Chapter 62: There Will Be No More Scripts For Him
Xu Ling wasn’t one to boast about his popularity; it was just that Gay came up talking about the Sixty Million Dollar Man, showing he really cared about it.
Since he cared, Xu Ling might as well say more; it cost him nothing anyway. Plus, Adidas, where he was from, and Nike were rivals to begin with. Gay, as a Nike soldier, was so eager to stand up for his brand, exactly needing a harsh lesson.
Gay was furious.
7 years, 40 million?
Back then, he entered the league with Tracy McGrady potential, and Nike only offered a 5-year, 6 million contract. Why? Just because Xu Ling was the Third Pick? Was his Eighth Pick that much worse?
What Gay never realized was that he and Xu Ling were indeed very different. Tracy McGrady was just an expectation, like the five loves, Yano Yu, Kimura heart, and all those massive but faceless assembly-line products—they were also seen as the next Utada-like superstar, but in the end, they were just ordinary stars with some appeal but not much.
Template Tracy McGrady was Gay’s selling point, but he had to become his unique self. Rudy Gay could ultimately only become what Rudy Gay could become.
In contrast, Xu Ling was never limited by his template.
Initially, the scout report pegged his template as Ron Harper; soon after, he was compared to Ray Allen; during March Madness, the notion of an “athleticism-enhanced Reggie Miller” began quietly circulating. And when the draft arrived, all scouts reached a consensus: he was the rookie in this class most likely to become the “next Kobe.”
Precisely because his style was so versatile and his templates so varied, Xu Ling avoided the shadow of direct comparison to any one legend.
When the Rookie Team launched another offense, Gay tensed up, convinced Xu Ling would isolate with the ball, determined to redeem himself on defense. But in fact, despite a summer of grueling training, the defensive flaws exposed in his rookie season hadn’t improved, nor had his supposed strengths advanced at all.
Xu Ling shook off his defender with a nimble backdoor cut, and Jackson’s pass arrived right on time. By then, Gay had lost his position, forcing Eddie Jones to switch hastily. By standard defensive logic, Gay should have rotated quickly to help on Jones’s original man, but he had eyes only for Xu Ling, clueless about team defense.
Xu Ling didn’t hesitate, firing a casual pass that sent the basketball precisely into the hands of the wide-open Casey Jacobsen.
The latter didn’t hesitate, draining a three-pointer.
“Seriously,” Xu Ling said with a smile as he ran past Gay, each word piercing, “can your defense get any worse? I’m starting to wonder what your floor is.”
Gay was seething from the successive defensive successes, and what poured fuel on the fire was Kyle Lowry seemingly forming some “alliance” with him, shoving the ball to him without hesitation once in the frontcourt. Even as Pau Gasol grew visibly annoyed from pointless back-and-forth runs inside, and even as other teammates flashed open repeatedly, Lowry ignored it all.
Even more absurdly, despite Gay clearly being outmatched in the physical battles, Lowry kept egging him on from the side: “Rudy, keep going at him! You got this!”
Through multiple exchanges with Gay, Xu Ling had gradually figured out his offensive patterns. He relied too much on jump shots, especially when he couldn’t blow past with explosiveness, often opting for rushed shots—regardless of position or form, as if “getting the ball out” mattered more than “getting the ball in.”
“Going right hand again!”
Xu Ling predicted accurately once more, positioning early to pin Gay firmly outside the three-point line.
Gay was forced into a quick stop, barely gathering to rise and shoot.
“Rebounds!”
Xu Ling boxed out Gay tightly while shouting toward the paint.
Sure enough, such a reckless shot was hard to make, and Gay clanged another iron.
Now, not just the players on the court looked embarrassed—even the coaching staff on the sidelines furrowed their brows.
Head coach Marc Iavaroni had just jumped from the Suns, who prized fluid, fast offense, and was used to seamless teamwork. This inefficient, monotonous isolation play sank his heart.
He couldn’t help doubting whether Rudy Gay’s role on the new season team was really as reliable as initially thought.
Up on the second floor by the president office window, Jerry West watched the court silently. His assistant Laura Grancola didn’t dare disturb him—West was usually mild and approachable, but once a game started, the perfectionist in him awoke fully. Team mistakes made him curse; repeated player errors even sparked trade thoughts. Extreme emotions churned in his chest, so much that after losses, he often avoided family, fearing he’d unleash his anger on those he cherished most.
At that moment, West couldn’t stay calm. To promote Gay, he’d traded away one of his favorite players. This lopsided duel seemed to sharply remind him: this decision might be even worse than passing on Amar’e Stoudemire for Drew Gooden in 2002.
How could he stay composed? How could he keep watching?
Gasol finally decided he wouldn’t tolerate it anymore.
In the frontcourt, the Spaniard coldly told Lowry: “If you keep fucking passing to Rudy, get your ass to the bench right now!”
Gay hadn’t expected Gasol, who had one foot out the door, to be the first to publicly voice discontent.
Lowry naturally didn’t dare clash with Gasol. No matter Gasol’s future, as long as he was on the Grizzlies, he remained the unquestioned top guy.
The basketball started flowing steadily to Gasol.
Facing Darko Milicic’s defense, Gasol couldn’t fully bully with strength, but with his refined, all-around technique, handling a washed-up Number 2 Draft Pick lost in booze and women was effortless.
He scored easily in two straight possessions, showing the solid fundamentals of an All-Star big.
