The documentary—A Fairy Tale of a Season—focused on the unlikely rise of the Davidson Wildcats, a team that went from underdogs to national contenders in just one magical season.
It told the story from the beginning: the rise of the Shooting Stars duo—Lin Yi and Stephen Curry—and their improbable journey, culminating in a stunning upset over North Carolina during March Madness. The tone was uplifting, warm. A story born under the sun.
Former Wildcats teammates and coaches spoke glowingly of Lin Yi and Curry, and there was one testimonial that stood out.
Anthony Beasley—once Davidson's starting center and now working in a private company—appeared on screen, visibly emotional.
"These days, when I tell my coworkers I used to guard Lin Yi and played alongside him, they look at me like I'm joking!" Beasley said, laughing with a touch of disbelief. "It sounds crazy, right? I remember the first time I faced Lin in practice, I told him, 'Hey man, you're tall—use that to your advantage.' Next thing I know, he crosses me up like I'm standing still."
He shook his head, half-grinning at the memory. "I'll be honest, it hurt. I was the starting big man back then, and Lin? He was just a quiet kid trying to figure things out. Now I watch him dominate NBA games, and I think, 'You know what, Anthony? The pain you felt back then? NBA players are feeling that now too.'"
When that clip made the rounds, countless NBA big men quietly closed the tab. Too real.
Lin Yi could only sigh. He hadn't realized he'd left such a deep scar on Beasley's mind.
Some NBA centers: Dude, he only tortured you for one year. We've got to deal with this guy for the next ten.
Later in the documentary, Coach McKillop of the Wildcats shared his thoughts.
"Lin and Stephen are two of the greatest players I've ever coached," he said, his voice steady. "And honestly, it was my privilege to coach them."
Watching this part, Lin Yi got quiet. It hit him.
He really had been lucky.
Every step of the way, he'd been surrounded by people who loved the game—Coach McKillop, Curry, even his Wildcats teammates. No one ever looked at him differently or with doubt. They just pushed each other, grew together.
And now in the NBA? He'd found another tight-knit crew.
Sure, Al Harrington had been skeptical at first. But now? He was one of Lin's closest guys.
The only real headache—Nate Robinson—had already been traded to the Celtics.
One by one, Lin had built his team within the team. Guys like Earl Barron and Ewing Jnr, who might've been cut or sent overseas, had found new life thanks to Lin's influence. He gave them space, trust, and chances. And they returned it with loyalty.
The documentary sparked a huge reaction once it aired, especially in China. Lin Yi's growing fame meant that fans were more curious than ever about his backstory.
Many young viewers couldn't help but feel inspired. Watching Lin's rise—from awkward college kid to NBA star—made the impossible seem a little more possible.
It wasn't just motivational fluff. It was a reminder: keep pushing, keep growing. Even ugly ducklings can become white swans.
This wasn't empty chicken soup. Lin didn't brag in interviews. He didn't sell himself. He just worked. And that authenticity hit home.
It reminded Lin Yi of another documentary—the one that aired when Kobe Bryant retired.
In that one, fans didn't just see Kobe's highlights. They saw the missed shots, the iron-willed practices, the grit behind the greatness. In his farewell game, when Kobe was visibly gassed but still dropped 60, people didn't just cheer—they were stunned. That was the power of the journey.
It made waves back in China, where one dedicated Kobe fan was so moved that he wrote a novel inspired by Kobe's story.
February 3rd.
Back home at Madison Square Garden.
Knicks vs. Wizards.
Lin Yi was in a great mood. Everything seemed to be falling into place.
Hard to believe, but he was already closing in on his 50th NBA game. Time did fly.
And this time? No slip-ups.
The Knicks didn't give Washington even a flicker of hope.
After the whole Gilbert Arenas "gun-in-the-locker" saga, the Wizards were a mess. Their current top scorer was Bledsoe—yes, the same guy who'd later help Xinjiang win a CBA championship.
Solid numbers, sure. Averaging 14.7 points a game. But for Lin? If they lost to this Wizards team, he'd have dragged his teammates to go play in the CBA themselves.
Final score: 111–84.
A clean blowout.
The Knicks improved to 34–14. And with the Magic starting to rotate their core players a bit for rest, the conversation shifted.
Could the Knicks grab the second seed in the East?
Were they for real?
At this point, people stopped calling them "flukes" and started calling them something else:
Contenders
And after the game, Lin received a call from his agent Zhong Muchen…
...
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