Chapter 96: Confrontation! Taylor Swift and Her Bestie!
"Hey! Looks like Chen Yan might be dropping 50 again tonight!" Zhang Weiping couldn't hide his excitement during the halftime break as he glanced over Chen Yan's stats.
Honestly, he was tempted to say 60, but to avoid jinxing it—or getting slapped in the face by reality—he kept it conservative.
"The pace tonight is wild. Both teams are putting up numbers," Coach Xu chimed in. "The Wizards have completely fallen into Phoenix's rhythm."
"Exactly," added Zhang Heli. "This is classic Suns basketball: drag the opponent into their up-tempo, run-and-gun style… and then kill 'em with familiarity."
But on the other bench, Gilbert Arenas didn't think they were getting played. In his eyes, this was intentional. His idea was simple: beat speed with more speed. The only way to beat the Suns' pace? Outpace them.
So coming out of the half, the Wizards had a new plan for Chen Yan—foul him. Hard. Relentlessly.
"If he's gonna score," their huddle decided, "make him earn it at the line."
But Chen Yan didn't blink. He calmly knocked down 7 of his first 8 free throws, looking smooth and locked in. Caron Butler caught three fouls trying to slow him down. With their hands tied, Washington had to scrap the plan.
Fine. Screw it. Let's just play straight-up and see who comes out on top.
Without Raja Bell in the lineup, the Suns' perimeter defense wasn't what it used to be. Nash couldn't contain Arenas, and Coach D'Antoni tried putting Hill and Chen Yan on the Wizards' star—no dice.
Hill's legs just weren't there anymore. He wasn't the fearless slasher who once wore the crown of "Next Jordan." Arenas blew by him with ease.
Chen Yan had the foot speed to hang, but the strength and defensive fundamentals? Yeah, those were still a work in progress.
If Nash was a straight-up ATM on defense, Chen Yan was more like a half-busted vending machine. Serviceable, but unreliable. Both of them were offensive weapons first—and that was showing.
D'Antoni was left with no choice. He sent Matt Barnes in to try and slow Gilbert down. And while Azubuike had promise on that end, the coach didn't trust him enough yet to throw him into that fire.
By the end of the third quarter, Arenas had racked up 43 points. Just 7 short of his personal goal.
The problem? The Suns were scoring just as easily. This wasn't defense anymore. It was a shootout.
After three quarters, the Suns led the Wizards 91–78. Chen Yan had dropped 11 points in the third, mostly from the line. He spent that quarter drawing attention, taking hits, and setting up teammates.
And it worked.
The Suns were clicking. Shots were falling from all over. Multi-point contributions usually meant one thing for Phoenix—wins.
With a 13-point lead heading into the fourth, most fans figured they were about to cruise to another W.
But then came the twist.
Washington's Big Three—Arenas, Caron Butler, and Antawn Jamison—decided not to sit.
Instead, they came out blazing.
Boom. A 10–2 run right out the gate.
Arenas picked off a lazy pass and found Butler for a fast-break slam.
Next play, Arenas kicked to Jamison for a wing triple. Then hit Stevenson for another one.
It was a statement: We're not done yet.
Gilbert had torched the floor in the first three quarters, but he knew he was running low on gas. So, he switched gears—playmaker mode activated. He stopped hunting for shots and started feeding the fire around him.
And it worked. Jamison and Butler were no slouches. They were certified scorers.
D'Antoni saw the storm coming and called timeout. The Suns' starters were coming back in. This was it. Final act.
Both teams stepped back on the court like it was Game 7 of the Finals. No slowing down. No pacing themselves. Just buckets, buckets, buckets.
Nash opened the fourth with a slick no-look dime, threading the needle in transition.
Chen Yan caught it in stride and rose with elegance for a soft one-handed dunk—like a dragonfly kissing the rim.
He could've thrown it down harder—he had the bounce—but he chose finesse.
Why?
Because the game wasn't over yet. And he had to conserve whatever energy he had left.
The Wizards were coming.
Chen Yan had just drilled a tough bucket, but there was no time to celebrate with Nash—Washington was already sprinting down the court.
Jamison caught the ball from the baseline and fired a quick outlet. Arenas raced past half court, gave a hard jab as if to pull up from deep, then faked and dished it off to Caron Butler on the cut.
