The locker room after training.
Lin Qi happened to be passing by. He had come to confirm the game plan for tomorrow night with Coach Doc Rivers, but he stopped when his eyes swept across the crack in the door.
In the locker room, Gary Payton was standing up from his seat. The usually witty " The Glove " was unusually serious. He draped a towel over his shoulder, paused for a moment, and then spoke.
"Don't rush off. Sit down."
Those who were about to leave all froze. Lewis's hand, which was tying his shoelaces, stopped in mid-air. Billups held an unopened sports drink bottle, the cap hanging in mid-air. Garnett leaned against the counter, his back ramrod straight. Pierce, in the corner, also stopped talking, his fingertips unconsciously fiddling with the basketball, making a soft scraping sound.
Doc Rivers looked at Lin Qi standing in the doorway. Lin Qi leaned against the doorframe, signaling not to interrupt and to watch quietly with him.
"Back in 1996, I was still in Seattle," Gary Payton began slowly. "We had a 64-win regular season, and we were first in the Western Conference."
"We made it to the NBA Finals, and our opponent was Jordan's Chicago Bulls. That year they won seventy-two games, and the whole world was waiting to see us swept." He paused for a moment, "But we weren't swept; we went to Game 6. In that series, I had a tough time guarding Jordan. Although we lost in the end, when I walked off the court, I only had one thought in my mind... It's okay, there's always next year. Next year we'll definitely be back in the NBA Finals, and next year I'll definitely beat him."
He scanned the group of young faces, his voice lowering.
"I was only 27 years old at the time, and my good brother Kemp was only 26. We had a good lineup, with our key players in their prime, and our skills were bound to improve. Why would we think that such an opportunity would only come once?"
"Then the following year, we didn't even make it past the second round." Gary Payton's voice was flat, without any inflection. "Another year passed, Kemp was traded. Nobody told me beforehand; I saw in the media that my brother had been traded. That roster that could push the Chicago Bulls to the brink of defeat just fell apart."
He took the towel down and held it in his hand.
"That summer, I thought I was done for. I was almost thirty, stuck on a team that was about to be rebuilt. That's when my older brother McGee called me."
Lin Qi, standing at the door, didn't move, but listened quietly.
"He told me back then, ' Gary, if you stay in Seattle, you'll just be waiting to win those meaningless regular season games year after year, waiting to be swept in the playoffs and go home fishing. By the time you realize you can never get back to the NBA Finals, you'll be in your thirties, and it'll be too late.'"
He added, "If you choose to leave this summer, you might have a completely different career."
"I believed it. I requested the transaction, and that's how I got here."
Gary Payton looked directly at the group of young people. "I have no interest in giving you pep talks or lecturing you; that's Doc's ( Doc Rivers' ) business. But... you think you're young and talented, and that if you can't make it this year, there's always next year. I've had that mentality too."
He shook his head. "There aren't that many next years."
The ball in Pierce's arms rolled to the ground with a dull thud.
"You never know who'll be sitting in this room next season, who'll be traded, or whose body will break down first." Gary Payton took two steps forward. "I've sacrificed three whole years, the best years of my life, to get this one chance tomorrow. You guys are different; your chance is tomorrow night. Don't have to lose everything to understand its weight."
He looked at Lewis, Billups, and finally his gaze settled on Pierce.
"Tomorrow night, whether you're nervous or not, whether your hands are shaking or not, don't leave yourself with regrets. Don't wait three years to regret not giving it your all."
After saying that, he sat back down and bent down to untie his shoelaces.
Silence fell over the locker room. After a long while, Pierce stared at the floor for a moment, then finally stood up. He picked up the ball from the floor, walked straight to the tunnel, and passed Lin Qi without looking at anyone, heading towards the training field without turning his head.
The team members gradually dispersed, with Gary Payton being the last to emerge. He nodded slightly as he passed Lin Qi, without saying a word.
Lin Qi stood in the doorway, looking at the tactics Doc Rivers had drawn on the whiteboard that afternoon...
He went inside, picked up the eraser, and wiped the lines clean.
Then, he picked up a pen and wrote a line of text in the center of the whiteboard.
Which hurts more, the pain of hard work or the pain of regret?
(Which is more unbearable: the pain of striving or the pain of regret?)
After finishing writing, Lin Qi turned off the light and went out the door.
