May 8, 2000, Wells Fargo Center, Philadelphia.
As the Knicks' team bus pulled into the arena's underground parking garage, Philadelphia fans gathered at the entrance pounded frantically on the windows, raised their middle fingers, and shouted chants insulting Li Fei. Riot police formed a human wall, barely carving out a passage.
Wearing sunglasses, Li Fei leaned against the window, deaf to the noise outside. His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, as if he were listening to music only he could understand.
"Li, Philly fans are famous for being crazy." Sprewell sat across from him, toying with the gold chain in his hand. "We beat them twice in New York. Those guys are holding back a fire now, itching to win one back here."
Li Fei took off his sunglasses and turned to look at the twisted faces outside the window.
"Then let them try," he said calmly. "And then I'll personally shove them back down."
In the locker room, Van Gundy had filled the tactical board with arrows and positions. The circles beneath his eyes were darker than usual; clearly, he had not slept well again last night.
"Listen, back on their home court, Philadelphia will definitely push the pace like crazy. Iverson will try to tear apart our defense with his individual ability, Larry Hughes will fight like hell to stick to Allan, and Tyrone Hill will wrestle Sabonis in the paint." Van Gundy jabbed his marker heavily against the board. "But they've forgotten one thing—"
Everyone turned to Li Fei.
"We have him," Van Gundy said. "The most unstoppable offensive weapon in history."
Li Fei leaned against his locker with his arms folded, saying nothing. Yet his silence itself was a declaration.
At 8:17 that night, the lights in the Wells Fargo Center dimmed, and a spotlight