Where the noise did not reach

Chapter 107 Between Victory and Respect
Xu Ling often wonders how much he has changed since entering the NBA.

Was he being too arrogant?
But looking back, he hasn't changed; only the environment has.

In the NCAA, they can truly play pure basketball, where nothing else matters except winning or losing. In the NBA, however, everything is an extension of the game off the court.

Sports brands, in order to promote their own spokespeople, secretly disparage rival brands' spokespeople, thus creating a media war that players are inevitably drawn into. Winning a game means more exposure, more attention, more income, and higher status, and no one will back down.

The problem is that some players try to dictate the course of the competition.

James believed he could control the situation, which is why he failed, because he was facing someone who neither understood nor wanted to control the so-called situation.

Xu Ling thought it over and over and didn't think he had done anything wrong.

Just like the text Bob Knight sent him afterward: "That was the best finger wag I've ever seen in my life!"

This made Xu Ling reminisce about his time at Texas Tech University.

Then, he went inside the team's training facility.

The Grizzlies' training facility is located in FedExCare, but the All-Star weekend left the massive building dormant. There were no brightly lit arenas, no bustling crowds, only staff coming and going.

When Xu Ling pushed open the door to the training hall, he didn't see an empty field. Jerry West sat alone on a folding chair by the sidelines, leaning slightly forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped under his chin. He wasn't wearing his usual sharp suit, just a simple polo shirt and trousers, looking more like a tired old coach than a strategist team president.

There was a basketball on the floor in front of West.

Xu Ling paused for a moment, then resumed his normal pace. He walked to the other side of the basket and began to warm up and stretch silently, as if West were just an insignificant decoration.

About ten minutes later, West finally moved. He didn't look up, his voice was low and slightly hoarse, but strangely, there wasn't much anger in it.

“In 1969,” West began, as if speaking to the floor, “I won the only losing team MVP in history, even though we lost the series. To this day, that remains the only Finals MVP awarded to the loser.”

Xu Ling's dribbling rhythm remained unchanged, but he was listening.

“Many people say it’s an affirmation of me personally, a reward for my repeated failures and my repeated rises.” West slowly raised his head, his gaze unfocused, as if piercing through the mists of time, returning to that suffocating, evil floor of Boston Garden. “But every time I see that trophy, I don’t think of affirmation, but of failure. All those moments when I was so close to winning.”

West finally turned his gaze to Xu Ling, his eyes filled with complex emotions—a mixture of scrutiny, confusion, and a deep, almost unspeakable pain.

“What you did last night,” West’s voice was soft yet incredibly clear, “reminded me of Bill Russell.”

Oh? Did The Lord of the Rings also wag his finger at the Big Dipper?

Forgive my ignorance, but my knowledge of these two men is limited to Chamberlain's 100-point game, his incredible 50-point average per game in a single season, and his even more incredible 20,000-point kills. As for Russell, my knowledge is limited to his unbelievable eleven championships and the Finals MVP trophy named after him.

He knew the two were rivals, but he didn't know that Russell had also wagged his finger at Chamberlain, or rather, that the old man had wagged his finger at the Logo Man.
Xu Ling stopped what he was doing, picked up the basketball, and turned to face West. He didn't speak, waiting for the old man to say the next thing.

“Not because he would do that kind of thing, he never would. It's because he made me realize that there are things beyond victory that are just as heavy.”

Xu Ling remained silent.

West continued, "On the night the Lakers retired my jersey, Russell came to the stadium and hugged me. He said to me, 'Jerry, I love you, and I hope you're always happy.'"

"At that moment, I was overwhelmed with emotion. It was recognition from the biggest rival of my career, the ultimate respect. But you know what, Eli? In those words, I heard not only love and blessings, but also a kind of... a complete peace and tolerance that only a victor can possess. He won, so he can love his opponent. He earned the right to love me."

“I earned his respect, I earned everyone’s sympathy and praise, but what I most wanted to win remained in his hands.” West’s gaze sharpened as he looked directly at Xu Ling. “And you, Eli, what you did last night was almost an active abandonment of the kind of respect you might have earned in the future. You not only angered your opponent, you shut the door on all potential, future ‘respect.’ What kind of person do you want to be? A winner feared and hated by everyone? A person who has nothing but victory?”

Unlike Xu Ling's public break with Guy, West didn't erupt in a rage or even question him. Instead, he displayed a deep, almost compassionate, bewilderment. It was the incomprehension of an old man who had experienced all glory and pain towards a talented young man who had chosen a completely different path.

Xu Ling listened quietly, without any sign of being offended.

He carefully considered West's words.

