Chapter 428: Damn it, What Is Your Purpose in Coming to Earth?
Fresh off the win, the Suns got a day off. On November 25, they boarded a flight to Oklahoma for their next game, the Thunder.
As the team bus rolled out of the airport and into the streets, most of the Suns stared out the windows like tourists. Oklahoma City still felt unfamiliar. The Thunder had only just arrived. Their predecessor, the SuperSonics, had called Seattle home until the franchise officially moved to Oklahoma City in July.
The happiest man in the state was owner Clay Bennett. Oklahoma was his hometown, and now it had an NBA team. Of course, hometown pride was not the only reason. Profit always mattered. Seattle's market had been sluggish for 2 straight years, and the SuperSonics reportedly lost $52 million in that span. Projections said the move to Oklahoma City would swing the other way, earning at least $20 million over the next 2 years, while staying in Seattle would push losses toward $60 million.
That kind of math did not require a calculator.
Chen Yan watched the scenery slide by. It was his first time here, and everything looked both new and oddly quiet. Downtown's Bricktown district stood out immediately, those old dark red brick walls carrying a sense of history that made the area feel like a postcard from a different era.
After about half an hour, the bus pulled up to their hotel.
Skirvin Hilton.
It was the most luxurious hotel in Oklahoma City, with the best accommodations, and also the one with the creepiest reputation.
The building dated back to 1910, built by W. B. Skirvin with one goal, to create the most luxurious hotel in the southwestern United States. It opened in 1911, business boomed, and the hotel expanded over time. What started as a 10 floor, 224 room property eventually grew into 14 floors and 525 rooms by 1930.
Then came the scandal.
The story around the city was that the 70 year old owner had an affair with a young maid. She became pregnant. To keep the scandal from reaching the public, Skirvin allegedly locked her in a room. Her cries went unanswered. In despair and resentment, she jumped to her death, along with the child.
Since then, the hotel had carried a shadow. The maid, known in the local legends as Effie, was said to still roam the building.
The hotel even shut down in 1988 and stayed closed for 15 years before reopening in 2003 after renovations. Guests still complained about hearing children crying at night. Some claimed they saw a woman standing in front of the window she jumped from. The wildest stories said people woke up to find a woman lying beside them.
And yet NBA teams kept staying there, because the facilities were elite, and because the arena was basically next door.
The moment the Suns stepped off the bus, reporters swarmed with mischievous smiles, asking if they were scared.
Nash smiled. "I've heard the story."
A reporter leaned in. "Do you believe it?"
Nash only gave him a look and walked inside.
Stoudemire waved a hand like he was brushing off dust. "People have died everywhere on Earth. If you're scared of that, you might as well move to Mars."
Chen Yan's answer got the biggest laugh. "My sleep is elite. I'll be knocked out before any ghost finds me, the kind of deep sleep even firecrackers can't wake up."
In the end, the ghost stories stayed exactly where they belonged, in the air. Chen Yan slept straight through the night. Morning came with nothing but sunshine and room service.
…
Around noon, the full team gathered in the lobby. After lunch, they headed to the arena for pregame work.
The mood during practice was loose. Oklahoma City was a bottom team. Unless the Suns all came down with food poisoning at the same time, winning should not be complicated.
This Thunder roster was also nothing like the version people would talk about years later. In this world, the core was Devin Harris, Al Horford, and the recently drafted Lopez. The team was young, still learning how to fit together, still figuring out what they were supposed to be.
Half an hour before tipoff, the crowd filed in. From the attendance alone, you could tell Oklahoma City cared. The fans were loud and hungry for basketball, even though the record did not match the energy. Coming into the night, the Thunder were 2 and 10.
Phoenix started slow, missing easy looks and playing like their hands were still on airplane mode. Horford and Lopez were efficient early and helped Oklahoma City build a small lead.
But the gap between the teams was obvious. Once the Suns settled in, the deficit vanished. By the end of the first quarter, Phoenix had already flipped it and led by 4.
Phoenix's bench did not even have to be great. They only had to be competent. That was enough to win the second unit minutes, and by the time the starters checked back in, the Suns' lead was already creeping toward double digits.
Devin Harris had been hunting his moment.
He had been reading the headlines about Chen Yan's speed. Harris was one of the fastest guards in the league, a guy who could go end to end in 3.9 seconds with a live dribble, and he took pride in it. All that praise for Chen Yan did not sit right with him.
