Chapter 95: A Mediocre 37 Points in the First Half
"Gilbert, I told you not to get too close to that guy!" Caron Butler called out, trying to warn Arenas.
"Save your damn advice!" Arenas snapped back, fire flashing in his eyes.
He was pissed—no, furious. Embarrassed too. His pride had taken a direct hit after getting dropped twice by Chen Yan.
Wizards' Possession.
Arenas pushed the ball past half-court in a blur, completely ignoring the shot clock. Booed by the Suns crowd, cheered by Wizards fans, he pulled up way behind the arc and let it fly.
Bang!
Splash!
"Arenas buries the three!" the announcer shouted over the arena noise.
"That shot's crucial—it settled Washington's offense after that brutal sequence," Coach Xu noted in the CCTV studio.
"Not everyone can bounce back after getting their ankles snatched twice," added Zhang Heli. "But Arenas? That guy's been through hell already. This ain't enough to break him."
Nash shook his head from the bench, lips curled in disbelief.
"Fifteen seconds left on the clock and he pulls a deep three?" he muttered to himself. "This dude's a straight lunatic."
Back in 2007, deep threes weren't normal. They were reckless. Wild. The kind of shot that made coaches lose hair—and fans lose their minds.
Arenas stared straight at Chen Yan as he jogged back, his eyes burning with that same fire Kobe used to carry. Somewhere along the line, his mindset had shifted. It was no longer about proving himself. It was about outdueling Chen Yan.
Suns' Possession.
After some crisp ball movement, the ball found Boris Diaw.
The French playmaker executed a slick hand-off to Chen Yan near the free-throw line. Caron Butler gave Chen some space—more than before.
No one wanted to be the next name on a highlight reel. After what happened to Arenas, Wizards defenders weren't just cautious—they were scared.
Stay away. Don't get cooked.
That was the unspoken plan.
So you're giving me space now? Cool.
Chen Yan took a quick side-step and rose into his shooting motion. The moment his feet left the ground, both Butler and Jamison sprang toward him in desperation.
But Chen had baited them perfectly.
Before reaching the peak of his jump, he zipped a no-look bullet pass down low—straight into Diaw's chest.
Wide open.
Diaw barely left the ground as he banked in the easy two.
Despite his solid athleticism, Diaw always looked like a guy who preferred a calm jog over a sprint. But his smile after the bucket was all energy.
"I thought you were pulling up, man!" he laughed, jogging over to Chen.
"I was gonna," Chen grinned. "But you looked so damn lonely down there, I figured I'd let you have it."
"Haha, hell of a pass!"
The two slapped hands and trotted back on defense.
"Chen Yan's play was textbook," Zhang Weiping said from the booth. "Drew the double and immediately dished to the open man. You can't teach that feel."
"Honestly," Coach Xu added, "if Nash weren't running point for Phoenix, I'd want to see Chen Yan try that role full-time. His vision's underrated."
"We may not see him as the Suns' point guard," Zhang replied with a chuckle, "but for the national team? That's a real option. Chen could absolutely handle the 1, 2, or even the 3 internationally."
He hadn't even officially joined the Chinese national team, and already the commentators were fantasizing about lineups with Chen Yan in red and yellow.
Not just them.
Fans across the country were imagining him battling in FIBA arenas, slashing through defenders in front of roaring crowds.
End of the First Quarter.
Score: Suns 35, Wizards 25.
Phoenix led by 10.
Chen Yan didn't sit once. He dropped 25 points in just the first quarter and chipped in 2 assists.
It wasn't just the numbers—it was how he got them.
Unlike Arenas, who often played isolation-heavy and outside the system, Chen Yan operated within the Suns' offensive flow. He caught and shot, ran the floor, cut off-ball, and only isolated when the team hit a dead end in half-court sets.
His efficiency was off the charts.
This was the power of playing under Mike D'Antoni's run-and-gun system. It fit Chen like a glove.
