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...
After the Bulls and Knicks tipped off, Lin Yi quickly noticed something serious.
Picking rose petals might sound poetic—but not when the rose has thorns.
And tonight, Windy City's Rose was blooming with a vengeance.
The Knicks struck first—Lin Yi and Tyson Chandler completed their Lin-Tyson pick-and-roll to grab the opening bucket. But Derrick Rose answered right back, gliding toward the Knicks' side with that featherlight footwork of his.
Even elite defenders could get stuffed. Tony Allen, a defensive specialist known for wearing down scorers with relentless pressure. He'd go on to give Durant fits in the playoffs. But tonight, even he was in trouble.
Because Rose was in the zone.
He turned on the jets—blowing past Allen like he wasn't there. In a flash, he exploded off the floor like a coiled spring, body contorting mid-air, and hammered the ball down with authority.
Vintage D-Rose.
2–2.
The United Center lit up—"MVP! MVP!" chants shaking the rafters.
Lin Yi watched on with a bit of emotion.
"Man… just being here, playing in the NBA—it's something special," Lin murmured.
Danilo Gallinari, who happened to be the closest to him, blinked. If thought bubbles existed, he'd be tossing out question marks. But even if Lin tried explaining, it wouldn't make much sense to anyone else.
Because Lin wasn't just thinking about this game.
He was thinking about this era. The end of Iverson's lightning, the last sparks in McGrady's eyes, Kobe's eternal fire. Vince Carter still chasing the future, LeBron sacrificing everything for rings, Wade sticking beside him, and Melo trying to shake the empty stats label.
Yao Ming, long past his prime. Shaq, fading. And tonight, Rose—the thorny, brilliant Rose—still in full bloom. The class of '09 is waiting to break through. KG, Truth, Ray, Dwight, KD, CP, Russ…
Flawed or not, they were all stories. Each one was a chapter in the book Lin was now part of.
He wasn't a witness anymore.
He was a character.
...
Snapping out of his reminiscing, Lin opened his arms for the inbounds. His signal wasn't subtle—even the Bulls knew what play was coming.
Clear out.
Carlos Boozer stepped up—Chicago's first wall. Lin rocked the ball low, dribbling side to side with sharp rhythm. Boozer's forehead creased deeper with each motion—Lin was making him think, making him hesitate.
Boozer stepped back half a stride.
That's all Lin needed.
He lunged forward, left hand teasing the dribble, letting the ball hover just enough to bait Boozer.
Boozer's eyes widened. Did he just lose control?
No. Trap.
Rose—who was trailing Livingston—caught the move in his peripheral and instinctively wanted to yell out.
"Carlos, don't—"
Too late.
Shammgod.
Lin wasn't showing off—he was testing Boozer's reactions. Making him second-guess. And just like that, Boozer was tangled in the web.
Lin had bet on this matchup. No matter how good Rose was tonight, Boozer was still a step slow laterally.
And the shammgod? That's a signature move for a reason.
Bigs don't move like guards.
This was Lin's response to Rose's challenge.
He blew past Boozer. The next line was Joakim Noah.
Now older, wiser, and more composed, Noah didn't flinch. He knew Lin had fakes. But this time, there was no trickery.
Lin launched straight up and smashed the ball through the hoop with a thunderous one-handed slam.
The crowd at United Center gasped. The Knicks bench erupted—Shaquille O'Neal stood up, spreading his massive frame wide and stomping onto the sideline, and flexed.
"This is the premium stuff from Columbia, no fakes." Kenny Smith shouted from the broadcast table, covering his forehead like he had just seen lightning strike. "Derrick and Lin have turned this into a highlight reel war! Two monster dunks—I can't even explain what I'm feeling right now!"
Charles Barkley, grinning ear to ear, yelled out, "Forget your top fives! If you're still talking about top five dunks and you haven't seen Bulls vs. Knicks tonight—then you ain't watching basketball!"
4–2. Knicks back on top.
"Man, Lin—that dunk was crazy," said Gallinari as they jogged back.
Lin sighed. He already sensed Gallo would follow up with something weird.
But, surprisingly, Gallo held his tongue.
Had the SBC of the Knicks finally matured?
Was he sick?
No.
Lin just shook his continued.
...
Sure enough, D-Rose, who had been waiting far too long for a night like this, responded. He was determined to put on a show—so much so that even Tony Allen, one of the league's top defenders, could only watch helplessly as Rose carved his way into the Knicks' paint again.
Mid-air, Rose displayed the hang time that once made him terrifying—before the injuries. His body compressed in flight, almost like a spring, and when he uncoiled, it was like watching a rose bloom midair.
Second bucket of the night for Rose. A silky reverse layup. The United Center erupted, the sound rolling like thunder through the arena as if Lin Yi's earlier silencing of the crowd had never happened.
Just as Kenny Smith had predicted before tip-off, Rose kept lighting up the United Center in the first quarter. But Lin Yi? He was the one bringing the ice bucket—again and again.
Bulls fans were hyped, no doubt. But there was something else beneath it.
They weren't mad at their team.
They were frustrated that every time Rose delivered something spectacular, Lin Yi answered with something just as brilliant—if not more so.
"Lin's in the zone tonight," said D'Antoni on the Knicks' bench.
Pat, sitting next to him, nodded. "So is Rose."
D'Antoni glanced across the court at Thibodeau, who looked surprisingly tense. Even he hadn't expected Rose to come out like this.
The Knicks coach knew games like this didn't happen often. When two stars caught fire like this in the same game, history tended to take notice.
D'Antoni's mind was racing. He wanted Lin Yi to win this one, not just because it was a regular-season game, but because he knew this was one of those nights people would talk about for years.
Even NBA commissioner David Stern, watching from a suite, felt it.
By the end of the first quarter, Rose had dropped 18 of the Bulls' 27 points.
Lin Yi? 19 of the Knicks' 28.
Back on the bench, Lin Yi blinked in surprise when he saw the stat sheet. He hadn't realized he'd scored that much already—especially since he and Rose had only gotten to the line twice each.
Defense-first teams, yet tonight, both were playing like offense was the only thing that mattered.
Fans at home were loving it. Some even pulled out their phones mid-game, texting their friends to turn on the TV now.
During the break, Lin Yi leaned over with a towel on his head.
Lin had a wide grin. He was having a night.
This wasn't like the Heat game. Against Miami's Big Three, it was about strategy, disruption, and surviving chaos. But tonight? Tonight was pure rhythm and fire. A duel.
He and Rose didn't go at each other directly, but the tension was there. A quiet, electric rivalry unfolding possession by possession.
Rose had thrown Lin's game plan out the window. But that unpredictability—that's what made basketball beautiful.
Of course, Lin Yi still hated losing. He understood the clichés—failure is the mother of success and all that—but let's be honest: success doesn't send you texts after a tough loss.
...
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