Chapter Six: Lingnan Park

Changing into sportswear, Lin Lang got into the white Santara and glanced at his watch: 4:17.

Just as he had expected, it was around this time that Lin Nan would tire of playing video games. Still, he hadn’t anticipated that basketball would truly ignite something in Lin Nan’s heart—and that it would be the very same AI from his previous life that he’d loved so dearly.

“Dad, where are we going?” Lin Nan asked, confused as the car headed towards the Qingshui Expressway.

“Lingnan Park—the basketball mecca of Lingnan City,” Lin Lang replied calmly as he drove.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Lin Nan looked at his father, who was focused on driving, feeling a strange sensation inside. Over the past two days, Lin Nan sensed that his father had become almost magical, knowledgeable about so many things he’d never known before. He had never realized his father was so impressive. For example, the Lingnan Park they were heading to now—he’d never heard his father mention it before. In fact, lately, Lin Nan had begun to feel as if everything was part of his father’s design.

None of that really mattered, though. What was important was how comfortable, safe, and happy he felt being with his father. He could sense that everything his father did was for his sake.

After about forty minutes, the two of them arrived at Lingnan Park.

Lingnan Park was situated in the heart of Lingnan City. Originally, it had simply been a place for leisure walks. But after the addition of professional outdoor basketball courts, more and more basketball enthusiasts had flocked here to play. Eventually, the city’s streetball legend, Liuchuan Mu, began hosting the annual Lingnan Sunset Tournament here, and Lingnan Park became famous overnight.

Nearly all of the city’s top basketball players gathered here. Even on ordinary days, the courts were packed.

Parking the car, Lin Lang led Lin Nan toward the courts. After walking a few minutes and passing through a cluster of flowers, dozens of basketball courts appeared before them.

On the red-and-green rubber surfaces, scores of figures darted back and forth, their colorful jerseys weaving through each other. Even more people rested on the sidelines, many of them drenched in sweat, though the coolness of late autumn didn’t seem to bother them—they wore nothing but thin jerseys.

Beside the courts, a large wooden sign proclaimed: “Youthful sweat belongs on the basketball court.”

The sight set Lin Nan's blood racing—he longed to join them. Most players on the courts were in their twenties; there were hardly any as young as Lin Nan, just thirteen, but with his 175cm height, he didn’t look out of place.

Lin Lang surveyed the scene. The overall skill level here was high; the more spectators gathered around a court, the stronger the players. Even the less competitive courts weren’t suitable for Lin Nan to join.

At last, Lin Lang spotted something. In a far corner, on one court, only two people were practicing their shots. Most importantly, one of them was a boy about the same age and height as Lin Nan.

Lin Lang led Lin Nan toward that court. As they drew closer, he could see more clearly.

Soon, Lin Lang concluded that the two were father and son. There was a young man and a boy, both wearing matching purple #24 jerseys and Nike sneakers, differing only in size. The young man was about 178cm tall, the boy around 175—remarkably similar to Lin Lang and his son.

As they got closer, Lin Lang felt reassured in his choice. The young man’s basketball fundamentals were solid—his three-point shot outside the arc was textbook: beautiful form, powerful wrists.

The boy practiced diligently at the free-throw line, his shooting motion identical to the young man’s. Clearly, this was a seasoned basketball father training his son.

Reaching the court, Lin Lang politely asked, “Hello, may we join you?”

The young man turned, saw the pair in sportswear, and smiled. “Of course!”

He tossed the basketball to Lin Lang, who caught it steadily, stepped outside the three-point line, bent his knees, arched his back, steadied the ball with his left hand, and flicked it with his right—his form the very picture of a textbook shot.

He rose fluidly into the air; the ball sailed in a graceful arc toward the hoop.

Swish—a perfect three-pointer.

“Dad, you made it!” Lin Nan cheered.

The young man smiled. “Nice shot.” After a pause, he added, “You’re here with your son too?”

Lin Lang nodded, grinning. “He got bored of video games at home today, happened to see an Iverson highlight reel, and insisted on coming out to play—so here we are.”

He watched Lin Nan retrieve the ball, then turned to the young man. “But he’s still a beginner. Doesn’t play much. How about letting your son give him some pointers?”

Hearing this, the young man’s first instinct was to refuse. After all, his own son had been training from a young age; what was the point of schooling a novice? But then, seeing his son’s #24 jersey, a mysterious smile flickered across his face. He changed his mind. “Sure,” he replied.