On the third, Gasol received in the post again. As he set up for post-up play, Xu Ling suddenly released his man and rushed the paint for a double team!
Facing the sudden trap, Gasol calmly swung the ball to the wide-open Gay. It was a wide-open chance.
Yet Gay’s shot rimmed out again.
“As expected!”
Gasol didn’t bother with encouragement, just snorted coldly: “See? That’s your future teammate!”
Xu Ling shot back calmly: “Isn’t he your teammate too?”
Gasol acted like he hadn’t heard, continuing: “No matter how well you play, how hard you try—even if you lead the team to 50 wins—if you can’t win in the playoffs, you’re the one to blame!”
“Enjoy this mess.”
With that, Gasol signaled for a sub and walked off.
Before anyone could react, the Grizzlies’ only All-Star in history had shed his training uniform and headed to the sideline without looking back.
No one tried to call him back—not even one person opened their mouth.
Xu Ling figured he knew the NBA pretty well. He knew Lakers fans jokingly called Gasol “housewife,” but that nickname was mostly teasing and missed his underlying toughness and resolve.
With Gasol’s exit, the Veteran Team’s last crutch vanished.
Xu Ling smiled at the still-dazed Rudy Gay: “Looks like a happy ending. At least I don’t have to worry about Darko getting torched by Pau, and you don’t have to fret about ball hogs. How about we give you the ball every possession for isolation from now on? Don’t worry, I’ll stick with you to the end.”
Gay had some skills; spurred by Xu Ling, he took the ball back next possession for another isolation.
This time, he still couldn’t fully shake Xu Ling’s defense but forced a fadeaway under tight contest—the ball arced high and swished cleanly.
It was his first make in four prior attempts.
The shot was indeed pretty, with extreme difficulty—why make it so hard? Don’t ask. What about the efficiency? Never mind. Just hand him the best pull-up jump shot award.
“Don’t think stopping me a few times qualifies you to lecture me!” After the make, Gay finally vented, firing back eagerly, “You just got lucky earlier!”
Xu Ling didn’t respond, just headed to the frontcourt.
Next possession, he posted up firmly, calling for the ball. On the catch, he faked a baseline spin move, a convincing jab step sending Gay flying. As Gay lost balance, Xu Ling calmly adjusted his feet, rose gracefully, and drained a textbook fadeaway jumper.
Seeing Gay’s indignant face, Xu Ling knew he’d come at him again.
It reminded him of what Yao Ming said after beating the University of Florida to win it all.
You won’t find such pure brotherhood in the NBA anymore.
He was completely right.
Americans preferring NCAA over NBA had its reasons, but everyone who shone in NCAA aimed for the NBA.
It was like descending from utopia to the real world.
If Xu Ling claimed he didn’t miss college at all, it’d be a lie. But that nostalgia was just a fleeting daze; he had to snap back to reality—someone left to beat, endless expectations to meet, a huge mess to clean up.
Rudy Gay was no elite ball-handler. With his skill set, he’d be more threatening as an off-ball cutter and catch-and-shoot finisher, but competitiveness drove him to prove himself in isolation. Xu Ling was about to show him that prior make was pure luck.
Gay’s offense grew frantic and disjointed. He tried a crossover step drive, but Xu Ling’s precise anticipation and quick slide always blocked his path; he posted up to push with strength, only to find Xu Ling’s core strength far exceeded expectations, immovable; he even chained dribble moves to fool Xu Ling, but the clunky dribbling exposed flaws under focused defense.
Finally, on a forced crossover dribble, the stumbling ball-handling cracked fatally—Xu Ling reached out and stripped it cleanly!
“Pa!”
The basketball slipped from Gay’s control.
Gay’s eyes widened in disbelief, helpless as Xu Ling snatched it like an arrow and raced to the frontcourt. His figure blurred across the hardwood, then he soared for a powerful poster dunk to end the break!
On the second-floor stands, Jerry West slowly looked away.
He didn’t want to watch anymore. Without Gasol, clueless about when to attack or retreat, lacking rhythm variation, with a crude technical system, Gay was no match for Xu Ling. This Grizzlies power struggle was ending; the newcomer would cement his status, while some with established spots faced an uncertain future.
Gay’s next drive was cornered again by Xu Ling. Dribble space vanished, even forced shot angles sealed. He desperately flung it to Lowry nearby.
Lowry used Eddie Jones’s screen to drive straight in for a layup.
But it didn’t matter.
The game was decided.
From the opening whistle, Xu Ling had dominated Gay. From every angle, he was the undisputed winner. This reality clearly rattled Gay’s rhythm; still unsettled, he looked up to see the Sixty Million Dollar Man pushing from the backcourt.
Xu Ling hit the frontcourt without pause. A quick change of direction into a smooth Buddha fake—the motion seamless, instantly shifting Gay’s weight.
As Gay stumbled, Xu Ling calmly stepped back.
The move was practically his signature, so Adidas designed his first signature shoe “Finisher” with that backward lightning arc.
Gay staggered on landing, clumsily falling to the floor. Xu Ling was already airborne, flicking his wrist to shoot.
“Swish!”
The ball swished through.
Xu Ling didn’t even drop trash talk, just turned indifferently and jogged back.
The game wasn’t over, but Gay’s plan had failed completely. After a full NBA season, he couldn’t hang with the Third Pick. Adidas’s Sixty Million Dollar Man seemed legit; things would change. Pau Gasol saw it as his story repeating, while many on hand knew the Grizzlies had no script left for Rudy Gay.
