Chapter 169: Educating Fellow Rookies — Look, Chen Yan is Smiling!
After the win over the Wizards, the Suns boarded a flight to Detroit for their next road game against the Pistons.
The following day was a rest day.
Detroit wasn't exactly the safest city in America—it topped the charts for crime rate—so Chen Yan wisely decided to stay indoors. Sure, with his current physique and training he could handle a few thugs, but this was the United States. People didn't throw punches; they pulled triggers.
He wasn't about to end up facing a Desert Eagle and hearing, "Times have changed, old man."
So, he stayed in his hotel room, passing the time chatting with Taylor on the phone and playing NBA Live with his teammates.
The rest day flew by, and on the afternoon of January 6, the team bus rolled toward The Palace of Auburn Hills—home of the Detroit Pistons.
---
Pre-Game Buzz
Before tipoff, Azubuike and Barea opened their lockers and were stunned to find four brand-new pairs of AeroWing sneakers—each in a different colorway.
Chen Yan had kept his word. Right after the previous game, he'd asked his agent to have eight pairs delivered to Detroit overnight.
"Damn, these are sick!"
"This orange one's fire."
"I'm calling dibs on the black ones. Chen, you got more of these?"
In an instant, the rest of the Suns crowded around their lockers.
Even veterans like Amar'e Stoudemire, Boris Diaw, Steve Nash, and Grant Hill couldn't resist checking them out.
Most of them couldn't actually wear the shoes on the court—they were tied to endorsement deals with Nike or Adidas—but they still wanted a pair to keep.
Chen Yan laughed. "No problem. Just give me a little time. They're sold out everywhere right now—even I can't get extras."
---
Before the game, ESPN pulled Rodney Stuckey aside for an interview.
"Rodney, you're up against Chen Yan tonight—the top rookie in the league so far. You nervous?"
Stuckey smirked. "Not at all. Because I'm the best rookie."
It was a confident—if not delusional—statement.
Earlier that year, Stuckey had fractured his hand during the preseason, missing the first two months of the regular season. While recovering, he'd watched Chen Yan dominate every highlight reel and headline. It ate at him.
He truly believed that, if not for the injury, he'd be the one getting all the attention. After all, he'd averaged 32 points, 5 rebounds, and 9 assists in the preseason.
What he didn't realize was that the preseason and regular season were two completely different worlds.
When reporters told Chen Yan about Stuckey's comment, he chuckled.
"I'm not sure anyone's like him in our rookie class," he said. "But it's good to see a young guy with confidence. I hope he leaves an impression on me."
His calm tone carried the kind of authority that only seasoned veterans had—and the reporters couldn't help laughing.
Stuckey, however, wasn't amused.
Before tipoff, he marched straight over to Chen Yan at midcourt.
"Hey! I'm gonna impress you tonight. I'll crush you."
Chen glanced at him, smirking.
"Then hurry back to the bench. That's where you'll start anyway."
Stuckey froze. He couldn't even argue—it was true. Coming off injury, he barely had minutes in the rotation.
---
As expected, Stuckey rode the bench for the entire first quarter.
It wasn't until the second quarter that Coach Flip Saunders finally called his name.
"Stuckey, you're in."
The rookie's adrenaline spiked. He barely listened to the play call. All he could think about was finally getting his chance to go at Chen Yan.
The scoreboard showed 22–22 when he checked in.
Pistons lineup: Stuckey, Afflalo, Jarvis Hayes, Amir Johnson, Nazr Mohammed.
Suns lineup: Barea, Chen Yan, Hill, Azubuike, Barnes.
In the first quarter, the Suns' offense had been stifled by Detroit's defense. Now, Coach D'Antoni wanted Chen to lead the second unit and push the tempo.
On the first possession, Stuckey attacked immediately—bulldozing past Barea and drawing a foul. At 6'5", 235 pounds, Stuckey's strength and explosiveness were legit. He made one of two free throws.
Then it was Chen Yan's turn.
After crossing half-court, Barea passed him the ball.
Chen had only taken two shots in the first quarter but dished out four assists. During the break, D'Antoni had told him to be more aggressive.
"Chen, stop worrying about facilitating. We already got two playmakers—Nash and Diaw. Go get buckets. We can't have Amar'e taking forty shots a night."
Breaking through the Pistons' defense wasn't easy. Their system was solid, but what truly opened the game up for Phoenix was Chen Yan's sharp penetration and explosive offense. His drives collapsed the defense and created open looks for his teammates—exactly what the Suns needed.
Barea brought the ball up and passed it to Chen Yan at the top of the key. Rodney Stuckey stepped forward to defend.
