[TL: 100 power stones Again]
Chapter 212: What the Hell Is Jordan's Rule? It's Really Impossible to Defend Against It!
"Swish!"
Nash calmly knocked down the technical-foul free throw.
65–63.
"Finally, someone besides Chen scores for the Suns in this half," Barkley chuckled from the booth.
Kenny Smith laughed. "Yeah, Chen's got all thirteen of their second-half points. I was starting to think this was a one-man show."
Their light-hearted exchange set the tone as the game pressed on.
On the next Mavericks possession, Dirk Nowitzki took over. Posting up Diaw, he felt for space with that familiar rhythm, then suddenly spun and faded away.
"Swish!"
A picture-perfect jumper.
65–65. The crowd roared as both teams reset at even ground.
Diaw quickly inbounded to Nash, who tossed the ball ahead to Chen Yan. Chen wasted no time—he drove straight down the lane, slicing between Ray Allen and Josh Howard with a crisp Euro-step before banking in a left-handed layup.
67–65.
Chen's confidence was overflowing. Every move, every finish carried that same fearless fluidity.
From the sideline, D'Antoni applauded nonstop. He admired that kind of belief. To be a great scorer, skill and athleticism weren't enough—you needed conviction, that certainty that every shot could fall.
Kidd brought the ball up for Dallas, orchestrating calmly from the top of the key. The Suns had punched hard, but the Mavericks trailed by only two. Kidd knew this was the time to steady the tempo.
He called for motion, then slipped a bounce pass through traffic to Nowitzki.
"Bang!"
Dirk backed down Diaw again, body to body. Few forwards in the league could match Dirk's variety. He could pivot left or right, fade, spin, or step through.
After a short struggle, Dirk faked the fade, held his pivot, then stepped forward and launched a leaning jumper instead.
"Swish!"
Tie game again.
"A master class in footwork! Dirk completely sold him," Kenny Smith exclaimed.
"Chen's been on fire, but Dirk isn't going quietly. This is turning into a duel," Barkley added.
Right on cue, both stars cooled briefly, trading misses.
That's when Amar'e Stoudemire stepped in. He hit a mid-range jumper, then powered past Dampier for a thunderous two-handed slam.
Dampier had muscle, but against Stoudemire's agility, he looked frozen in place.
The Mavericks answered fast. Kidd found Ray Allen cutting along the baseline for a reverse layup and the foul—an old-school 2 + 1.
With just over six minutes left in the third, Phoenix clung to a 78–76 lead.
D'Antoni signaled timeout. His rotation options were thin; injuries had left him with only six reliable players tonight. The exhaustion was beginning to show, but there was no choice.
When play resumed, the Suns stuck with their starters. Chen Yan was again the focal point.
Out of the huddle, Diaw slipped a perfect post-entry pass to Chen, who sealed his man and finished the easy layup.
Josh Howard groaned. Guarding Chen was relentless work—he wasn't just dangerous with the ball, his off-ball cuts were unpredictable. A single blink, and he was gone.
Next trip down, Nash fed Chen at the wing. Chen rose and buried a rhythm three right over Howard's outstretched hand.
He was locked in.
Seeing his moment, Chen hit the invisible [Blitz Storm] switch in his mind. The Suns needed to strike now before fatigue set in.
He attacked with every variation he had.
Fast break—Ray Allen tried to backpedal, but Chen danced around him with a hesitation dribble and finished a reverse layup off the glass.
Half-court set—he yo-yoed the ball between hands, drew Dampier out of position, and floated a soft runner over him that kissed the backboard and dropped through.
Next possession—he pulled up from sixty degrees left, three feet behind the arc, perfectly in rhythm.
"Swish!"
Every touch, every move, every shot looked effortless.
With 1:13 remaining in the third quarter, Chen Yan's total hit 40 points, with 30 in the quarter alone.
Social media and forums exploded.
"Unstoppable! One-man demolition crew!"
"Ten points in two quarters, thirty in one—three years of silence, three minutes of thunder!"
"Dallas can't guard him at all!"
One fan typed: "You guys don't get it. This is strategy. It's called the Jordan Rule."
Another asked, "Jordan Rule? What's that?"
Someone explained, "Back in the day, the Bad Boy Pistons used it on Michael Jordan. They'd let him score early, guard everyone else tight, and wait till the Bulls' offense dried up—then they'd collapse on him. Worked for a while."
The comment section filled with analysis, but if Mavericks coach Avery Johnson had seen it, he would've burst out laughing.
He had no secret plan tonight—just desperation. He'd thrown every defender he had at Chen Yan. First Ray Allen. Then Josh Howard. Neither worked.
He even tried Jason Kidd for a few possessions, hoping veteran craftiness might slow the kid down. No chance. Chen blew by him.
He turned to Devin George off the bench. Same result—burned instantly.
There was no Jordan Rule. There was only helplessness.
Because on this night, Chen Yan was playing like someone without a ceiling.
Every fake froze defenders. Every jump shot felt inevitable. Even when he missed, it looked controlled, like he'd simply decided to give them mercy.
The Mavericks' defense wasn't broken—it was dismantled.
Kenny Smith summed it up best from the booth: "You can double, you can trap, you can rotate early—it doesn't matter. When a guy's that hot, there's no scheme for it."
Barkley laughed. "They don't need a Jordan Rule. They need a miracle."
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