NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 121: Chapter 121: The Microwave Starts—And He’s Cookin’ Too Fast!

Chapter 121: The Microwave Starts—And He’s Cookin’ Too Fast!

”Hello, basketball fans! Up next, it’s the NBA regular season matchup between the Phoenix Suns and the Houston Rockets!”

”In previous meetings, the Suns have clearly had the upper hand—winning 8 of the last 10 matchups.”

”On one side, we’ve got a team that lives and dies by the run-and-gun. On the other, a squad that prefers the grind of half-court, set plays. It’s a full-on clash of philosophies!”

”Exactly! Let’s see what kind of fireworks they can bring to the fans tonight!”

In the CCTV Sports studio, Zhang Weiping, Su Qun, and Xu Jicheng sat side-by-side, delivering the pre-game breakdown.

CCTV had gone all-in for this Chinese Derby, rolling out a rare three-man commentary team.

Behind them on the big screen was a computer-generated image of Chen Yan and Yao Ming, facing each other with bold captions: ”Help Yao Soar!” and ”Chen Yan Is Coming!”

Unlike most broadcasts, the trio didn’t bother making predictions. This wasn’t just a game—it was the game. Two teams, two Chinese stars, both in their prime.

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US Airways Center, Phoenix

The players from both squads were already on the floor, warming up at center court.

Houston Rockets Starting Five:

Rafer Alston, Tracy McGrady, Shane Battier, Chuck Hayes, Yao Ming

Phoenix Suns Starting Five:

Steve Nash, Chen Yan, Raja Bell, Boris Diaw, Amar’e Stoudemire

The arena was packed, and the Chinese fan presence was impossible to miss. Banners waved, portraits of Chen Yan and Yao Ming filled the stands, and the energy was off the charts.

In the front row, cameras caught a familiar face—Taylor Swift, chilling with a big ol’ bucket of popcorn in her lap.

Chen Yan didn’t interact much with her before tipoff. He had bigger things on his plate tonight—media obligations, interviews, and the weight of an entire nation’s expectations.

Taylor, left to her own devices, was already halfway through the popcorn before the game even started.

Then, the arena erupted—the moment everyone had been waiting for was finally here.

---

Tipoff

Jump ball!

Stoudemire got the better of Yao, winning the first possession for the Suns.

Despite Yao’s 7’6” height, his shorter wingspan and lack of vertical made him vulnerable in tip situations. In fact, his career jump-ball win rate hovered just above 40%. Not exactly elite.

The Suns wasted no time.

After the tip, Nash brought the ball down and called for an isolation play. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he swung the ball laterally to Chen Yan.

Nash understood the magnitude of tonight. This was Chen Yan’s stage, and he was going to let him shine.

The Rockets assigned Shane Battier to defend him.

Battier stood at 6’8” and weighed in at 218 pounds. He wasn’t flashy—averaging 10.1 points and 4.1 rebounds this season—but his real value was on the defensive end.

He wasn’t the kind of guy who’d cook you off the dribble. Most of his offense came from corner threes and easy cuts. But defensively? The man was a problem. Known across the league as a cerebral, high-IQ defender with great instincts and positional awareness.

Still, in Chen Yan’s eyes, Battier was... solid. Not elite. His on-ball pressure wasn’t overwhelming—more brain than brawn. Solid help defender? Yes. But one-on-one? Chen Yan liked his odds.

So, he tested the waters. Palmed the ball in one hand, jabbed twice, then—bang!—pulled up.

”Wait... he’s pulling up right out the gate?” Su Qun exclaimed in disbelief.

Splash.

Shuaaa!

3–0, Suns.

The crowd exploded. Chen Yan had just drained the first bucket of the game—a smooth, cold-blooded three right in Battier’s face.

Battier barely moved. He didn’t expect the shot. Didn’t even get a hand up.

As Chen Yan backpedaled to the defensive end, he raised three fingers to the sky with a grin—he was feeling it.

This wasn’t just about the NBA tonight. This was about putting on for 200 million people watching back home. Even Yao Ming, now a five-year NBA vet, looked hyped.

