November 1, 2000, 6:00 AM, at Lin Qi's home.
Lin Qi didn't sleep well.
He lay on the large double bed, staring at the gray-white ceiling, rehearsing every detail of tonight in his mind.
The ring presentation ceremony. The flag-raising ceremony. And... Chris Paul Pierce's comeback.
Thirty-seven days ago, Chris Paul Pierce lay on the operating table at New England Medical Center in Boston, stabbed eleven times, with one puncture in his lung and the closest stab wound to his heart just an inch away. He teetered on the brink of death. Thirty-seven days later, he will stand under the spotlight at the New Garden to receive the NBA championship ring, the highest honor in the league.
This should have been a perfect Hollywood story.
But Lin Qi knew that reality was far crueler than Hollywood script.
Buzz...
The phone on the bedside table vibrated, its sound particularly jarring in the quiet room.
Lin Qi picked it up, and a text message popped up on the screen: From: Chris Paul Pierce.
"Lin, I can't sleep."
Lin Qi checked the time: 6:02 AM. Without hesitation, he dialed the number.
" Chris Paul?"
"Lin..." Pierce's unusually hoarse and tired voice came from the other end of the phone, "I'm sorry to bother you so early."
"I'm fine." Lin Qi sat up and casually threw on a coat. "Are you alright?"
silence.
A long silence followed. Only heavy breathing could be heard through the receiver.
"I don't know," Pierce finally spoke, his voice trembling slightly. "Lin, I... I'm not sure I'm ready."
"What are you going to prepare?"
"Get ready to stand in front of so many people." Pierce swallowed hard. "Get ready to take the ring... and pretend everything's fine."
Lin Qi's heart tightened suddenly.
" Chris Paul, you don't need to pretend," Lin Qi said in a deep voice. "If you feel you're not ready, I can get a report from the team doctor about back spasms. Our current roster depth is enough to keep you out for a month, or even most of the season."
"No!" Pierce coughed twice, immediately interrupting him, "Lin, I have to fight. I have to prove..."
His voice choked with emotion, tinged with a stubbornness. "Prove I'm still Chris Paul Pierce. Prove those damn bastards didn't ruin me."
Lin Qi closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
" Chris Paul, listen to me," Lin Qi's voice was gentle yet penetrating. "Tonight, when you walk out of the tunnel, the fans will cheer for you. Not because you're trying to prove anything to the world, but because you're still alive. You're still on the court; you've already won."
You don't need to prove anything to anyone. You just need to be yourself.
Suppressed sobs came from the other end of the phone. This tough guy, who bleeds but doesn't cry on the field, was as vulnerable as a child at this moment.
"Thank you, Lin." After a long pause, Pierce took a deep breath. "I... I'll do my best."
"Go take a hot shower, grab something to eat, and then come to the gym. I'll be waiting for you there."
After hanging up the phone, Lin Qi stood up and walked to the window.
Boston was shrouded in a cold, thin mist in the early morning, with the Charles River flowing quietly in the distance. Tonight, the city would witness a miracle.
3 PM, home team locker room.
The players gradually arrived, but the locker room, usually filled with hip-hop music and trash talk, had a subtly oppressive atmosphere. This was a glorious moment for the Celtics, but everyone knew that the real focus tonight was the man who had been stabbed eleven times.
Team captain Gary Payton leaned against the tactical board, chewing gum, his eyes unusually serious.
Kevin Garnett, wearing huge headphones, silently and repeatedly wiped his black and green sneakers.
Ben Wallace was silently bandaging his wrist, his strong muscles bulging like rocks.
In the corner, Ron Artest was idly tossing a basketball in his hand.
A little over a month ago, this hothead, on the floor of Buzz Club covered in broken glass and cheap alcohol, beat the knife-wielding assailant like a mad dog, leaving him a bloody mess and snatching Pierce back from the jaws of death.
Now, he wears a brand-new number 37 jersey, with several freshly scabbed scars on his forearm. But he seems completely unconcerned about these cuts that once pierced his body, chewing gum with an air of nonchalance.
Sitting not far from him, Hedo Türkoğlu and Michael Redd were much quieter. As witnesses to that night, they could recall the horrific sight of Pierce lying in a pool of blood the moment they closed their eyes. This gave them a deep sense of awe when they looked at Artest.
Squeak...
At 3:15 p. m., the locker room door was pushed open.
Chris Paul Pierce walked in.
The noisy locker room fell silent instantly. Everyone was looking at him.
Pierce stood in the doorway, looked around, and a signature nonchalant smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"What's wrong? You bunch of bastards are acting like you've seen a ghost."
Garnett was the first to rip off his headphones, stand up, stride over, and pull Pierce into a surprisingly gentle embrace.
Welcome back, my brother.
Captain Gary Payton walked over and punched Pierce hard on the uninjured part of his shoulder. "If you don't get back to the team soon, I'm getting really bored..."
