"Bang! Bang! Bang! Wow!" Four sounds echoed in rapid succession. The first was Jiang Hai slamming the basketball into the hoop, the second was the thud of DeAndre Jordan landing, the third was him crashing into the stanchion, and the fourth was the shattering of the backboard under Jiang Hai's dunk.
The arena fell into stunned silence. Every eye locked onto Jiang Hai, yet he simply hung from the rim, chewing gum calmly, as though he had just completed a casual layup.
"Oh my God! Oh my God! What am I seeing? Besides Shaq, someone else has shattered a backboard in a game! Oh my God!"
The crowd erupted. No one could comprehend how such devastating power came from Jiang Hai's seemingly ordinary frame. Their cries sent a ripple of shock through everyone on the court.
Paul Pierce and Josh Smith rushed to DeAndre Jordan, worried more about his well-being than anything else. After all, Jordan had joined mostly to boost his reputation; an injury here would be disastrous. Yet, neither of them dared to approach Jiang Hai. First, he was the local powerhouse. Second, the aura radiating off him was overwhelming—too ferocious to ignore.
Jordan himself was confused, but not angry. This was Jiang Hai's territory, and Jiang Hai's move had been clean—no cheap shots, no dirty play. Just raw bounce, timing, body control, and sheer strength. Still, it left him baffled. How could an Asian man have such freakish physical talent? Why?
As he wrestled with the thought, Paul Pierce and Josh Smith helped him up while staff rushed in to sweep up the shattered glass.
Since the 1990s, no one had broken a backboard. Modern rims were reinforced with plexiglass like car windshields—cracking but never collapsing. Whatever material this court used, it wasn't supposed to break. Yet Jiang Hai had just shattered it with a dunk. Too much power, too much dominance.
Luckily, the gym had spare backboards. After the referee paused the game, the staff set to work replacing it, while both teams retreated to their benches.
"Be gentle! Aren't you afraid that thing will break and hurt someone?" Feng Yunchen teased from behind, patting Jiang Hai on the shoulder with a mischievous smile.
Her deliberately loud words drew attention, but Jiang Hai only smiled. He knew what she was doing—asserting her claim. Look how powerful our Jiang Hai is. He didn't mind.
"You really should be more careful. If you smash another backboard, they'll kick you out of the game," Avery Bradley joked as he came over, clearly in high spirits.
Evan Turner, sitting beside him, chuckled as well. The game was turning out to be far more entertaining than expected.
Josh Smith, however, couldn't help but glance at his teammate. If Jordan had been seriously hurt, it would've been trouble. Thankfully, NBA players knew how to fall—Allen Iverson and Dwyane Wade had shown it countless times. Even dazed, Jordan had instinctively landed safely, escaping injury.
"If you ever joined the NBA… I don't know if it'd be a blessing or a curse for professional basketball. But maybe it's better you didn't," Bradley quipped, glancing at Jiang Hai.
Jiang Hai just rolled his eyes. He had no interest in the NBA, and letting these guys taste a little frustration was fine by him.
Soon, the backboard was replaced, and both sides took the court again.
"Jiang Hai, keep going!" voices of women rang out from the stands.
Jiang Hai grinned, gave them a thumbs-up, and replied with a smile, "Watch me soar—stand shoulder to shoulder with the sun."
The inside joke made those who knew it laugh, but it only heightened the excitement.
The score sat at 7–0. It wasn't a huge gap, but the energy on Paul Pierce's team was noticeably fading. DeAndre Jordan and Isaiah Thomas in particular looked hesitant, wary of Jiang Hai's presence.
On their next possession, Thomas quickly passed to Pierce. Pierce, unaffected by nerves, took over. Playing at power forward, he easily overpowered his NBADL opponent with strength, size, and veteran footwork. Two pivots later, he slipped into the paint and scored with a layup—their team's first points.
But on the next possession, Jiang Hai didn't attack. Dribbling across half court, he smirked at the jittery Isaiah Thomas and passed to Evan Turner.
Turner, once drafted by the 76ers as a franchise cornerstone, had fallen short of expectations. A poor man's Andre Iguodala—who himself was a poor man's LeBron James—Turner was versatile but never dominant. Still, when he wanted to attack, he could do a bit of everything, which made him dangerous in spurts.
Against his NBADL defender, Turner slipped into the paint with ease. Even Jordan gave him space, allowing him to dunk uncontested.
On the next play, Thomas gathered himself. He wanted redemption, signaling Jordan for a pick. After the screen, he cut into the paint. Josh Smith, once capable of defending all five positions, stayed with him decently. Still, a guard in the paint is always a threat.
Thomas hesitated—Jiang Hai was nearby. Shooting felt risky. Instead, he spotted Jordan rolling to the basket and lobbed it high.
Jordan's instincts kicked in. This was his bread and butter: catching lobs and dunking. Two steps, one leap, and the ball was his.
But before he could finish, a blur appeared in front of him. A hand smashed down on the ball with frightening force.
"Jiang Hai!" Jordan's vision cleared, and recognition hit him. He hesitated. If he forced it, he'd be blocked—or worse, injured. He wisely held back.
And just as he thought, Jiang Hai's power surged, ripping the ball from his grasp and sending it flying. Jordan exhaled in relief—his restraint had saved him.