On the private plane bound for Chicago, no one spoke, and no one slept.
After Game 4, Lin Qi's comment in the locker room, "Did all the fans in the city buy tickets to see you lose with honor?" provoked everyone.
Kevin Garnett stared at the small, buzzing television in the cubicle in front of him, rewinding it repeatedly. The black and white static on the screen showed Dennis Rodman using his thigh to bump into people and his elbow to twist their waists while boxing out.
Sitting next to him, Robert Parish slowly tightened the bandage on his hand, his voice hoarse. "Did you figure something out?"
"He's trying to deflect my force; he's deliberately provoking me."
Parish patted Garnett's stiff shoulder with his large hand.
The United Center was a sea of red, almost lifting the stadium off its feet.
With a series lead of 3-1, the 72-72 Chicago Bulls have a match point.
But at the moment of the jump ball, Lin Qi, sitting on the sidelines, saw pairs of eyes burning with anger.
In the first quarter, the Chicago Bulls demonstrated an exceptional ability to make fine-tuning adjustments. Pippen directly defended the player who switched positions, using his wingspan to shut down Sam Cassell's passing lanes; Luc Longley rampaged through the paint, repeatedly knocking Radja away.
In the first possession, Jordan received the ball on the right side of the backcourt, backed down, faked a shoulder movement, and faced Jones's face-up defense, completing a turnaround fadeaway.
Swish.
The Chicago Bulls took the lead. Jordan turned and retreated on defense, his face expressionless.
In previous games, the Celtics might have been stunned by this play. But tonight, Sam Cassell crossed half-court without hesitation, toughing off Pippen's tight defense, and passed the ball to the corner. Jones received the ball, facing Jordan's defense, and pulled up for a three-pointer.
Goal!
When retreating, Jones didn't celebrate; instead, he used his shoulder to shove Harper aside who was blocking his way.
In the second quarter, Garnett and Dennis Rodman clashed under the basket, creating a tense atmosphere. Jordan's mid-range shot missed, and Dennis Rodman repeated his tactic, kneeing Garnett in the side the moment he jumped.
This time Garnett didn't dodge. He took the contact head-on, using the force to pull the basketball into his arms.
The moment Garnett landed, his feet firmly on the floor, he yelled at Dennis Rodman, "That's my ball!!"
Dennis Rodman paused for the first time, his chewing gum motion halting. Looking at the nineteen-year-old, he finally dropped his contemptuous smile.
At halftime, the score was 48-46, with the Chicago Bulls leading by only two points.
The third quarter became Jordan's show.
Whenever the Celtics tied the game, Jordan would use his low-post footwork and mid-range jumper to overpower them. If Radja hit a shot from the high post, Jordan would immediately follow up with a layup and a three-point play. The score was neck and neck like a meat grinder.
With two minutes remaining in the fourth quarter, P.J. Brown fouled out, and center Ervin Johnson fouled out a minute later. The Celtics ' interior defense was completely torn apart, and they had exhausted all their options.
With 1.8 seconds left, the Chicago Bulls led 90-88.
Boston's final possession saw Person's game-winning three-pointer bounce off the rim. Just as the red light flashed, a tall, dark figure rose from the crowd.
Garnett completely lost his balance in mid-air, but before falling, he hooked the basketball with his fingertips and gently pushed it in.
Swish.
The red light is on; the area is 90 square meters.
In overtime!
In the first overtime, both teams went completely berserk. Sam Cassell's legs cramped so badly they were deformed, and he had to punch his calves every time there was a timeout; Jones's shoulder was bruised and swollen, and he could barely lift it. On the Chicago Bulls' side, Jordan was also panting heavily, and Pippen's free throws were so short they hit the rim.
The score was tied at 104, forcing the game into a second overtime period.
The Celtics are outnumbered in the paint. Head coach Adelman looked at the bench, paused for half a second, then turned to his head. " Robert."
The Old Chief Robert Parish, 42, took off his warm-up clothes.
With one minute and twenty seconds remaining, the Chicago Bulls led 108-106. Jordan missed a mid-range shot, Dennis Rodman drove in from the baseline, ready to grab the offensive rebound that would decide the game.
But this time, the Old Chief stood in his way.
The Chief didn't jump; instead, he stepped in front of Dennis Rodman's path, stabilized his stance, and lowered his shoulders.
Bang!
The two bodies collided without any resistance. The ball bounced to one side, and in the last second before losing his balance, Old Parish stretched out his long arm with all his might and tapped the ball. "Catch it!!"
Garnett caught the basketball, and the next second, the Old Chief's right leg suddenly buckled as he landed. He didn't scream; he just slowly collapsed onto the floor.
Lin Qi stood up on the sidelines.
The team doctor rushed over. Parish sat on the ground, touching his heel. His calm gaze froze Garnett beside him...
That's the Achilles tendon; a 42-year-old veteran knows it better than anyone.
"Don't look at me. Watch the ball! I'm going to grab the rebound for you and win the game!!"
Parish was helped towards the player tunnel by two team doctors. As he passed the Chicago Bulls' bench, Jordan stood up, Pippen stood up, and even Dennis Rodman put away his arrogant expression and nodded in respect to that figure.
