NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 73: Chapter 73: Chen Du Show? Get Nash [Passing Master] for Free

Chapter 73: Chen Du Show? Get Nash [Passing Master] for Free

Chen Yan’s trip to the nightclub wasn’t exactly a good time—not because he lacked attention, but because he had too much of it.

Aside from his on-court glow, his height and sharp looks made it impossible for him not to get swarmed. E-cups, F-cups, G-cups—girls of all kinds were leaning in, some wanting a one-night thrill, others trying to lock down a long-term thing.

One black girl even tried to sit on Chen Yan right there in public.

He wasn’t about to let that happen. With a slick dodge, he completely avoided any close contact—[Magic Shadow] wasn’t just for breaking ankles on the court, apparently.

This girl had to be at least 150 pounds, with thighs thicker than Chen Yan’s and curves that put Kardashian to shame. Honestly, if she posted up in the paint, she could probably guard LeBron next season.

In America, a lot of club girls aren’t just partying—they’re scouting. To them, Chen Yan was a high-value target: young, rich, and full of promise. Their playbook was simple—get close, spend the night, and ”accidentally” get pregnant.

He’d seen it before. In his past life, Paul George’s girlfriend used that exact strategy. Even if the man doesn’t want to acknowledge the child, a DNA test is enough. One kid locks in years of child support.

Just look at Dwight Howard—eight illegitimate kids and bankruptcy rumors every year. Chen Yan wasn’t about to be the next cautionary tale.

Besides, every girl around him had the same heavy makeup, the same bright red lipstick, and layers of foundation so thick they could stop a screen. That wasn’t his type.

Stoudemire, though? Man was having the time of his life—one girl on his left, one on his right, and another parked right in his lap.

Before long, Stoudemire hit full showtime mode, tossing dollar bills in the air like confetti and turning the place into a mini-AI tribute act.

Allen Iverson was the original money-sprayer in the club scene, once bragging about blowing over $7 million partying. But even though Stoudemire just re-signed for the max with Phoenix in 2005, he wasn’t that reckless—his stack was mostly $1s and $2s.

Chen Yan dipped out while the chaos peaked. The music was too loud, the vibe too messy.

He stepped outside, breathed in the crisp air, and hailed a cab home.

He could’ve easily brought a few girls back to his place and thrown his own afterparty—but that wasn’t his style. He liked things simple, clean. A messy private life wasn’t worth the risk.

---

The Next Morning

Chen Yan booted up his laptop while brushing his teeth. By now, it was a daily routine to check out what the media was saying about him.

”Chen Yan torches the Heat! 30-point games just another day at the office!”

”Scoring like it’s pickup ball—NBA looks too easy for this kid!”

”No respect for the FMVP? Chen Yan only sees the rim!”

”Wade? He’s just Chen Yan minus two inches!”

The headlines from media sports sites were still as dramatic and clickbait-y as ever. But at least the articles themselves weren’t fake—otherwise, Chen Yan would’ve reported them himself.

Two straight 30+ point games had earned him waves of praise from fans and analysts alike.

But for Chen Yan, this was just normal. Back in the day, Iverson had a rookie stretch where he dropped 40+ in five straight games. Now he had a system-enhanced version of AI’s game. His ceiling was way higher.

—

Practice Facility – Morning

”Chen! Why’d you vanish last night? We were just gettin’ started!” Stoudemire yelled across the gym.

Chen Yan shrugged, ”Didn’t wanna get eaten alive out there, man.”

He shivered just thinking about that club scene.

”Haha! You handled Wade, but couldn’t take a girl with a little meat on her? Use that same strength, bro!” Diaw clapped him on the back, laughing.

”Yeah man,” Raja Bell chimed in, grinning. ”Break ’em down with that step-back. Hit ’em with the face-up fadeaway. Don’t be scared now!”

This was locker room culture—raw, loud, and unapologetically real. Chen Yan didn’t love it, but he was learning to roll with it.

---

Game Day: Suns vs Kings – US Airways Center

The Suns were back at home, this time facing off against the Sacramento Kings.

From tip-off, it was all Phoenix. Nash ran the offense like a maestro, slicing the Kings’ defense apart and dropping six dimes in the first quarter alone. The pace never let up—D’Antoni’s system was firing on all cylinders.

Even with Ron Artest holding down the Kings’ defense, he was just one man. And Phoenix’s full-court firepower couldn’t be stopped by a solo effort.

When the second quarter came, D’Antoni stuck to the now-familiar script: unleash Chen Yan with the second unit.

The tactic had worked wonders the last two games. Chen Yan would come in, torch tired defenders, and rack up quick buckets while Nash and the starters caught a breather.

It was becoming a Suns trademark.

The Kings, once a juggernaut in the early 2000s—back when Peja, Webber, and Bibby nearly dethroned the prime Shaq-Kobe Lakers—were just a shell of that team now. They still had fight, but not enough firepower to keep up.

The Kings had a solid fanbase back in the day, but those glory years were long gone.

