Oklahoma's Silent Night

From Houston to Oklahoma City, the straight-line distance is 665 kilometers. Driving would take an entire day, but flying takes only a few hours. After all, both places belong to the Western Conference.

But because NBA games end very late, and Link had some unpleasantness with his trash manager back at the rental apartment, by the time Link arrived in Oklahoma City, it was already three in the morning.

Oklahoma City isn't like New York or Los Angeles; there's no dazzling nightlife here at this hour. As soon as he got off the plane, Link felt the silence all around him, as if the entire city was shrouded in stillness.

Walking out of the airport, the streets were empty, with only his own shadow under the streetlights.

It was now December, and the average temperature in Oklahoma City was only 2.8°C. Although compared to Minnesota and Toronto, where it often drops to minus ten or more, Oklahoma's climate was quite comfortable. But in this silent early morning, looking at his lonely silhouette, Link couldn't help but zip up his jacket as he stood on the street.

Tonight might have been the worst night he'd had since crossing over.

"University of Oklahoma College of Medicine." Hailing a taxi, Link gave the driver the destination in a low voice.

The taxi driver kept glancing at Link in the backseat through the rearview mirror. If he remembered correctly, just a few hours earlier, he'd seen this Chinese-American player on TV playing for the Houston Rockets. Logically, he shouldn't be in Oklahoma.

The driver had a lot he wanted to chat with Link about, but seeing that Link seemed to be in a bad mood, he didn't want to disturb him. He believed Link's rush back must be related to that shocking incident.

Meanwhile, Link picked up his phone and started refreshing the news. The basketball news pages were all taken over by the story of Zeke Upshaw. This might have been the most famous night for the Blue team and Upshaw, but the way they became famous was heartbreaking.

From one news report after another, Link roughly pieced together what had happened.

Today, during the Oklahoma City Blue's home game against the Long Island Nets, with 40 seconds left in the fourth quarter, Zeke Upshaw was hustling to chase down his matchup, just like always.

That's when Upshaw suddenly clutched his chest, fell face-first to the floor, and lay motionless.

At first, no one knew what had happened. Some thought Upshaw was injured, but no injury could possibly make a player collapse unconscious like that.

After the referees and players called out to Upshaw multiple times with no response, he was immediately rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. Then, Link received a call from Upshaw's mother, Martha.

Reading the news again, Link covered his head in anguish. He didn't know if, in the world before he crossed over, there was a guy named Zeke Upshaw who suddenly had a cardiac arrest on the basketball court.

Maybe there was, maybe there wasn't. But what Link was sure of was that whether Upshaw pulled through or not, he was just a fleeting shadow in this world. Because as a transmigrator, Link certainly didn't remember hearing about a player named Zeke Upshaw in December 2010.

No one knew that a 26-year-old professional player, fighting hard for his NBA dream, had collapsed on the basketball court. No one knew what a great guy Zeke Upshaw really was...

Link turned off his phone screen and stopped reading the news about Upshaw. He didn't want his emotions to collapse the moment he saw Upshaw's family.

※※※

"Link, my child, I don't know what Zeke did wrong, why he has to be punished like this."

The moment Link saw Upshaw's mother, the helpless black woman threw herself into his arms.

Link had two big dark circles under his eyes. He hadn't slept all night, and he'd just been kicked out of the NBA and fired his manager.

But at that moment, looking at Upshaw lying on the hospital bed, still on a ventilator, Link suddenly felt that his own problems were nothing.

"It's okay, Martha. Zeke will be fine. Medical technology is very advanced now. Don't worry, I'll take care of all his medical expenses."

Upshaw had done a lot for Link, but now Link didn't know what he could do for Upshaw. The only thing he could do was ease some of the financial burden for this already struggling family.

"Did Zeke... have a heart condition since he was a kid?" Remembering the small pill bottle Upshaw always carried, Link asked cautiously.

"No, he just occasionally said his chest felt uncomfortable, but he never told us anything else. After the doctors examined him, they couldn't find the cause of his cardiac arrest... Zeke is still being resuscitated; he hasn't even been out of danger yet."

Facing Link's question, Martha broke down in tears again.

Seeing this, Link didn't ask any more. This kind woman had already suffered enough.

And so, Link stayed with Upshaw's family, keeping vigil. They all believed that this strong guy would surely wake up.

But just like Link's fantasy of making it in the NBA, of his manager having his best interests at heart, his fantasy that Upshaw would definitely pull through also shattered.

Ten hours, twelve hours, fifteen hours, twenty-four hours... Upshaw still lay there quietly, not even blinking.

At four in the morning on December 13, forty-eight hours after Link had rushed to the hospital, the doctor who had been leading the resuscitation walked out of the ward, sweating profusely. Looking at Link and Upshaw's family beside him, he spoke the words that were cliché in TV dramas but utterly devastating when heard in real life.

"I'm sorry, we did everything we could."

Two days of continuous treatment, and everyone had tried to pull him back from the brink of death. Death stood on the other side, scythe in hand, watching this young man's body struggle in between.

It had won. Advanced medicine had lost before it. Cardiac arrest. There would be no next chapter in Zeke Upshaw's life.

Crying? Fainting? Screaming? None of that. At that moment, there was only silence around Link.

It felt just like when he had returned to Oklahoma City two mornings ago. Dark, helpless, alone.

Upshaw's mother was stunned for a few minutes, then slowly looked up at Link. She took an envelope from her handbag and handed it to the Chinese-American man in front of her. "Zeke wrote this to you. His teammates found it in his locker. I was hoping he could give it to you himself. But now..."

Link quickly took the envelope. In this age of advanced internet, writing letters as a way of communication had almost disappeared. But clearly, Upshaw wanted some words to be preserved, not just a few strings of code in a massive database.

After handing the envelope to Link, Martha walked into the ward and burst into tears. This strong woman could no longer hold on.

※※※

My brother Link, I hope everything is going well for you in Houston. Seeing you make it into the NBA, I'm genuinely happy for you from the bottom of my heart. Why write a letter? At first, I thought the idea was stupid too. But I could never express the joy in my heart through a few text messages. I still feel that writing something by hand is the only way to show my happiness and pride.

I knew from the start that your hard work would pay off. A few years ago, I also went to play in Europe. To be honest, the salary there is much higher than in the G League. But I still came back. Why? All for the NBA, right? Congratulations, you've achieved what we all dream of.

Of course, this is just the beginning. The days ahead will still be tough. You might have to fight tooth and nail for your next ten-day contract, you might have to go all out against your teammates in practice for playing time. You might, hahaha, you might worry about paying your rent. But no matter what happens, you can't give up.

Because you're also my hope and spiritual pillar for making it to the NBA. If you fall, my dream shatters too.

That's all for now. The game is about to start, and I need to get on the court. I hope that tomorrow morning, I'll see news that you've signed your second ten-day contract.

Keep moving forward, buddy.

Zeke