Chapter 104: The Combination of Wade and Manu, A Brutal Dunk!
"Hahaha! Chen Yan's got that cheeky grin again!"
"That move? Totally intentional. Dude actually glanced back mid-drive, clocked LeBron's position, and then went up for the layup."
"Too slick! That's elite basketball IQ on full display!"
"Damn, LeBron just got clowned."
The domestic fans were buzzing, fired up by Chen Yan's last play.
The slow-motion replay told the whole story. That shot wasn't your standard layup—it was a calculated bank off the glass. The crazy part? If LeBron hadn't gone up for the block, that ball probably wouldn't have gone in at all.
It was like a mental chess match. If you pull it off, you're a genius. If you fail? You're just the guy who bricked a wide-open bunny.
Cavs ball.
LeBron called for the high screen again. Classic setup.
He came off the pick, rose up for a quick stop mid-range jumper—money.
Swish!
6–4.
That pull-up mid-range had been a staple of LeBron's early career, though the consistency could be hit-or-miss.
Mike Brown was up on the sidelines right after the bucket, yelling instructions. He didn't want to give the Suns any clean looks in transition.
Suns possession.
This time, they slowed it down into a halfcourt set.
Chen Yan worked off-ball, curling and cutting to draw defenders and open up the floor. Nash and Stoudemire ran the two-man game to perfection—classic pick-and-roll execution. Nash tossed it up, and Stoudemire finished strong with the alley-oop slam.
Even without the rock, Chen Yan was making an impact—drawing doubles, spacing the floor, making life easier for everyone.
Phoenix was locked in early. The entire squad came out firing.
With 4:37 left in the first quarter, the Suns led 22–14, already up by 8.
Dead ball. Mike Brown made his first adjustment.
He subbed in Brazilian big man Anderson Varejão for Drew Gooden.
The move? Simple: crash the glass. The Cavs were losing the efficiency battle, so Mike Brown went for extra possessions—more second-chance looks.
And the move paid off instantly. Varejão fought for the offensive board and kicked it out to Damon Jones, who buried a three.
The Cavs' frontcourt combo of Varejão and Ilgauskas was clearly more dominant on the boards than Phoenix's Stoudemire and Diaw.
But Nash didn't flinch.
Next possession, he brought the ball up, stopped on a dime, and drilled a pull-up three in transition—cold-blooded.
25–17.
Cavs ball.
LeBron went back to what worked—bully ball.
He attacked straight into the paint, a signature version 1.0 LeBron move. But this time, Raja Bell and Stoudemire collapsed on him.
He tried to finish through the double, but the layup rattled off the rim.
Stoudemire grabbed the board and flipped it to Chen Yan, who was already running.
Fast break initiated.
Nash and Raja Bell sprinted to the corners, clearing the lane for Chen Yan to work.
He turned on the jets—full throttle down the middle.
LeBron wasn't far behind, tracking him like a heat-seeking missile.
Déjà vu. Same setup as the last chase-down.
Chen Yan slowed just a touch, glanced back again—eyeing LeBron's position.
That hesitation? It forced LeBron to stutter his steps too.
LeBron had to guess—was it going to be a fake? Another pass off the glass? He couldn't fully commit.
Then, boom!
Chen Yan exploded off the floor with a one-step gather and crammed it in with a vicious one-handed dunk!
BOOM!
27–17.
Ten-point lead for the Suns.
Even LeBron couldn't stop that one. Chen Yan had him frozen with the mind games, then detonated at the rim.
The crowd erupted as Chen Yan flexed slightly and slapped palms with his teammates jogging back on D.
He was feeling himself tonight—body was firing on all cylinders.
But LeBron? He didn't panic.
He might only be 23, but this was his fifth season in the league—and he'd already led Cleveland to the Finals the year before. Veteran instincts, calm demeanor.
On the next trip, LeBron caught it at the high post, orchestrated the offense with hand signals, and waited for the right moment.
Then—boom!—quick change of direction and drove hard.
He muscled through Raja Bell, who fought hard to stay in front, and drew Stoudemire on the help.
But before the double could fully close in, LeBron made the read—no-look bounce pass to Ilgauskas at the free throw line.
Clean, crisp, perfect timing.
Big Z rose up and knocked down the soft mid-range J.
27–19.
Suns ball.
Nash pushed it back with that smooth-as-silk handle, snaked into the lane, faked the shot, and fired a dart to Raja Bell in the corner.
The opportunity came—but Bell's hands were trembling, and the shot clanked off the rim.
Varejao snagged the defensive rebound and looked to swing it upcourt to LeBron.
"Snap!"
