NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 72: Chapter 72: Comparing Him to Kobe and Jordan? Nightclub After the Game

Chapter 72: Comparing Him to Kobe and Jordan? Nightclub After the Game

On a popular basketball forum back in China, the buzz around Chen Yan was off the charts.

”29 points in the first half—against Wade, no less. Can you believe this is only his second NBA game?”

”If he stays healthy, this guy’s gonna be an All-Star for sure!”

”All-Star? Come on, you’re selling him short. He’s already looking like a future superstar!”

It wasn’t that fans were exaggerating—it’s just that Chen Yan’s talent was lighting up expectations. After all, China had never seen an outside player dominate like this before.

Meanwhile, in a crowded college cafeteria, a group of students crowded around a laptop, watching highlights on loop.

”What’s the rookie single-game scoring record again?”

”Wilt dropped 58. I read it in Slam Dunk Magazine.”

”You think Chen Yan has a shot at it if he stays aggressive in the second half?”

”Maybe, but only if the Heat can keep it close. Otherwise, he might get benched early.”

”Man, I’m actually rooting for the Heat now—just so Chen gets more minutes!”

The hype was building. Fans were already daring to dream of Chen Yan chasing Wilt Chamberlain’s rookie record. The swagger he showed on the court had fans thinking big.

Back in the Suns’ locker room during halftime, the vibe was loose.

Stoudemire was cracking dirty jokes, making everyone laugh. Boris Diaw sat in the corner, calmly brewing coffee like a French gentleman. The squad was chill, and why wouldn’t they be? The Suns were up by 20, and the Heat were struggling to find any rhythm.

Miami’s aging core just didn’t have the legs to keep up. Their offense was heavy on post play, and without reliable perimeter shooting, they couldn’t close the gap.

In the Heat locker room, the atmosphere was grim. Wade sat in silence, frustrated but saying nothing. Surrounded by aging vets, he had no one to hold accountable—even if he wanted to.

Pat Riley walked in, clipboard in hand. He scribbled a few basic plays, then tossed the board onto a bench.

He wasn’t mad. He was just realistic. ”What do you expect?” he muttered to himself. ”This group ain’t beating the Suns, not tonight.”

Riley had already pitched the idea to Heat ownership before the season started—bottom out this year, aim for a top pick in the loaded 2008 draft, and pair a young star with Wade. The vision was clear.

And looking at tonight’s performance, tanking might not even be necessary. This squad could lose just fine playing ”normal.”

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The second half tipped off soon after. Chen Yan wasn’t in the starting five—he’d logged heavy minutes in the first half, especially with all the iso plays wearing down his stamina. Coach D’Antoni gave him some well-earned rest.

In the meantime, Nash and Stoudemire took the reins, leading a small-ball unit and cranking up the pace.

Nash came out slinging—threading two back-to-back dimes that split the defense wide open. Stoudemire? Man was a beast. He cut through the lane like a hot knife through butter, hammering down dunks that had the crowd roaring.

”Straight up Huashan-splitting-the-mountain type dunks,” one Chinese commentator joked on the live stream.

About five minutes in, Chen Yan checked back in, stretching his arms and shaking out the legs. Across the court, Wade re-entered the game too.

Score: 75–49. Suns up by 26.

Wade came out swinging—hard. On his first touch, he attacked downhill, carving through the defense like a man possessed.

He drove into the lane, took one long stride just outside the restricted area, launched himself into the air, contorted mid-flight, and tossed up a tough floater.

He landed awkwardly and slid across the baseline on his back—one of those classic ”Wade falls” where you just pray he gets up okay. Landing directly on the knees like that? Brutal. But falling after the shot helped absorb the impact.

Wade popped up, gritting his teeth. But the Suns were already gone.

Diaw inbounded to Nash. One dribble, full sprint, hit-ahead pass to Chen Yan. The rookie exploded toward the rim and finished strong with a two-handed jam.

The whole sequence summed up the night: Wade grinding, throwing punches—but Phoenix was just too fast, too smooth, too clean with their offense.

The score gap widened even more. By the end of the third, D’Antoni had seen enough. The Suns’ starters, including Chen Yan, clocked out with the game well in hand.

Final score: Suns 119, Heat 97. That’s win number two in the books for Phoenix.

Chen Yan’s stat line? 35 points, 4 rebounds, 3 steals—his second straight 30+ performance in just as many games.

He shot an efficient 15-of-21 from the field, including 13-of-17 on two-pointers, 2-of-4 from deep, and 3-of-4 from the line.

Nash chipped in with 13 points and 14 assists. And thanks to Chen Yan carrying the scoring load, Nash barely had to look for his own shot. He was all about facilitating.

