4:1, Knicks Champions!!!!

Swish!

The ball once again dropped cleanly through the net!

Less than three minutes into the game: five shots, four field goals, one and-one free throw—all converted!

10:0!

Li Fei had stopped the Lakers all by himself!

Del Harris stood on the sideline, pale as death, frantically calling a timeout. As he watched Number 23—the young man who merely walked calmly off the court and high-fived his teammates—his eyes filled with despair.

At the commentary table, the three famous announcers had already become incoherent.

Marv Albert: "Unbelievable! A SPECTACULAR START FOR LI FEI! In three minutes, he has personally handled all five offensive possessions and finished every single one! Ten points! He's taking on an entire Lakers team by himself!"

Kevin Harlan's voice had already turned hoarse. "He came here with a mission tonight! He's telling everyone through his actions that the loss in the last game was nothing but an accident! Tonight, at Madison Square Garden, he's going to place that crown on his own head!"

Bill Walton summed it up in his philosophical fashion. "This isn't basketball. This is an execution. Li Fei is the executioner holding the blade, and he's ending every hope and fantasy the Lakers had for this season in the most dazzling—and cruelest—way possible. He's telling them: the party has started, but you weren't invited."

During the timeout, the Lakers' bench was silent as the grave.

Del Harris's clipboard was covered in chaotic lines, but he could not say a word. What could he say? When one player tore apart every defensive scheme you had with such unreasonable dominance, any tactic seemed feeble and powerless.

All he could do was look at Kobe and O'Neal with an almost pleading gaze, hoping they could create a miracle.

After the timeout, the Lakers' offense still showed