The pass was telegraphed. Chen Yan read it like a book and jumped the lane, picking it off clean.
This was the worst-case scenario for the defense—an interception during transition, when no one's set and there's no time to react.
Chen Yan stepped on the gas, blasting from zero to 180 in the blink of an eye.
As he approached the free-throw line, he took a hard, explosive first step.
Varejao wasn't slow to react—he saw it coming and planted himself in the paint, hands covering his crotch like he was bracing for impact.
Chen Yan was moving at full speed. If he collided into Varejao, it'd definitely be an offensive foul. Even if it wasn't, Varejao had a hundred ways to sell it like it was. He was ready to activate his inner thespian and launch himself on contact.
But Chen Yan didn't give him the chance.
Right at the moment they were about to collide, Chen Yan unleashed his signature move—[Magic Shadow]—slipping past with a dazzling phantom step.
He weaved through Varejao's reach, took the ball up in rhythm, and laid it in softly off the glass.
Two points. Easy money.
"Wow! What an insane display of body control!" Barkley hollered. "Chen just shifted gears midair like a damn sports car!"
"Right now, the three best Euro steps in the league are Ginobili, Wade, and Chen Yan," Kenny Smith chimed in. "Wade's all speed. Ginobili's all flair. But Chen? He's a hybrid of both."
Then Kenny added with a smirk, "What Chen just did? That's not something you copy off YouTube. You need world-class body coordination and a core like a damn tank. Don't try that at home, kids."
Meanwhile, Varejao stared daggers at Chen Yan's No. 0 jersey.
He clenched his teeth.
He wasn't gonna let that slide.
He made up his mind—if he couldn't stop him with skill, he'd stop him with theatrics.
Because for Varejao, acting was the main gig.
Basketball? Just the side hustle.
The game continued, back and forth, but Varejao couldn't find the right opening to pull off his drama.
So he settled for the next best thing—drawing a foul from someone else.
On a Suns possession, Stoudemire was setting a screen and popped out to receive the ball. As he caught it and started to turn, Varejao suddenly collapsed like he'd been hit by a sniper.
"Beep!"
The whistle blew.
Stoudemire turned around, confused as hell. For a second, he thought maybe a fan had thrown something and hit Varejao.
It wasn't until he saw the jumbotron replay that it clicked—dude just flopped for an Oscar nomination.
From Chen Yan's vantage point, it was crystal clear.
The flop was clean, the timing was sharp. Textbook acting.
Stoudemire was ready to light the ref up, but teammates rushed in to pull him away. That kind of call? No point in arguing. Refs don't overturn flops. They double down.
LeBron helped Varejao up and gave him a congratulatory slap on the rear.
From the Cavs' perspective? That was a win.
The actor did his job, and they got the ball.
Several empty possessions followed from both sides, but with 1:49 left in the first quarter, the Suns seized their moment.
Raja Bell jumped a lazy pass from James and triggered the break. Nash picked up the loose ball and raced up the floor. At the left wing, he fired a diagonal bullet pass across to the opposite 45.
Chen Yan was already locked and loaded behind the arc.
Just a subtle jab step—Larry Hughes bit hard and went flying past him.
Chen Yan took off immediately, activating his Wind Step, slicing inside with explosive intent.
Varejao braced himself again in the paint, covering up like before. But this time? He believed this was it.
Chen Yan had already taken two full strides. His angle was locked in. No euro step. No sidestep. Just raw speed.
"He's going right at him!"
The moment Chen Yan launched off the floor, the entire arena seemed to pause.
An air raid siren might as well have gone off.
"BOOM!!!!"
A thunderous slam!
Chen Yan detonated at the rim—posterizing Varejao into next week!
The Cavs' center flew backwards and hit the baseline, stunned and sprawled out, a casualty of one of the most vicious dunks in recent memory.
The King was on his knees. The actor became the meme.
Back home, Chinese fans went nuts.
"That's a damn murder! Call CSI Cleveland!"
"If Varejao didn't have that mop on his head, he'd have a concussion!"
"Dude just got baptized."
"Chen Yan just turned him into a wallpaper. Put that on a poster right now!"
"If Chen doesn't make the Top 5 plays today, cancel the show!"
On the court, Chen Yan walked over to Varejao, who was still dazed on the hardwood. With a calm, almost friendly smile, he extended his hand to help him up.
Varejao, still a little loopy, reached up…
And Chen Yan pulled it away at the last second and walked off.
The crowd roared in laughter.
"You fake the fall, I fake the help," Chen said with a shrug. "We're even."
Varejao stayed on the floor, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief, the dunk still ringing in his ears.
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