69novels Chapter 69 Asian Championship MVP! S-Level Talent Becomes a God
Chapter 69 Asian Championship MVP! S-Level Talent Becomes a God
The festivities lasted a full ten minutes, until the red confetti in the center of the venue was almost ankle-deep, at which point staff began clearing the aisles in preparation for the solemn awards ceremony.
Supported by Battier and Liu Wei, Lin Hao limped towards the makeshift treatment room at the player tunnel entrance. His left calf muscles were still convulsing violently; each step felt like steel needles churning in his bone marrow. The team doctor caught up with ice packs and elastic bandages, and the moment he touched Lin Hao's swollen, shiny ankle, Lin Hao gasped sharply, a cold sweat instantly beading on his forehead.
"Don't move!" the team doctor growled, quickly cutting open the ankle brace that was soaked with sweat and blood. The ankle was swollen to an unnatural dark purple, like over-fermented dough.
He didn't cry out in pain, but gritted his teeth and looked at himself in the mirror: the scratches on his collarbone had scabbed over with dark red scabs, his lips were dry and cracked, but his eyes were frighteningly bright. When the announcement for the awards ceremony echoed throughout the stadium, he pushed away the team doctor's hand and stood up.
"It's okay, I can walk by myself."
The podium was set up in the center of the field. As FIBA Asia officials walked in carrying trays of gold medals, a sacred silence fell over the entire stadium.
Yao Ming was the first to receive the gold medal. He lowered his head, tears streaming down his face onto the wooden floor of the podium. Then came Battier, Du Feng, Zhu Fangyu… When the award presenter hung the heavy gold medal around Lin Hao's neck, he patted his bleeding shoulder forcefully, saying nothing, but his eyes reddened.
Lin Hao looked down at the gold medal. The cool touch of the metal sent shivers down his spine.
"Raise the national flag of the People's Republic of China! Play the national anthem of the People's Republic of China!"
The majestic "March of the Volunteers" suddenly rang out.
Twelve thousand fans stood up in unison, many instinctively straightening their clothes. No one directed, no one led, but in an instant, the entire stadium stood at attention, singing along with the band.
"Arise! Ye who refuse to be slaves!"
The singing began in unison, then grew increasingly powerful and choked with emotion. In the stands, Zhao Dabao played the suona, but as he played, the sound was choked by tears, becoming a mournful accompaniment. Countless small red flags waved in the hands of the audience, forming a silent, surging sea of red.
Lin Hao stood at the very front of the podium, saluting as the five-starred red flag slowly rose. Sweat, blood, and tears mingled and dripped from his chin, landing on the gold medal and on the podium floor.
He felt a burning pain in the tear Fang Chengyun had ripped open in his left chest, and an excruciating itch in his ankle—that was his S-rank talent "Iron Fortress" repairing his damaged body. But at this moment, he felt an unprecedented lightness, as if he had unloaded a burden he had carried for twenty years.
As the national anthem ended, the national flag was raised to the top of the pole.
"Whoosh—!!!"
A deafening roar of cheers erupted from the crowd, and confetti rained down once more. The players excitedly tossed Coach Jiang Xingquan high into the air, while Lin Hao was surrounded by countless large hands patting his back. Each pat brought a burning pain, but also a surge of intense power.
He looked up at the national flag fluttering in the night sky of Harbin and suddenly remembered many years ago, when he was a skinny boy dribbling a basketball on a simple cement floor, dreaming of this day.
He touched the gold medal around his neck and smiled.
That smile contained the wildness of youth, the resilience of man, and the long-lost pride of a nation, a pride that stood tall and unyielding.
The locker room door was slammed open, and a mixture of beer, sweat, medicated oil, and the sweet, pungent smell of adrenaline rushed out like a heat wave.
No one had the key; Batel simply used his shoulders, which were strong enough to split rocks, to pry the door open.
"roar--!!!"
Instead of applause, Lin Hao was greeted by a sudden downpour of icy water.
"Splash!"
A whole bucket of ice, along with ice water, fell from the sky, pouring over Lin Hao's head and face. A sharp, stinging pain instantly shot into the still-unhealed wound on his left chest, causing him to gasp and his muscles to tense reflexively.
But he didn't dodge.
He simply wiped the ice shards from his face, revealing a set of white teeth, and smiled.
"Damn it! Who did this?!" Lin Hao cursed, but his voice was tinged with laughter.
