When Huang Ritian heard Wang Yi's words, his whole body gave a sudden jolt.
The light in his eyes burned brighter.
Before this, everyone had thought that after Huang Ritian received encouragement from Wang Yi's calligraphy, his performance would suddenly improve, and that he would at least become a reliable scoring option on Huali's perimeter.
But his performance had left everyone stunned.
After the first few games, he had made only two of seventeen shots, and missed all ten of his three-pointers.
Forget living up to people's expectations—his performance had been the complete opposite.
No one knew what had happened.
Could Brother Yi's encouragement have had the opposite effect?
Just then, Wang Yi gripped Huang Rixin's shoulder and said, "Huang Rixin, do you know why you haven't played up to expectations over the past few games?"
Huang Rixin shook his head.
Wang Yi patted his shoulder twice. "Because you're trying too hard to play well, so you're putting all your effort in the wrong direction."
Shooting requires strength, of course, but it depends even more on finesse.
It's not as if the more strength you use, the more accurate your shot will be.
When Huang Rixin heard Wang Yi's words, everything suddenly clicked.
Over the past few games, every time he shot, it had felt completely different from before.
The ball felt strange in his hands.
It was like the feeling you got when you picked up a ball after not touching one all summer.
For days, he hadn't been able to understand why everything felt fine in practice, but as soon as a game started, he felt this way.
Now, with Brother Yi's guidance, he finally understood.
But understanding the problem didn't mean he knew how to fix it.
As he stood there, confused, Wang Yi said, "Do you