The two men called their sons over, assuming the roles of coaches giving last-minute tactical advice.

The young man said to his son, “That kid over there likes Iverson. As a Kobe fan, don’t hold back—play your hardest and teach him a lesson!”

Lin Lang, meanwhile, told Lin Nan, “Don’t be afraid. You haven’t played as much basketball as he has, so it’s fine if you lose. Just give it your all. Remember, for defense do this... for offense do that...”

And so, Lin Nan found himself drafted into a one-on-one match by his father. But they were all men—who was afraid of whom? With confidence, Lin Nan strode onto the court, his father’s tactics echoing in his mind.

Seeing the confidence on his son’s face, Lin Lang felt gratified. Yesterday’s birthday had not been in vain.

Standing at center court, the young man announced, “Simple rules: whoever scores five baskets first wins. After each made basket, possession switches.”

Lin Nan was granted first possession—a courtesy from their opponents, which Lin Lang graciously accepted.

The match began. Lin Nan immediately drove inside. The opposing boy closed in, so Lin Nan pivoted, posting up, inching toward the basket.

This was his father’s strategy: with no great shot or advanced ball-handling, he was to muscle his way under the hoop and bank it in.

Fortunately, Lin Nan’s strength surpassed his opponent’s. Growing up in the countryside, he’d run and jumped daily, so his physique was robust; only after moving to the county for school had he become less active.

The other boy had no answer—he couldn’t stop Lin Nan’s advance, nor did he dare recklessly go for a steal.

The young man on the sidelines looked on calmly, at ease.

Soon, Lin Nan had forced his way from the three-point line into the paint. With a forceful nudge, he spun and leapt for a bank shot.

But to his surprise, the boy he’d shoved aside sprang up in place—an impressive leap—and delivered a flawless block, sending the ball out of bounds.

Oh my god! Lin Nan felt a twinge of embarrassment; he knew well that getting blocked was a mark of shame in basketball.

The young man smiled knowingly on the sidelines, and even Lin Lang allowed himself a faint smile, for he saw renewed determination flicker across Lin Nan’s face.

Possession switched—it was the boy’s turn to attack.

That block had drawn shouts from resting players on a neighboring court. Many were drawn over by the commotion, and upon seeing two boys of 175cm dueling it out, they crowded around—such a sight was rare.

The boy, dribbling, noticed the gathering crowd. He didn’t rush to attack, seeming to search for his rhythm.

Lin Nan stayed vigilant, lowering his stance, arms spread, ready to defend.

Once he felt ready, the boy began his drive—a probing step, a deceptive “Shammgod” crossover, his agile moves prompting the spectators to murmur that this was worth watching.

But Lin Nan remained unshaken; he neither jumped nor lost his position. His father had instructed him: if the boy attempted a long-range shot, just let him—no need to contest.

Seeing his feints fail, the boy didn’t force a drive or shot. Instead, he backed up a bit, then surged forward, executing a powerful right-to-left crossover.

Lin Nan quickly shifted to guard the left, blocking the drive.

But in that instant, as the ball reached his left hand, the boy spun—textbook perfect—and slipped past Lin Nan.

Off balance, Lin Nan could only watch as the boy scored with a steady bank shot.

The crowd applauded, exclaiming that the kid in the #24 jersey played brilliantly—worthy of that number.

On the sidelines, Lin Lang looked serious. The boy’s skill was formidable; his crossovers and spins revealed solid fundamentals. He could only hope Lin Nan wouldn’t be too discouraged.

0:1. Possession returned to Lin Nan.

By now, Lin Nan clearly understood the gap between himself and the other boy. The sequence of moves he’d just witnessed was entirely new to him; compared to what he and his classmates did at school, this was child’s play.

Taking the ball beyond the arc, he composed himself. This time, he stuck to his earlier approach: posting up, backing in.

The crowd could see the disparity in skill—Lin Nan’s dribbling revealed him as a novice. Still, his superior physique gave him a fighting chance; in basketball, strength mattered as much as technique.

Once again, Lin Nan forced his way under the hoop, nudged the boy aside, and feinted a jump shot.

The boy leapt, ready for another block—but Lin Nan’s jump was a fake; his feet never left the ground.

As the boy began to descend, Lin Nan took his real shot—a steady bank off the glass.

The score was now 1:1.