"Damn it!" Zhu Fangyu, carrying two bottles of beer, charged forward, shoving one into Lin Hao's hand and holding the other high above his head. "Tonight, we're not leaving until we're drunk! Whoever collapses first is a dog!"
The locker room instantly turned into a battlefield.
Champagne was sprayed wildly, foam filling every corner. Du Feng used shaving cream as hairspray, spraying it all over his bald head; Li Nan held the heavy championship trophy like a child, reluctant to let go, kissing the trophy on everyone he met.
Liu Wei suffered the most. As the starting point guard, he was pinned to the bench by several people because of his previous inbound pass error. His shirt was half ripped off, and someone drew a turtle on his chest with an oil-based pen, with the words "five-second violation" written next to it.
"You heartless bastards!" Liu Wei shouted back while laughing, grabbing a bottle of mineral water and splashing it on Lin Hao.
Lin Hao sat on the bench in the corner, finally able to truly relax.
The team doctor had just given him emergency treatment: breathable tape was applied to the scratches on his left chest, and thick ice packs were wrapped around his ankle, which was swollen like a bun. He was shirtless, and his torn No. 7 jersey was neatly folded and placed in the locker like a sacred relic.
"Haozi, bring me the MVP trophy!" Zhang Yunsong shouted.
Lin Hao handed over the crystal trophy.
The next second, he regretted it.
These teammates, like hungry wolves, actually started pouring beer into the trophy!
"Holy crap! It's crystal! Don't let it explode!" Lin Hao was startled and tried to stand up to grab it, but Battul pressed him back down on the stool with a big hand.
"Stop talking nonsense!" Battier shoved a full glass of "Tribute Beer" into Lin Hao's hand, the glass still stained with the champagne foam that had just been spilled on it. "If this stuff gets ruined, I'll buy you ten! Drink up!"
Lin Hao looked at the murky liquid in the glass, which smelled of sweat and alcohol, and had bloodstains that someone had smeared on it.
But he didn't hesitate, took the cup, tilted his head back and drank it down.
The icy liquid burned down his throat and into his stomach, sending a shiver through his body. The alcohol numbed his nerve endings, and the deep, bone-chilling pain finally began to dissipate, replaced by a floating, dizzy feeling.
"Respect Lin Hao!"
"Salute to the MVP!"
"A toast to our Yao Ming!"
The sound of the glass bottles colliding was crisp and jarring.
Lin Hao had been forced to drink several glasses of alcohol, and his cheeks began to burn. He looked at the group of grown men in front of him: some were crying, some were laughing, some were exchanging trash talk, and some were shirtless, dancing a Mongolian dance in the locker room.
He looked down at his left arm; the word "Invincible" written with a marker had been washed away by water and was now just a faint shadow.
But he knew that those two words were etched into his very bones.
"Oh, by the way," Lin Hao suddenly spoke up, his voice not loud, but it quieted the noisy locker room a bit, "that West Asian referee... what happened to him afterwards?"
The crowd was taken aback for a moment, then burst into even louder laughter.
"They ran away! They slipped out the back door right after the awards ceremony!"
"Haha, he's probably at the airport by now, afraid you'll come looking for trouble with him!"
Lin Hao smiled, raised his empty wine glass, and toasted the void.
"It's alright," he said softly. "I'll still beat him next time we meet."
Outside the window, the Harbin night sky was still lit up by fireworks, while the noise in the locker room became the warmest footnote to this championship night.
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I went to the opening ceremony of the Northeast Super League in Shenyang yesterday, and when I saw the schedule, I realized they're really going to be wild.
In the third round, Dalian played against Shenyang at home. As everyone knows, the relationship between Dalian and Shenyang is comparable to that between North and South Korea. What kind of ball is this? Both sides could just twist each other's heads off and kick it.
In the fourth round, Shenyang will face Harbin in a battle of sweet and sour pork, while Jixi will take on Yanbian in a battle of authentic cold noodles.
In the fifth round, Harbin faced off against Changchun; whoever won would be the ice and snow city.
Meanwhile, Heilongjiang, Jilin, and Liaoning also need to guard against Hohhot. Could the Northeast Super League allow Inner Mongolia to qualify?
The Northeast Super League is no less intense than the Soviet Super League. The Soviet Super League is a cultural and tourism project, while the Northeast Super League is all about armed confrontation. The intensity of this is something even the top-tier orthopedic hospitals in Shenyang and Harbin could withstand.
Who's the kindest person to take you out for a dozen or so bottles of Lao Xue beer? My head's about to explode!!!