Amar’e Stoudemire finished the night with a solid 25 points and 10 rebounds—textbook All-Star power forward numbers.

Off the bench, J.J. Barea chipped in with 8 points and 4 assists. Not bad for a new guy—he’s clearly fitting in faster than expected.

On the Heat’s side, Dwyane Wade put up a game-high 34 points, along with 5 rebounds, 5 assists, and 3 steals. Stat line was stacked, no doubt. But it ended up being an empty performance in a losing effort.

Back in the Suns’ locker room, Chen Yan was already seasoned in handling post-game routines. He showered, got dressed early, and waited for the media like a pro. Winning always brings a different kind of energy—everyone’s lighter, smiling, buzzing.

Chen greeted the reporters with ease, flashing that calm confidence he’s known for. After the locker room interviews, he joined Steve Nash and Coach Mike D’Antoni at the post-game press conference—his first time at the podium as an NBA player.

Click! Click! Click!

As soon as Chen walked out, the press corps lit him up like a Christmas tree. Flashes everywhere.

But Chen? Cool as ever. From NCAA to the NBA, the spotlight was nothing new.

First up, one of the reporters addressed Coach D’Antoni.

”Coach, Chen looked fantastic running the second unit tonight. His scoring burst was off the charts. Have you considered making him the sixth man permanently?”

D’Antoni raised his hands and chuckled.

”Look, if you had someone like Kobe or MJ on your roster, would you bring him off the bench?”

The reporter shook his head, smiling.

”Exactly. Neither would I,” D’Antoni replied with a grin.

That moment hit hard. D’Antoni had just compared Chen Yan to Kobe and Jordan. It sounded like a stretch, but damn, it showed just how much faith the coach had in his rookie.

Next, a reporter turned to Chen.

”Chen, not only did you help seal the win, but you also outscored Dwyane Wade tonight. What’s your take on that?”

Chen leaned into the mic, calm as ever.

”I outscored Wade? Damn, didn’t even notice. I was just putting the ball in the basket, you know?”

Effortless.

There are three levels of swagger.

The obvious, try-hard kind. Everyone sees through it.

The loud, flashy type that earns respect even if you hate it.

And then there’s the quiet kind—so smooth it’s like breathing. It becomes part of who you are.

Chen Yan? That third kind. Natural. Lethal.

Another reporter chimed in.

”How did it feel to go toe-to-toe with Wade?

Chen cracked a smile.

”It was dope. I used to watch him ball on TV, and now I’m out there on the floor with him—1-on-1. That’s something special.”

”Congrats on setting a new career-high in just your second game. You gotta be feeling good about that, right?”

Chen raised an eyebrow and leaned back toward the mic.

”Wait, wait—this is just my second NBA game and we’re talking career highs already? Man, chill.”

Laughter erupted across the room.

”What do you think about Wade’s throat-slash celebration after that dunk on you?”

Chen nodded thoughtfully.

”It looked cool. No lie. But it’s not the kind of thing you wanna see in a game with kids watching. Stuff like that sends the wrong message. It’s not my call, though. I’m sure the league will handle it.”

That answer? It hit different. Honest, real, and still respectful.

Turns out, the league did handle it. Not long after, Wade was fined $25,000 for the gesture.

Fans online had a field day with it.

”Chen’s humility made the Top 5 Plays, and Wade’s celebration made the fine list!”

Twitter was roasting.

Meanwhile, the Heat’s postgame press conference felt a lot more subdued.

When Shaq was asked about Chen’s performance, he didn’t hold back.

”Kid went toe-to-toe with D-Wade. I was watching from the bench like, damn! He didn’t look like no rookie out there. If you told me he’d been in the league 10 years, I’d believe it. And the scariest part? He’s still got a lotta room to grow.”

Shaq giving props? That’s real. The Diesel doesn’t hand those out easy.

Later that night, as Chen left the press room, he got stopped by Amar’e.

”Yo Chen! We’re hitting up the club later. You in?”

”Who all’s going?” Chen asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

”Me, Raja, Boris, and a couple of my boys. Real chill crew.”

Amar’e didn’t mention Nash or Grant Hill. Not because they were beefing—those two were just different.

Nash was a family guy. Probably at home reading bedtime stories to his daughter. Hill? Devoted husband. No nightlife for him.

Chen thought for a second, then nodded.

”Alright, cool. Lemme hit the barbershop real quick first.”

He wasn’t against blowing off steam now and then. As long as he stayed grounded, didn’t lose focus, and didn’t end up with five random kids in five states.

Besides, he was a spokesperson for Dulux.

If there’s one thing Chen Yan had plenty of—it was condoms.

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