Of course, it helped that he was feeling it.
When the jumper's locked in, everything becomes easier. That said, Chen still prioritized driving and attacking the rim under normal conditions. His speed, first step, and slashing ability were still his best weapons.
Seeing how hot Chen was, Coach D'Antoni thought about dialing up a few isolation sets.
But the more he watched, the more he shook his head and dropped the idea.
It was best for Chen Yan to keep playing at this pace—efficient scoring without disrupting the Suns' offensive system.
Back home, fans on the Chinese basketball forums were absolutely losing it.
"25 in a single quarter?! That's 100 on pace!"
"Bro, this ain't basic math class. Chill."
"Chen Yan once dropped 29 in a quarter, and he didn't end up with 116!"
"Still, the man's on fire tonight. Just stay glued to your screen!"
During the short break, the forums were flooded with hundreds of posts about Chen Yan. His dominant first quarter had the whole community buzzing.
The second quarter kicked off soon after.
Coach D'Antoni gave Chen Yan a breather, benching him after his full 12-minute opening quarter. Both teams sent out their second units.
Nick Young—who'd been itching for some shine—came out gunning. No hesitation, just vibes. That's pretty much why Coach Eddie Jordan had him in the second unit. Let Nick be Nick.
On the Suns' side, J.J. Barea and Kelenna Azubuike were also built for that up-tempo chaos. They pushed the pace, attacked fast, and kept the game moving.
Neither bench squad gained a real edge, though. It was pretty much run-and-gun with no clear winner.
With 7:30 left in the second quarter, the starters checked back in.
Chen Yan didn't waste time—he came off a curl and pulled up midrange.
Clang.
Rimmed out. Rusty.
Looked like the rest had cooled his rhythm a bit.
But that didn't last long.
Quickly syncing back up with Nash, Chen Yan found his groove again—catch-and-shoot, pull-ups, curling off screens. Nash was the ultimate floor general, and around him, even a shooter like Chen Yan could live easy.
Then it was showtime.
Pull-up off the dribble? Cash.
Spot-up in transition? Buckets.
Fake-step, one-dribble pull-up? Too smooth.
It was a masterclass.
From a pure aesthetics standpoint, Chen Yan's jumper looked even cleaner than McGrady's. His elevation was higher, his form was more fluid, and that slender frame just made the shot look artsy.
Unlike T-Mac, whose back issues started limiting his rise, Chen Yan had no such problem. His bounce, core strength, and release were all elite. The arc on his shot was higher and more consistent, making it harder to contest and more likely to drop.
He looked like a young McGrady during his Orlando days—only more efficient.
Of course, the Wizards weren't just rolling over.
Arenas was cooking, too. Deep logo three after crossing halfcourt? Splash.
Took contact in transition and still finished the layup for an and-one? Count it.
Even if Jamison and Butler weren't getting tons of touches, they chipped in when needed.
By halftime, the Suns were up 69–59.
That's the kind of halftime score you'd expect in the small-ball era, but this game? It had that exact energy—rapid pace, fast transitions, and threes flying with every sniff of space.
Fans were loving it.
This wasn't your usual grind-it-out slugfest. This was a show.
And under that breakneck pace, Chen Yan had quietly dropped 37 points in the first half.
That statline sent a shockwave through fans worldwide.
Chinese viewers were jumping out of their seats, going ballistic. Social media was melting down.
But Chen Yan?
Totally calm.
He wasn't hunting points. He was just playing his role—reading the floor, taking the right shots, and executing exactly what Coach D'Antoni wanted.
His personal best at halftime was 44 points—against the Lakers—so this wasn't even his ceiling.
He thought about Klay Thompson's legendary 37-point quarter back in the day.
"Now that would be worth getting hyped for," Chen Yan muttered to himself as he toweled off.
He knew this wasn't even close to what he was capable of.
And somewhere deep inside, he wanted that 37-in-a-quarter for himself.
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