Rockets’ Ball

Rafer Alston brought the ball across half-court and immediately gestured to the low post.

He wanted to feed Yao Ming.

But Stoudemire had already dropped into a half-front, cutting off the entry angle.

Alston hesitated. That pass wasn’t safe. Not yet.

As a point guard, Rafer Alston’s organizational skills were... mediocre at best. That weakness directly impacted Yao Ming’s offensive rhythm. Too often, Yao found himself wrestling for position just to help Alston get free.

Individually, Alston wasn’t much better. Sure, he was a streetball legend who dazzled with flashy handles on the blacktop—but in the NBA? Against these athletic freaks? That flair didn’t translate.

His primary scoring tools with the Rockets were open threes—mostly after Yao or McGrady drew double-teams—and those frustrating little floaters he tossed up in traffic.

He wasn’t efficient either. Just 38% from two-point range and around 34% from deep across his career. Honestly, calling him the Rockets’ third option said more about the roster than it did about his ability.

This time, Alston bypassed Yao and swung the ball to McGrady on the wing.

McGrady caught it clean and Yao instinctively moved up to set the high screen. Using Yao’s big frame, T-Mac took two hard dribbles into the paint, then fired a no-look pass back to Yao, who had popped out to the high post.

Yao didn’t hesitate—he caught, rose, and let it fly.

Yao–McGrady connection!

It looked a little far, but it was well within Yao’s comfort zone.

Swish!

The sweet sound of nylon echoed through the American West Arena.

”Great shot!”

”Nice stroke!”

”Yao answers right back!”

The three commentators in the studio couldn’t hold back their excitement.

Fueled by their energy, Chinese fans watching back home were buzzing. Chen Yan and Yao had both scored their teams’ first buckets. A perfect start to this highly anticipated Chinese Derby.

Boris Diaw quickly inbounded the ball. The Suns knew they couldn’t slow down—not with a monster like Yao Ming anchoring Houston’s paint.

Steve Nash advanced the ball quickly, then whipped a cross-court dime to Chen Yan—already set up two steps beyond the three-point arc.

Yao Ming, meanwhile, was still jogging past half-court...

Chen Yan caught it in stride, crouched low, and exploded forward—first cutting left, then smoothly crossing back to the right. Battier bit hard.

Gone.

Chen sliced through the lane and kissed the ball off the glass—two easy ones.

5–2, Suns.

”Smooth! Back-to-back direction changes and straight to the rack,” Coach Xu praised from the broadcast booth.

”Battier couldn’t stay with him,” Su Qun added. ”Chen Yan’s shiftiness is elite. That kind of one-on-one defense isn’t Battier’s strength.”

On the other end, McGrady didn’t waste time.

A couple quick between-the-legs moves gave him the edge, and he left Raja Bell lunging behind him. He powered toward the basket.

Even without the bounce he had in his prime, T-Mac still had juice.

Stoudemire rotated over, but McGrady soared past him with a smooth left-handed pull-up off the glass.

Bucket. Tie game.

Effortless. His ambidexterity made these kinds of finishes look routine.

Before the Rockets could even set their defense, the Suns struck again.

Diaw launched a deep outlet to Chen Yan, who had leaked out early and was already near the baseline.

It was a tough pass—Chen was still in motion—but Diaw placed it perfectly. That’s what the French magician did.

Chen didn’t break stride. He caught the ball, stopped on a dime, and rose into a mid-range pull-up.

Textbook.

Battier was right there, though—shadowing him the whole way. Just as Chen turned and lifted, Battier lunged forward, hand in his face, using his signature blind contest.

Swish!

Didn’t matter.

Chen buried it anyway.

7–4, Suns.

”He really took that shot in transition?”

”Seven straight for Chen!”

”Battier contested the hell outta that, but it didn’t faze him.”

”Chen’s got that microwave heat—you blink and he’s already hot.”

”Exactly why Phoenix gives him the green light. He stretches the floor instantly.”

The crowd at home was electric. Chen Yan’s performance was drawing major attention—especially from younger fans. This Chinese Derby wasn’t just hype. It was a show, and Chen was owning the stage.

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