Now, their top scorer was Kevin Martin—an oddball scorer who somehow made the most awkward-looking shots fall. But as flashy as his game looked, Martin wasn’t a leader. He was more of a cherry-on-top kind of guy, not someone you could build a franchise around.

Then there was Ron Artest. Known for his lockdown defense and physical presence, but not exactly someone who could carry the offense or run the floor.

In short, the Kings weren’t in the same league as the Suns anymore. And the final score said it all—Phoenix crushed Sacramento 121 to 101.

Chen Yan had himself another night. He shot 12-of-18 from the field, nailed 3-of-5 from beyond the arc, and went 5-of-6 from the stripe—racking up 32 points. That marked his third straight game dropping 30+.

After the final buzzer, Chen Yan walked over and greeted Kings head coach Reggie Theus with a sly grin.

”Coach Reggie, you’re not planning to report me again tonight, are you?”

Theus forced a chuckle, clearly uncomfortable. Just a few months ago, he was the head coach of New Mexico State. He and Chen had crossed paths in the NCAA round of 64, where Chen lit up his squad and knocked them out. Theus, salty from the loss, filed a report accusing Chen of PED use. It didn’t go anywhere, but Chen never forgot.

Now, fate had reunited them in the NBA.

”You played great tonight, Chen. Keep it up,” Theus replied, quickly changing the subject.

After watching Chen dominate both the NCAA and now the NBA, even Reggie Theus had to accept the kid was legit. No more shady accusations.

Following the Kings game, the Suns had a two-day break. Coach D’Antoni, showing some love, gave the team a half-day off.

That night, the squad got together at Steve Nash’s place. They had a meal, hit up a nightclub, and just chilled. Chen felt like he was finally part of the family—part of the Suns’ core.

The next day, after a light recovery workout, the team gathered in the film room to review the Kings game.

Watching game tape is a crucial part of a team’s development. Coaches and players break down key plays, analyze decisions, and figure out what could’ve been done better. It’s where wins are sharpened and habits are built.

While rewatching the footage, Chen Yan found himself marveling at Nash’s passes all over again.

”Steve, seriously, how the hell do you do that?” Chen asked, shaking his head. ”You got eyes in the back of your head or something? Those passes are unreal. What’s the trick?”

Nash laughed. ”It’s not magic, man. Just repetition and awareness. You’ve gotta know your teammates—like really know them. Where they like to catch the ball, which foot they lead with on the first step, their dominant hand... all that stuff adds up. Then it’s about precision. Hit the spot, every time.”

As Nash broke it down, Chen suddenly heard the familiar voice in his head.

”Ding! After Steve Nash’s detailed explanation, you’ve unlocked the skill: Passing Master Lv1 (Active)!”

Passing Master Lv1 (Active): Increases host’s passing stability by 5%, accuracy by 5%, and boosts teammates’ shooting percentage by 3% within 2 seconds of receiving a pass.

Chen lit up with excitement. Hell yeah! Free upgrade!

But as he looked over the skill’s details, a question popped into his mind.

”Why’s it Level 1?” he asked the system.

”Skills obtained through learning are classified by levels—starting at Lv1, maxing out at Lv5. Use them consistently in games and training to level up.”

”And I can learn from anybody?”

”No. You need to reach a certain intimacy level with the target, and they must be a Hall of Fame player.”

Only Hall of Famers, huh? Tough requirement.

Then again, what’s the point of learning from average players? Hall of Famers were on a different tier—worth the grind.

Chen had only totaled two assists over his first three NBA games. That stat line had the haters foaming at the mouth.

”Lone wolf! Ball hog!”

”Two assists in three games? Should rename himself to Chen ’No-Pass’ Yan!”

”He’s gonna get jumped by his teammates if he keeps that up!”

The trolls were relentless. Even with three straight 30-point games and wins, they always found something to hate on.

But Chen didn’t care about winning them over.

This wasn’t about assists or clapping back at critics. It was about getting better. [Passing Master] gave him a legit boost—one that could elevate his whole game.

For Chen, this wasn’t just a passing badge. It was a weapon.

Nash was able to drop dimes because defenses respected his jumper. They couldn’t just collapse on his teammates or double him every possession. His threat to score opened up the court, and his passing punished you for trying to cheat.

Chen wanted that same effect. The better he passed, the harder it would be to double him. That would free up his scoring game even more.

And besides, he had bigger plans.

At some point, he’d be suiting up for China on the international stage. And out there, scoring alone wouldn’t cut it. He’d need to create, facilitate, and lead.

This was just the beginning.

Now that the door had opened, Chen made up his mind—he was gonna stick close to Nash. Invite him out, drop by his place, whatever it took to build that bond.

He had a whole arsenal of talents still waiting to be unlocked. From his all-around vision, to his hybrid shooting form, to his mid-air decision making—there was so much more he could refine.

If Nash was the key to all that, then I’ll ride this all the way until he retires, Chen thought with a grin.

Free lessons from a legend? Yeah, he’d take that deal every damn time.

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