At 6:47 in the second quarter, he saw the opening.
Phoenix missed. Harris turned, snatched the rebound, and the instant he landed, he exploded up the sideline. He blew past Nash with pure speed, like Nash was stuck in sand.
Chen Yan rotated over as the second line of defense.
Harris accelerated again and tried to bulldoze his way through.
He lowered his body, dipped his head, and forced the lane.
He got past the man.
But he did not get past the ball.
Chen Yan's hands flashed. The timing was surgical. The steal was clean.
In one motion, Chen took off from a near standstill, launching the break. He crossed over Kyle Weaver at full speed, changed direction without losing pace, and kept driving like the rim owed him money.
Horford and Lopez scrambled back.
Chen split the gap between them, hitting a gear that made the whole arena inhale, then planted and detonated into a one handed tomahawk dunk.
The away fans even reacted, a wave of gasps mixed with unwilling admiration.
Harris stood there for a beat, watching Chen high five teammates, and a thought screamed in his head.
Damn it, what exactly is your purpose in coming to Earth?
Strictly speaking, Harris's straight line speed was not worse than Chen Yan's. The difference was what happened when the ball was involved. Chen's speed was basketball speed, the ability to stay fast while changing angles, changing pace, changing decisions. Harris was fast too, but once he hit top gear he looked like a hothead, charging forward and daring the world to move out of his way.
Against Chen Yan's hands, that was not enough.
…
From there, the game stayed comfortable. Phoenix played relaxed, aside from the early cold stretch, and the first 2 quarters basically wrote the script.
The Thunder were still in the phase of experimenting and learning. The Suns were defending champions with an identity, a system, and confidence.
Phoenix's style also punished Oklahoma City's roster. The Thunder leaned on a traditional twin tower look with Horford and Lopez, but in this version of basketball, especially without elite interior athleticism, that kind of pairing struggled against a team that ran like Phoenix.
Every time the Suns got out in transition, it turned into a numbers advantage. That was heaven for a run and gun offense.
In the third quarter, Oklahoma City kept their starters on the floor. For a rebuilding team, experience mattered more than the scoreboard. Phoenix also started mixing combinations, testing lineups, and letting the game breathe.
D'Antoni noticed something in the process. Nash, Chen Yan, and Jordan fit together beautifully. Jordan could run with them, finish lobs, protect the rim, and rebound. Next to that kind of playmaking, his strengths got amplified and his weaknesses got hidden.
Novak was another example. Playing beside Nash and Chen felt like landing in paradise. Both guards could bend the defense and find him without hesitation. In that quarter alone, Novak got 3 wide open 3 point looks, and he hit all 3.
Before the third even ended, the lead was already over 20.
At that point, the building treated it like an exhibition. Nobody cared about the final margin. They wanted highlights.
Boom.
Phoenix ran offense, Nash threaded a gorgeous pass, and Chen Yan finished with an alley oop reverse dunk off a back cut.
Oklahoma City's defense was unraveling. As the gap grew, the young Thunder started losing their edge, and the rotations got lazy.
Jordan ran up and chest bumped Chen, grinning like a kid.
"Chen, let me get one," Jordan said, half joking, half begging.
"No problem," Chen said, giving him a quick wink. "Just follow me."
"Got it."
Two possessions later, Chen pushed the break, met Jordan's eyes, and tossed the ball high.
Jordan sprinted into the paint and soared.
He was already imagining 100 different finishes.
The ball dropped into the basket without him touching it.
Swish.
The Suns bench exploded laughing. Players and fans loved weird buckets, the kind you could not script.
Jordan landed and just stood there, blinking, like he had been pranked on live television.
He stared at Chen Yan, who was smiling like nothing happened.
So this is what you meant by "follow me."
A few possessions later, Chen gave him a real one.
Another transition chance, and Chen toyed with Harris, hitting a hesitation into a between the legs dribble, then drove hard at Lopez.
Lopez stepped up.
Chen tossed the ball high with his left hand.
Bang.
It smashed the backboard, looking like a wild miss.
It was not a miss.
It was a pass.
Jordan followed from behind, rose, grabbed it, and hammered a 2 handed putback dunk through the rim.
Jordan landed smiling like a 210 centimeter child.
This time, he got his moment.
…
Chen Yan's show ended with the third quarter. The fourth was pure garbage time. The lead stayed above 20 all the way to the final buzzer.
The Suns walked out with another win.
Quietly, their 3 game winning streak arrived.