NBA: Basketball Legend.

Chapter 396: Chapter 396: The Journey Is Not Over Yet

Chapter 396: The Journey Is Not Over Yet

China came out for the 2nd quarter with urgency. Jonas kept both Chen Yan and Yao Ming on the floor, cranking up the pressure on every possession.

For Chen Yan, heavy minutes were just another Tuesday. His conditioning was elite, and he was not managing any injury. For Yao, who was still working his way back, it was a different story. The load mattered.

Jonas planned to steal a few minutes of rest for him during the break.

Yao refused.

He did not want regrets. China had already made history by reaching the semifinals, but on home land, he wanted something bigger. He wanted the miracle.

And for a brief stretch, he looked like he could drag the whole building there with him.

In the first 3 minutes of the quarter, Yao scored 8 points on 3 for 4 shooting plus free throws, powering through contact and finishing with real force. He was finally finding his rhythm.

Then Ginóbili answered with a veteran move.

He used a screen to get downhill, turning the corner with that left handed glide. Yao waited under the rim, ready to swat it. But Manu, the ”spirit snake,” was too clever for a straight line challenge. He twisted his footwork mid stride and launched himself into Yao at a weird angle, selling contact like it was part of the layup package.

Beep beep.

Defensive foul, Yao Ming.

His 2nd.

FIBA rules were unforgiving, 5 fouls and you were done. Jonas had no choice. For protection, he pulled Yao.

The moment Yao sat, the burden became simple and brutal.

Everything was on Chen Yan.

He poured in 15 points in the 2nd quarter, mixing drives and jumpers, creating something out of nothing. But 1 man cannot outwork a machine forever. Argentina kept squeezing China with their teamwork, their spacing, their timing.

Halftime.

China trailed 41 to 51.

...

On the broadcast, the tone turned analytical, bordering on worried.

Doug Collins laid it out. Chen Yan was making the right reads and throwing the right passes, but China’s shooters were ice cold. ”If they hit a couple more from the perimeter,” he said, ”this is a different game.”

Kenny Smith flipped through the numbers like he was reading a verdict.

Zhu 8 was 1 for 4 from 3. Wang Zhizhi was 0 for 3. Sun Dasheng was 0 for 2. Wang 7 was 0 for 2.

The whole team was off outside.

Charles Barkley snorted. ”If shooting is contagious, somebody needs to cough on the rim.”

Some fans hated the idea that ”touch spreads.” Chen Yan was sitting on 24 points on 10 for 15 shooting. If hot hands were a group project, he was doing everyone’s homework and still watching them fail the quiz.

...

In the locker room, Jonas stopped pretending the original plan was still usable.

”Cut the turnovers,” he barked. ”If the shots are not falling, put that energy into defense. This is an Olympic semifinal. Show some fight. Attack the paint in the 2nd half, make them feel you.”

The message landed. When China came out, their focus was obvious. They fought every possession like it was personal. Nobody wanted to leave Wukesong with empty hands and a clean jersey.

But China’s defense was not built like the top international powers. When they ramped it up, the fouls came with it.

Yao picked up his 3rd.

Jonas had to sit him again.

On the bench, Yao slammed a towel down, furious. He was trapped in foul trouble, never able to settle, never able to build a rhythm. It was the worst kind of night, the kind where you could feel your strength but could not use it.

Argentina took advantage the moment he left.

Nocioni cut inside for an easy finish. Ginóbili buried a trailing 3 in transition. Scola carved up the paint with his footwork, turning angles into points.

China started to wobble.

Jonas called timeout before it became a collapse.

Without Yao, the defensive system dropped a full level. Yi Jianlian did not have enough experience to handle Scola’s veteran tricks. Wang Zhizhi could not always keep up with the movement. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

Doug Collins said what everyone was thinking. China needed a scorer right now, someone to put out the fire.

Kenny answered with the simplest truth.

”It’s Chen Yan.”

...

Out of the timeout, China ran everything to free him.

Yi Jianlian set the first screen. Wang Zhizhi stepped up for the second.

They were building a runway.

Chen Yan came off to the right wing and got the switch he wanted, Scola, isolated in the right corner.

He pulled the ball back, settled his rhythm, and glanced toward Wang Zhizhi.

Nocioni read his eyes and started to slide for the double.

Chen Yan used that look like a weapon.

Then, in a blink, he snapped into a between the legs transfer to his right and detonated the move.

A Tim Hardaway style killer crossover.

Scola became background scenery.

Chen Yan exploded along the baseline, broke the angle, and attacked the paint. Oberto saw him coming and made the smartest decision of his night, he cleared out. He had watched what happened to Kaman earlier in the tournament. He was not volunteering for the sequel.

Chen Yan finished with a floating finger roll for 2.

His 26th point.

He did not dunk. Not because he could not, but because he had to ration his legs. This was going to be a long fight.

Argentina came right back.

Prigioni found Ginóbili. Sun Dasheng stayed attached, but Manu turned a corner off a screen and danced into the lane. In front of Yi Jianlian, he used deceptive footwork, then leaned into contact on the finish, trying to bait a foul.

A smart trap. If Yi got into foul trouble too, China’s interior would collapse.

But the whistle stayed silent.

And the shot missed.

Zhu grabbed the rebound and turned to push. Chen Yan sprinted, calling for it. The lane was there, the chance was real.

Zhu did not throw it.