BAM!
Butler slammed it home with authority.
Before Butler could even land, Chen Yan had already taken the ball out and launched a full-court baseline pass, hitting Nash near midcourt in stride.
Without missing a beat, Nash whipped a perfect lob ahead to Stoudemire, who was waiting wide open under the rim.
Two laser-guided quarterbacks. One vicious transition play.
The Wizards didn't stand a chance. They could only turn and watch as Stoudemire hammered it down.
Turns out, on the previous play, Stoudemire hadn't even bothered to run back on defense—he'd been camping in the frontcourt, baiting the fast break.
Back in China, viewership for the game was exploding.
It was a weekday, and people were just getting off school or work. And the first thing fans did when they got home? Turn on CCTV5 and catch Chen Yan in action.
What greeted them was an all-out shootout. Fast breaks. Heat checks. Monster dunks.
Fans were loving it.
And it wasn't just Chinese fans either. Across the ocean, American audiences were tuned in too.
---
Los Angeles, California – Taylor Swift's Apartment
Taylor sat cross-legged on her couch, eyes glued to the screen.
"You said you had plans tonight, and your plans were watching basketball?" Carly Kloss raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
The 6'1" supermodel stood behind the couch, her long legs even more dramatic in person.
Then Chen Yan appeared on-screen in a close-up.
Carly leaned in, squinting at the TV. "Okay… he's kinda sculpted though. That profile? He could be in a Marvel movie or walk a runway in Milan."
She tapped the screen. "His face has that sharp Asian edge. Bro would pop off even without the NBA."
"Hey! Carly, back up! You're gonna fog up my screen," Taylor laughed, playfully pulling her friend away.
"Come on, Tay. Don't be greedy. Handsome guys belong to the public!"
"Nope," Taylor said, smirking. "That one's mine."
They both burst into laughter.
---
Back to the Game – 3:00 Remaining | Suns 117 – Wizards 115
Things were getting tight.
The Suns still held a slim lead, but their early dominance had faded. The Wizards' big three were on fire.
Gilbert Arenas brought the ball up the floor.
Phoenix had to get a stop here. A bucket from Washington would shift all the momentum.
Barnes got the defensive assignment on Arenas. Gritty, physical, and unrelenting, Barnes had that signature spiderweb tattoo wrapped around his elbow—a symbol of his grind-it-out defensive mentality.
Arenas was struggling to shake him. He used multiple screens, weaving left and right, trying to create separation.
Phoenix switched.
Now, Chen Yan stood in front of him.
Arenas signaled for isolation.
Crunch time.
This was his moment. Everyone knew it—he wasn't giving up the ball.
The clock ticked under 10 seconds on the shot clock.
Boom! Arenas exploded off the dribble. No hesitation. No wasted motion. Just brute strength and confidence.
He'd gone at Chen Yan multiple times tonight and gotten the better of him.
But this time… Chen Yan was ready.
He anticipated the first move, slid over early, and the moment Arenas tried to cross back—
SNATCH!
"CRACK!"
The ball popped loose!
"Damn it!" Arenas barked as Chen Yan picked his pocket clean and took off in transition like a rocket.
"He got him!"
"What a steal! Chen Yan timed that perfectly!" Zhang Heli shouted from the broadcast booth.
Chen Yan was already past half court, eyes locked in, with just one man left in front of him—Butler.
1-on-1.
Chen Yan hit the gas.
Just past the free throw line, Butler squared up.
Here it comes—[Magic Shadow Step].
A slick right-to-left crossover. Lightning fast.
But Butler was sharp. He didn't bite on the first move and stayed balanced, cutting off the lane.
A perfect defensive read.
But Chen Yan wasn't done.
He kept his cool, read Butler's feet, and in that split-second hesitation, he changed the plan.
Instead of forcing a drive, Chen Yan pulled up in rhythm on his second step, rising smooth with a soft flick of the elbow.
Float game. High arc. Clean release.
"Swish!"
The net barely moved.
"After that footwork, you don't have to dunk. You don't even need a layup," the announcer raved.
"That little teardrop floater hit like a dagger!"
With that shot, it wasn't just two more points.
It was a statement.
Chen Yan had just leveled up.
His feel for the game, his mastery of footwork, and his understanding of the Phantom Step had just hit another tier.
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