Chapter 162: The Three-Point Barrage — Destroying Bogut!
From the giant Christmas gift box to the revealing reindeer outfit, Taylor Swift had planned everything down to the smallest detail.
She wanted to surprise Chen Yan.
Mission accomplished.
The moment Chen saw Taylor dressed like that, he knew—his DNA had officially been tampered with.
Whatever fatigue remained from the Christmas Day game vanished instantly. The two went to war right there in the living room. The night became a blur of laughter, energy, and chaos—a different kind of "practice session" that would've made even D'Antoni proud.
---
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds. Chen rolled over, groggy but content, scrolling through his phone as headlines filled the screen.
The Christmas Game had set the sports world ablaze.
"Suns Torch Lakers — Rookie Chen Yan Drops 51!"
"Kobe Killer? Rookie Star Dethrones the Black Mamba on Christmas Night."
"An Alley-Oop Three-Pointer to Seal the Game — Miracle or Madness?"
"NBA's Next Global Face? Chen Yan Sparks Chinese Market Frenzy."
Some of the articles exaggerated, but the message was clear: Chen's name was everywhere.
Commissioner David Stern, ever the visionary, saw an opportunity. Reports hinted he was planning a New Year's Day Game featuring the Suns to further boost the NBA's growing Chinese fanbase.
---
December 26 — Phoenix Suns vs. Milwaukee Bucks.
After a day of rest, the Suns were back on the floor, facing a struggling Bucks team sitting 13th in the East.
Their offense revolved around Michael Redd and Mo Williams, both deadly shooters—but defensively? A disaster waiting to happen.
From tip-off, the Suns came out firing.
Nash and Chen traded threes on back-to-back possessions. The crowd could barely sit down between explosions.
In the first quarter alone, Phoenix hit eight three-pointers—Chen went 2-for-3, Nash 2-for-2, Raja Bell 1-for-2, Diaw 1-for-2, and even the bench duo of Hill and Barea joined the party.
By halftime, the Suns had drained 15 threes.
Even Stoudemire, not exactly known for his range, banked in a long one off the glass.
From the broadcast booth, the announcer couldn't resist:
"Even with a roof on this building, it's still raining threes!"
The Bucks looked shell-shocked.
Every time Redd or Mo tried to respond, the Suns came right back with another dagger. The lead ballooned past 20.
---
Then came the ugly moment.
Late in the third quarter, frustration boiled over. As Chen drove through the lane, cutting past Redd and splitting the defense, Andrew Bogut—already seething from being dominated all night—slid his foot under Chen's landing space.
A dirty move.
But karma struck fast.
Chen's step came down—not on Bogut's instep, but directly onto Bogut's ankle.
Crack.
Bogut's scream pierced the arena as he collapsed, clutching his leg in agony. The referees immediately stopped play.
The crowd fell silent as team doctors rushed in. Moments later, Bogut was carried off the floor on a stretcher, grimacing in pain.
At first, fans felt sympathy—until the slow-motion replay hit the big screen.
It showed everything. The deliberate slide, the subtle twist of Bogut's leg—clear intent to injure.
The sympathy vanished. Fury replaced it.
Basketball forums exploded within minutes:
"I thought Chen's step looked heavy… turns out he went easy on him!"
"So the anti-flagrant rule doesn't apply to Bogut now?"
"That was a dirty move—he got what he deserved!"
"Poetic justice. You try to hurt someone, and you end up hurting yourself."
"Hope he's out for the season—and maybe the next one too."
"Chen Yan must've been wearing armor. God protected him tonight."
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