In the final minute of the second overtime, the Celtics were almost out of options. Sam Cassell, dragging his cramped leg, forced a floater to tie the game, but with twenty seconds left, Jordan, on the right side of the court, used that turnaround fadeaway jumper to put the ball in the basket, even with Jones's defense practically right in front of him.
112 to 108.
The final buzzer sounded, double overtime ended, and the series score was 4-1.
The Chicago Bulls advance to the Eastern Conference Finals.
The entire United Center erupted in deafening cheers, with confetti raining down.
Sam Cassell, Jones, and Finley collapsed one after another onto the wooden floor, panting heavily.
Garnett stood under the basket, his chest heaving, staring at the celebrating Chicago fans.
Dennis Rodman walked past him. This time, he didn't mock him; he simply stopped and gave Garnett a hard slap on the chest.
"Come back next year, kid. I'll be waiting for you."
Garnett stared at him, his voice hoarse. "I'll go."
Dennis Rodman nodded and turned to walk into the wave of cheers.
Away game locker room.
Radja was slumped in a chair, his knees swollen like buns; Sam Cassell leaned against the wardrobe, his calves covered in white marks from the team doctor's finger pressure.
They didn't even have the strength to take a bath.
Lin Qi walked through the group of exhausted young people and pushed open the door to the innermost medical room.
Forty-two-year-old Robert Parish lay on the examination table, his right foot completely immobilized by a brace. The old man's face was calm, as if he had just finished a regular season game.
The team doctor pulled Lin Qi to a corner behind the door, his expression grave and his voice low.
"He has a ruptured Achilles tendon. We have to send him back to Boston for surgery tonight."
It's broken.
Lin Qi closed his eyes and remained silent.
Garnett had somehow followed them in, standing like a silent, dark wall in front of the hospital bed. His lips moved slightly; this once arrogant nineteen-year-old genius now bowed his head before the veteran, like a child who had made a mistake.
"Don't give me that sour look. I've been playing for twenty years, I've had enough." Parish said, trying to sound casual.
Lin Qi patted the team doctor on the shoulder, turned around, and pushed the door open again, returning to the outer locker room.
He loosened his tie, stood in the center, and looked at the group of exhausted young people who had instinctively lowered their heads.
Sam Cassell was even prepared to be scolded.
The season is over.
Lin Qi's voice rang out in the locker room, surprisingly calm.
Everyone's breath caught in their throats for a moment.
It's really over.
4 to 1.
They were eliminated.
"But I assure you, Boston will not be eliminated in the second round."
Lin Qi's gaze swept over Sam Cassell, Eddie Jones, and Finley.
"We'll be back next season."
"But the prerequisite is that each and every one of you must use this pent-up frustration of tonight as fuel for the entire summer."
No one answered in the locker room.
Only rapid, labored breathing could be heard.
Lin Qi paused for a moment, then took a step forward and stopped straight in the corner, looking down at Garnett's sweat-covered face.
"This summer, every one of you must undergo a complete transformation."
"Only in this way will we have the resources to return here and win the game next year."
"Let's go back."
"Recover from your injury, watch videos, and train."
"Let's save this anger for next season."
After Lin Qi finished speaking, he was about to turn around when he suddenly stopped, as if he had remembered something.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill.
" Sam, Eddie, Kevin... each of you, put out a hundred dollars. Now." Lin Qi looked at them.
Everyone in the locker room was stunned for a moment, but no one asked why. Sam Cassell, dragging his cramped leg, pulled a bill from his bag and handed it over; Jones, Finley, and Radja also came over one after another, and finally Garnett placed a sweaty hundred-dollar bill on top.
A dozen or so hundred-dollar bills were neatly stacked together.
Lin Qi took the stack of money in his hand, moved a chair over, and stepped onto it. Amidst everyone's puzzled gazes, he reached out and pried open a plastic ceiling panel in the visiting team's locker room, stuffing the stack of banknotes into a dark, hidden compartment.
"Snap."
The ceiling was replaced, fitting perfectly, as if nothing had happened.
Lin Qi jumped off the chair, dusted off his hands, and pointed to the ceiling.
"This money stays here, in the ceiling of the United Center. No one is allowed to take it back." Lin Qi looked at the group of young people whose eyes had completely changed, his voice calm and firm. "Then we'll take it back on the night Michael Jordan crosses the goal."
Garnett stared at the ceiling above him.
Lin Qi didn't say anything more, nodded, and turned to push open the locker room door.
Outside in the corridor, the cheers of Chicago at the United Center pierced through the walls and reached his ears.
Lin Qi stopped and took one last look at the tightly closed iron gate.
The Chicago Bulls in 1996.
Tonight, he has finally seen the full extent of the Mountain that has been pressing down on the entire league.
To overthrow this god, the passion of these young people alone is simply not enough.
What happens next is no longer their concern.
Summer of 1996.
With the free agency market about to open and the draft just around the corner, the salary structure of the entire league is undergoing unprecedented upheaval.
The players' match has ended.
But Lin Qi's war had only just begun.