A brilliant basketball journey, a dazzling spectacle.

Chapter 97

February 28th.

When Lin Feng opened his eyes, it was still dark outside the window.

He glanced at the alarm clock—four o'clock sharp. Just like every morning before.

But today is different.

He lay there for two minutes, staring at the ceiling. The tiny crack was still there, extending from beside the lamp base, barely visible in the darkness.

He took a deep breath and sat up.

The leg is fine.

His feet touched the cool floor, the wooden texture traveling up from the soles of his feet. He moved his toes; all ten toes were there, all of them movable.

He stood up.

I walked up to the wardrobe mirror and looked at myself.

Three months have passed, and things have really changed.

The person in the mirror is 1.81 meters tall. Their shoulders are broader, their chest is fuller, and their arms are more defined. Not the exaggerated kind of muscles, but the result of hard work, real and tangible. Their face has changed too; they're thinner, their jawline is more defined, and their eyes are brighter than before.

He clenched his fist, then relaxed it, then clenched it again.

Energetic.

He put on his tracksuit—a dark blue one, which Cheng Yuxin had bought for him last month as a New Year's gift. When he took it, he said thank you, and Cheng Yuxin blushed and ran into the kitchen.

He glanced at the mirror again.

Then he picked up the ball, gently opened the door, and went out.

The living room was dark, and Cheng Yuxin's bedroom door was closed.

The door opened as he was changing his shoes.

Cheng Yuxin stood at the door, wearing that pink loungewear, her hair down, her eyes not fully open.

"Are you going to practice?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Lin Feng nodded.

Cheng Yuxin glanced out the window; it was still dark.

"Isn't today a match?" she asked. "Aren't you going to rest?"

Lin Feng said, "Let's warm up."

Cheng Yuxin looked at him for two seconds.

Then she said, "I'll go make you breakfast."

Lin Feng was stunned for a moment.

"It's still early."

Cheng Yuxin had already turned and walked towards the kitchen.

"Go practice first, and you can eat when you come back."

Lin Feng stood at the doorway, watching her figure disappear into the kitchen.

Then he went out.

The streets were still dark, but the streetlights were on. In late February, Beichuan was still cold, with a thin layer of frost on the ground that crunched underfoot.

He carried the ball and walked step by step.

My heart is beating a little faster than usual.

It's not nervousness.

It's something else.

As we arrived at the stadium, the sky began to lighten.

There was no one on the field.

He stood in front of the free-throw line and raised the ball.

cast.

Swish.

Hollow.

He picked up the ball and shot it again.

Swish.

Cast again.

Swish.

He threw ten shots in a row, and they all went in.

He stood there, looking at the basket, a smirk playing on his lips.

Then he started dribbling—between his legs, behind his back, spin, one after another. The ball was very obedient in his hands, thump, thump, thump, with a steady rhythm.

Three months ago, he couldn't even dribble.

Three months ago, he felt like a stranger even when he was standing.

Three months ago, he couldn't even reach the basket when shooting.

He dribbled the ball, sprinted across the court, from one end to the other, took three steps, and made a layup that went in off the backboard. He turned, sprinted back, dribbled with his other hand, made another layup, and it went in again.

After running back and forth more than ten times, I felt hot and started sweating.

He stopped and took a few breaths.

Then he heard footsteps.

He turned his head.

Zhou Jianguo stood on the sidelines, wearing that black tracksuit, holding a ball in his hand.

He looked at Lin Feng for a few seconds.

Then he said, "Is there a match today?"

Lin Feng nodded.

Zhou Jianguo paused for a moment.

Then he walked onto the court and stood outside the three-point line.

Raise the ball.

Throw—swish.