He didn't quite understand what West was saying, or rather, his era didn't allow him to comprehend such things; he could only see it in his own way. Just think about it: if Kobe were repeatedly defeated by the same person in the Finals, do you think that person would be allowed to appear at his jersey retirement ceremony? And have to hear them say "I love you"? Guess how many seconds it would take Kobe to elbow them in the neck?
But West represents a long time ago, an era when the NBA wasn't commercialized, player salaries were meager, and they didn't have as many off-court distractions as they do now. Perhaps it was that environment that fostered a purely competitive atmosphere among them.

But not now. Xu Ling walked over and sat down on the floor next to West, with the basketball beside him.

This move surprised West. He had expected a fierce rebuttal, but he hadn't anticipated such a calm and seemingly intimate conversation.

“Jerry,” Xu Ling’s voice was equally calm, “thank you for telling me this story.”

"But I think maybe my understanding is different from yours."

“You think he won the right to love you. I think,” Xu Ling carefully considered her words, “he’s just fulfilling the obligations of a victor.”

“Obligation?” West frowned.

"The victor has the power to define everything, Jerry. He can define greatness, define legend, and define respect and love." Xu Ling's gaze was clear and calm. "Russell said those words to you because at that moment, it was the perfect ending befitting his status as a 'victor.' It was the end he drew for himself, for you, and for your long competitive story. A 'sportsmanship' ending, one that will be celebrated."

"But that doesn't change the core fact. He completely defeated you. That statement is icing on the cake, the most dazzling jewel in the crown, but it's first and foremost based on winning." Xu Ling's tone was not offensive at all; he was simply stating a fact that seemed simple to him. "If he were the one who lost, if you, Jerry, had eleven trophies, would you have hugged him and told him you loved him? Maybe. But then, the one who would have that 'right' and 'obligation' would be you."

West was stunned. He had never considered Russell's words from this perspective before. Those words, which he cherished throughout his life and regarded as his highest honor, had, in Xu Ling's interpretation, become...a victor's narrative tool?

“I’m not saying Russell’s feelings were fake,” Xu Ling said, as if she could read his mind. “I believe he was sincere. But the reason that this sincerity was expressed so perfectly and remembered by the world is precisely because he won. Only the ultimate winner has the right to generously display his friendship.”

Xu Ling grabbed the ball on the ground and gently spun it with her fingers.

"I don't want someone who defeated me to come and give me their 'love' one day in the future, to put an end to my story. I don't want to base my value on the friendship of my opponent."

Xu Ling raised his head and looked at West, his eyes showing no provocation.

"Respect isn't something you beg for, Jerry, nor is it something you earn through sportsmanship. Respect is earned through fighting. Russell respects you not because of your sportsmanship, but because you push him to his limits time and time again, because he knows what it takes to beat you. That respect was there in every match you played, every time you snatched the hope of victory from his grasp. That last sentence is just confirmation."

“What I’m doing now is the same,” Xu Ling continued. “I don’t need LeBron James to ‘love’ me someday in the future. I need him to know now that beating me will come at a price, that he will have to fight with everything he has, and that even if he wins, he will be badly hurt. I need him to think of Memphis and me and feel that this is a war that must be fought with full force, not a game that can be won gracefully and then settled with a handshake.”

“When he, when everyone else, has to give me 100% effort,” Xu Ling said softly, “that’s true respect. Whether they love me or forgive me is unimportant. That’s just entertainment for the victor.”

West fell completely silent. He sat there, staring motionlessly at the young man before him.

Xu Ling's words were like a key, inserting into the long-sealed lock in his heart, gently turning it, and opening a perspective he had never glimpsed before.

He had always believed that Russell's love transcended victory and defeat. But now he suddenly wondered, if Russell had been the one who lost time and time again back then, would Russell still have embraced him like that? Perhaps, but would the feeling be the same? Did that "love" truly contain the composure and superiority that only the victor possesses?
He spent his life pursuing victory, and also the recognition and respect that followed. He believed these two were inextricably linked. But Xu Ling coldly pointed out: the latter is merely a byproduct of the former, a privilege of the victor. True respect lies in every painful and arduous confrontation that inflicts pain on the opponent, not in post-match embraces.

Xu Ling wasn't rejecting respect; he was demanding it in a more extreme and fundamental way—he wanted to turn himself into his opponents' nightmare, thus becoming the reason they had to go all out.

This idea sent a chill down West's spine, but also an indescribable feeling of being persuaded. He couldn't refute it. Deep down, he knew that the reason he had "won" Russell's respect was precisely because he had never let the Celts get away easily; he was the one who had repeatedly plunged a dagger into the heart of the Celtic dynasty in the 60s.

After a long while, West slowly stood up, without looking at Xu Ling again or saying anything more.

He walked toward the door, his steps seemingly less heavy than when he arrived.

Just as he was about to push open the door and leave, he heard the sound of a basketball hitting the floor behind him.

"boom!"

"Shh!"

The crisp sound of the basketball swishing through the net followed immediately.

West didn't turn around, but he knew that the young man had returned to his world.

But where is his world?

That's another question.

(End of this chapter)