The Knicks won on the road in Philadelphia, and the whole team landed safely in New York aboard their private plane.
The team bus carried the players slowly into Manhattan.
Outside the windows, the city lights had just begun to glow. New York's nights were always dazzling.
With the tension of battle left behind on the court, the entire city felt gentle and relaxed.
The team atmosphere remained as steady and composed as ever, without any excessive celebration.
A 3–0 series lead was merely routine progress in the eyes of the Knicks.
For a team that had dominated the league for years and built a Dynasty, staying calm in the face of anything had long become the norm.
Li Fei leaned against the window seat on the bus, closing his eyes for a brief rest.
Dressed in clean, casual clothes, he had completely shed the sharp, murderous aura of his jersey.
On the court, he was an iron-blooded emperor feared by the entire league, tough and unstoppable.
Off the court, he was calm and reserved, carrying an air of gentle composure.
Not yet twenty-four, he already had six MVPs and five championships, ascending to godhood.
Yet he had never been the slightest bit impetuous, always soberly in control of his life and career.
When the bus arrived beneath his apartment building, Li Fei waved goodbye to his teammates.
He took his private elevator alone, heading straight to his penthouse with a river view.
The moment he opened the door, warm yellow light washed over him, driving away all his exhaustion.
The home was quiet and peaceful, free from noise and filled only with the gentle comfort of tranquil days.
After a quick wash, Li Fei changed into loose home clothes.
Just as he lazily settled onto the sofa, his phone