Doc Doug Christie, Billups, Rasheed Wallace... lined up in perfect unison, bumping fists and hugging Pierce.
Finally, Pierce went to the corner.
He looked at Artest, and his eyes instantly reddened.
Artest grinned and tossed the ball aside. " Chris Paul, you need to make a lot of these tonight."
Pierce stepped forward and hugged Artest tightly.
7 PM, New Garden.
The lights in the arena went out, and the nearly 20,000 fans in attendance erupted in deafening screams. Only a dazzling white spotlight shone on the center of the court.
Accompanied by the rousing melody of Ireland bagpipes and U2's "Beautiful Day," the banner bearing the inscription "1999-2000 NBA CHAMPIONS" slowly rose into the air, eventually fluttering alongside the other seventeen glorious banners atop the dome. Boston's eighteenth championship, a triumph over the entire league.
After the flag-raising ceremony, the ring presentation ceremony began.
Lin Qi stood in the center of the court and personally presented the honors to the players.
When Ben Wallace accepted the ring, he bowed deeply to Lin Qi.
With tears in his eyes, Garnett kissed the ring.
Artest excitedly put on the ring and flashed his signature arrogant smile at the camera.
Finally, Lin Qi handed the last ring to Pierce.
" Chris Paul," Lin Qi, looking directly into his eyes, his voice barely audible, "Take it."
Pierce took the ring with trembling hands, stepped forward, buried his head in Lin Qi's shoulder, and hugged him tightly.
"PAUL! PAUL! PAUL!"
A thunderous roar erupted from the stands.
After the rings were awarded, the DJ's voice rang out. "Now, please welcome our team captain, Gary Payton, to speak!"
Gary Payton, microphone in hand, strode to the center of the court and opened his mouth wide.
"As is customary, tonight I, the Celtics ' captain, should deliver the championship speech on behalf of the team." Gary Payton fiddled with the ring on his hand, then suddenly changed the subject, looking at Pierce behind him.
He dropped his signature mischievous grin and his expression turned serious.
"Everyone knows what this kid went through recently, so I won't waste my breath on it." Gary Payton pointed at Pierce, his penetrating voice echoing throughout the large arena.
"But! To crawl back from the brink of death, to come back to the gym and train like crazy on the third day after being discharged, and to even be standing here in his jersey ready for the game today..." Gary Payton took a deep breath, his emotions visibly heightened, "This guy, he's absolutely a..."
He'd barely finished speaking when Gary Payton suddenly glanced at the ESPN broadcast camera zooming in on his face. He swallowed the profanity that was on the tip of his tongue and cleared his throat.
"... This guy is an absolutely incredible tough guy, a real hard man." Gary Payton stared straight into Pierce's eyes. "I, Gary Payton, have never respected many people in this league in my life, but he's definitely one of them!"
Under the gaze of nearly 20,000 eyes in the arena, Gary Payton strode up to Pierce and shoved the microphone into his hand without a word.
"I feel it's time." Gary Payton raised his fist and slammed it into Pierce's uninjured right shoulder, shouting at the top of his lungs, "From today onwards, this captaincy should be handed over to him!"
The entire New Garden fell silent for a second.
The next instant, thunderous applause and roars, powerful enough to lift the dome and shatter glass, exploded!
Pierce was completely stunned. He looked at the microphone that had been forcibly shoved into his hand, then looked up at Gary Payton.
"Go ahead, Captain." Gary Payton grinned at him and stepped back to Garnett's side.
In this prestigious and deeply rooted team, "captain" is not just a title, but a sacred torch passed down from Beal Russell and Larry Bird Larry Bird. Pierce turned to look at the coaching bench, where Rick Carlisle smiled and nodded. He looked at Lin Qi, Lin Qi nodded at him. Garnett, Ben Wallace, and Billups were all looking at him with great anticipation.
He took a deep breath, clutching the heavy ring, and for the first time as the new captain, leaned close to the microphone.
"A little over a month ago..." his voice was terribly hoarse, "I was lying on a stretcher in the emergency room, and I thought I was going to die that day. Later... the doctor told me that the knife was only an inch away from my heart."
The stadium was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; some female fans had already covered their mouths.
"One inch." Pierce chuckled self-deprecatingly, tears falling to the floor. "All I could think was: That's it, I might never touch a basketball again."
"But!" he jerked his head up, his voice booming, "But I'm standing here today! I'm holding the championship ring that belongs to Boston! I'm not dead, I'm fucking alive!"
"I want to thank Lin, I want to thank the team. But most importantly..." Pierce turned around, pointed at Artest in the crowd, his voice hoarse, "I want to thank Ron! If it weren't for him that night, I'd be a corpse by now!"
Artest arrogantly pounded his chest on the sidelines, and the entire arena erupted in applause.
"And you, Boston fans." Pierce looked around, raising his ringed right fist. "Tonight, I'll fight for you! Never underestimate the heart of a champion! Never back down!"
boom!
The New Garden erupted in cheers, the deafening screams nearly lifting the roof off.