Lin Qi entered the stadium just after 10 a. m.
He intended to go straight home, but as he passed the court, he heard noises inside... the sound of dribbling, the swishing of shoes, and Thibodeau shouting "One more set!" He pushed open the door and went in. The lights were all on, and seven or eight people were still busy on the court.
Garnett was shooting hook shots under the basket, Pierce and Lewis were practicing three-pointers on the wing, and Billups and Outlaw were lining up at the free-throw line. Thibodeau was standing on the sidelines with a timer.
Lin Qi stood on the sidelines for a few seconds, but no one paid him any attention.
"Stop for a moment," he said.
Everyone turned to look at them.
"Go back to sleep," Lin Qi said. "There's a match tomorrow night; don't waste your energy here."
Thibodeau stopped the clock, glanced at him, and said nothing. Garnett stood motionless under the basket, still holding the ball. Pierce walked back from beyond the three-point line, his gaze sweeping between Lin Qi and Thibodeau.
"Lin is right, let's listen to him." Gary Payton tossed the ball into the basket.
Thibodeau hung up the timer. "Okay, that's enough for tonight."
The team members dispersed. Pierce bent down to pick up his jacket, Lewis wiped the sweat from his face, and walked straight to the locker room without saying a word. Gary Payton was the last to move, stopping in front of Lin Qi.
"You should go to bed early too," Gary Payton said.
"Okay," Lin Qi said, "Get some rest so you'll be in good shape tomorrow."
Gary Payton didn't say much, turned around and followed. Lin Qi waited until the court was empty, then walked towards the weight room at the end of the corridor.
The door was open. Wallace sat under the bench press rack, the barbell loaded with an astonishing number of weight plates. He lay down, pushed up with both hands, lowered them, and pushed again. He didn't look at the door; all his strength was clenched through his teeth.
Lin Qi stood by the door for a few seconds. Wallace finished a set, sat up, and then noticed him.
"Go back to sleep," Lin Qi said.
Wallace didn't move, glancing at Lin Qi and then at the barbell.
"We have a game tomorrow night," Lin Qi added. "Don't waste all your energy tonight."
Wallace was silent for a moment, then stood up and began removing the weight plates from the rack. He removed them slowly, carefully placing each plate into the rack. After finishing, he wiped his face with a towel, walked past Lin Qi, and remained silent throughout.
Lin Qi turned off the gym lights, checked the locker room and court to make sure no one was there, and then locked the doors himself.
At 11:30, Lin Qi remembered that he had left a document in his office.
He turned back. The side door was ajar, and according to custom, whoever left last locked it. He pushed the door open, intending to cross the court and head straight for his office, but he stopped at the corner.
The stadium was half-lit.
Pierce practiced his back-to-the-basket moves in the corner. With his back to the basket, he simulated pushing past the defender, turning, jumping, and shooting. The ball missed, but he wasn't discouraged. He picked up the ball, returned to his original position, and repeated the turning and jumping motion until he made three in a row before moving to the next offensive position.
Garnett practiced his footwork in the shadows. He dribbled near the free-throw line, feigned a step-back, then pivoted, backing up against the basket, mimicking the arc of a fadeaway jump shot. He practiced meticulously, sweat streaming down his forehead, soaking his jersey. Over and over again, day after day.
Billups practiced shooting at the other end of the key. Unlike the previous two, he didn't have such wide-open shots; he simply went around the illusory screen, caught the ball, adjusted, and shot. The ball swished through the net with a crisp sound. He picked up the ball, dribbled back to the top of the key, his rhythm as steady as a clock.
Light shone from the weight room at the end of the corridor, and the dull thuds of dumbbells hitting the ground echoed one after another.
Lin Qi stood at the corner for a moment. It would be faster to get to the office by crossing the court, but he turned around and took a longer route, sneaking into the equipment room.
After collecting the materials, I turned off the lights and retraced my steps.
Lin Qi stopped at the side door.
The same sounds still echoed in the stadium...
The ball hits the rim, the floor rubs against the ground, and the dumbbells rise and fall.
Although the sounds were mixed, each had its own rhythm.
Lin Qi pushed open the door and stepped into the night.
The door closed behind him, shutting out the sounds.
He didn't lock the door.
The last person to leave...
He wasn't the one locking the door tonight.