That long lead pass was not his comfort zone. Too much risk.

Chen Yan’s frustration flashed for a second. Running free and getting nothing back was the most exhausting kind of basketball. It forced him to jog out and retrieve the ball every possession. Steady, sure, and brutal on the lungs.

China settled into half court again.

Same matchup.

Chen Yan vs Scola.

He went between the legs, drove hard to Scola’s left, and Scola shifted right, convinced he had read the pattern.

Chen Yan did not care.

He lowered his shoulders and powered through anyway, pure individual force. You could know what was coming and still be helpless.

He slipped past and floated one up on the run.

Soft touch.

Perfect arc.

Swish.

28 points.

Argentina answered by feeding Scola in the paint. He posted Yi, faked twice, then used a half turn hook fake to finally lift him. Yi bit. Scola stepped through and went to finish low.

Before the ball could leave his world, Chen Yan flashed in from the baseline and simply took it.

Not a steal, not a block.

More like he picked it up off the floor on his way through.

Scola froze, confused, because a guard should not be there.

Chen Yan was already gone.

He sprinted the other way, and on the break he wove through Ginóbili and Nocioni with a euro style slither, then finished with a reverse layup.

The crowd rose.

A few years ago, people said ”Euro Step” and thought of Ginóbili. Now, Chen Yan’s version looked even sharper, more violent, more unpredictable.

Doug Collins popped. ”That’s the right basketball, get it to Chen Yan and let him attack.”

Kenny sounded almost impressed. ”That’s 6 straight for him. He’s up to 30. This stretch has been Chen Yan versus Argentina.”

Argentina stayed calm. South American teams did not panic easily.

Prigioni called for a screen, drove, and whipped a behind the back pass to Oberto for 2. It was flair with purpose, and that was Argentina’s signature. Even when the dribble looked ordinary, something creative could appear out of nowhere.

With 5:47 left in the 3rd, Yao Ming checked back in.

The score was 63 to 60. Chen Yan had dragged the game back within reach by force of will.

Yao’s first touch was pure power.

He bulldozed Oberto and scored.

Argentina called timeout immediately.

Because now it was both of them.

And that was a different nightmare.

...

During the break, Ginóbili leaned into the huddle and made the adjustment.

Attack Yao.

Over and over.

Yao had 3 fouls. If he played honest defense, they would try to draw contact and send him to the bench. If he played cautious, they would score.

The coaching staff agreed.

Scola tapped his chest like a man volunteering for a mission. As Yao’s Rockets teammate, he knew exactly how to bait him, where he was vulnerable, what moves tempted his hands.

After the timeout, Argentina started acting. They drove into Yao’s space, leaned, snapped heads back, sold contact, tested the officials on every possession.

2:34 later, Yao picked up foul number 4.

Back to the bench.

Again.

Yao’s eyes looked helpless. Fragmented minutes were torture, like being forced to sprint in short bursts with weights on your ankles.

Before the 3rd ended, Chen Yan tried to get teammates involved again, but the shooters still could not find air.

Early 4th.

Ginóbili struck first, scoring 2 straight buckets. Without Yao protecting the rim, he attacked freely.

Chen Yan answered with a deep 3.

He had not taken many from that range tonight, Argentina had done their homework, but he took it anyway, and he made it.

For a stretch, it became a duel.

Chen Yan’s explosions. Ginóbili’s quicksilver responses.

”20 minute Jordan” was not a joke when Manu got cooking.

With 6:00 left, Yao returned again.

China was all in.

Every card on the table.

But this time, Yao’s return did not swing the game. He had sat too long and his body felt cold. Worse, he was playing with 4 fouls, which made every decision hesitant. On offense he could not fully lower his shoulder. On defense he could not fully commit.

With 3:29 left, Yao committed his 5th.

Fouled out.

Prigioni drove, contact happened, whistle blew, and China’s pillar walked off with his head down.

Doug Collins’ voice dropped. The situation was grim.

Kenny said the truth, again.

”To win, Chen Yan has to score even more.”

Charles Barkley was blunt. ”He hasn’t sat a second. Even Superman gets tired.”

Kenny shook his head. ”The bigger issue is nobody else can step up.”

...

In the final minutes, Argentina’s pressure on Chen Yan turned violent. The moment he touched the ball, they swarmed him. Sometimes 2. Sometimes 3. They abandoned open space elsewhere just to erase his air.

Chen Yan still found 6 points late through transition opportunities, finishing with the kind of decisiveness that defined superstars. The closer it got to the end, the cleaner his choices became.

But this time, it was not enough.

The miracle stopped short.

China fell 83 to 89.

The defending champions survived.

When the final horn sounded, Chen Yan broke down in tears.

In that moment, the arena finally remembered what the box scores kept hiding.

He was only 20.

Not a machine. Not a myth. A kid carrying a country on his shoulders for 40 minutes a night.

The tears were regret, but even more than that, they were refusal. He did not want it to end.

He finished with 52 points, 7 rebounds, and 4 assists.

And still, China could not cross into the final.

The crowd did not boo.

They stood.

They cheered.

Because they understood.

He had given them everything.

After the game, Chen Yan forced himself to breathe, to swallow it down, to face the cameras like a leader.

He looked into the lens and spoke with a steady voice.

”We lost tonight, but our journey is not over. We still have the 3rd place game. We will fight for a medal, for honor, and for every fan who supports us.”

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