On paper, it was a mismatch—point guard versus shooting guard—but in reality, Stuckey's strength gave him the edge in size. The question was whether his defense could keep up.
Bang. Bang.
Chen Yan started dribbling between his legs, testing Stuckey's footwork with rhythmic, deceptive movements. The rookie had athleticism, no doubt, but his fundamentals were shaky. Chen's control was surgical—every bounce deliberate, every shift calculated.
With one lightning-quick crossover, Chen exploded past Stuckey like a blur.
Nazr Mohammed rotated over from the paint to help, but before he could even plant his feet, Chen Yan soared past him—Shadow Trace—switching hands midair and finishing softly off the glass.
24–23.
The Pistons' bench unit simply couldn't hold up. Their defensive structure looked identical to the starters', but the intensity wasn't even close. Chen Yan made it look effortless.
Stuckey, still fuming, grabbed the inbound pass and barreled down the court. No passing. No hesitation. Just pure reckless energy.
This guy's got no plan, Chen thought, watching him charge like a bull. No wonder in his previous life, he spent seven years in Detroit and never became a star.
Talent gets you noticed in the NBA. IQ keeps you there.
And on that front, Barea was already leagues ahead.
Having been burned on the previous possession, Barea made an adjustment—giving Stuckey an extra step of space. That small gap was enough to control the drive without getting blown by.
Stuckey forced his way inside, took two hard steps, and launched a floater.
Snap!
Out of nowhere, Chen Yan came flying in from the weak side and snatched the shot out of the air—a clean block that sent the crowd gasping.
It wasn't just a rejection. It was a statement.
"Go! Go! Go!" shouted Stoudemire and Raja Bell from the bench, waving towels like madmen.
Chen Yan wasted no time. He passed the ball ahead to Grant Hill, then sprinted down the sideline at full speed.
Hill took one dribble, spotted Azubuike near half court, and fed him the pass.
Azubuike advanced, saw Chen pointing skyward, and immediately lobbed it high into the air.
Chen Yan took off, hung in midair for a fraction of a second—and hammered it home with both hands.
BOOM!
The entire Suns bench exploded, towels flying everywhere.
In just two possessions, Chen had put on an offensive and defensive masterclass. Explosive. Ruthless. Electric.
His improved vertical and speed had turned him into a walking highlight reel. Alley-oops like that had become routine.
---
The Pistons tried to regroup.
"Rodney! Run the set!" shouted Coach Flip Saunders from the sideline.
He was losing his patience. Stuckey had completely ignored his system the last two plays. If not for front office pressure to "develop the rookie," he'd already be sitting next to the water cooler.
Stuckey nodded, pretending to listen—but in his head, he'd already decided. His "play" was going to be one-on-one.
He called for Afflalo to set a screen, switched matchups, and found himself face-to-face with Chen Yan again.
The block still stung. This time, he was going to get revenge.
He pounded the ball between his legs—once, twice, three times—then tried to explode past.
Snap!
Chen Yan anticipated perfectly, poking the ball loose.
Stuckey's reflexes bailed him out as he scrambled to recover, but now only six seconds remained on the shot clock. Chen stayed glued to him like a shadow.
Rushed and panicked, Stuckey pulled up from deep—way beyond the arc.
Clang!
The ball smashed against the backboard and bounced straight into Matt Barnes' hands.
A long-range brick. No surprise there—Stuckey's three-point shooting barely cleared 20%. A pull-up from that distance? He had a better chance hitting the lottery.
Barnes passed to Chen, who slowed the tempo and brought the ball across half court.
Jerry Stackhouse stepped up to guard him this time. Azubuike moved to set a screen, but Chen waved him off.
He didn't need it.
This wasn't about revenge or ego—it was about control. Chen wanted to go one-on-one.
He lowered his stance. No extra dribbles this time—just a single, massive crossover that sent Stackhouse stumbling sideways.
Chen glided past him effortlessly, and as he drove to the rim, he turned his head slightly—just enough to look back at his fallen defender.
You couldn't kill without leaving a mark.
The broadcast camera zoomed in, catching the faint smirk tugging at the corner of Chen Yan's mouth.
Somewhere in the crowd, a fan shouted, "Look! Chen's smiling!"
And indeed he was—cool, confident, unbothered. The kind of smile that said:
Welcome to the real NBA, rookie.
<><><><><><>
Read Advanced Chapters on:
~ [email protected]/FanficLord03
~ Every 100 Power Stones = Bonus Chapter!
~ Push the story in the rankings using your
[Power Stones]
~ https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9