East Finals Arrive, Li Fei Battles Jordan!

A storm was brewing.

The smoke of war had yet to spread across the court, but the artillery fire on the commercial battlefield was already deafening.

Two days later, New York, Madison Square Garden.

This arena, hailed as the "Mecca of basketball," was packed to capacity tonight. Camera flashes glittered like stars in the night sky, lighting the entire venue as bright as day.

The air was thick with a peculiar blend of tension, anticipation, and fanaticism, as though even every breath carried an electric current.

Before the game, the players' tunnel was completely blocked by reporters.

The Chicago Bulls emerged first.

At the front was Michael Jordan, dressed in a red warm-up suit with headphones on, his face expressionless as he passed through the crowd. His gaze was cold as ice, as if nothing around him had anything to do with him.

"Michael! What do you have to say about facing Li Fei again?" A reporter shoved a microphone toward his mouth.

Jordan stopped, slowly removed one side of his headphones, and swept his blade-sharp gaze across the cameras. There was not a trace of warmth in his voice. "I came here for one thing: to take the win."

With that, he ignored all further questions and headed straight for the court.

Karl Malone followed close behind.

The iron-blooded The Mailman wore a hint of tension on his face, though it was hard to detect.

He forced himself to remain composed as he dealt with the reporters.

"Karl, in the last series, Li Fei filled in at power forward. Are you worried that he'll play the four again tonight and match up directly against you?"

The corner of Malone's eye twitched. The question had struck right at his weak spot.

He would never forget the terror of being dominated