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...
The moment Yao Ming and Shaquille O'Neal checked back into the game together, TVs all across China lit up with excitement. It wasn't just basketball—it was nostalgia. Countless fans felt it in their hearts.
Back on the floor, Lin Yi nudged Shaq with a grin. "Big fella, don't overdo it. Yao's trimmed down—if you can't keep up, he's gonna make you look old."
Shaq puffed out his chest, flexing like he was still in his prime. "Three-time Finals MVP, young blood. I am the tempo."
Lin rubbed his chin and chuckled to himself.
Man… these old heads know how to sell themselves.
The Rockets had the ball again. Kyle Lowry ran a clean pick-and-roll with Yao. As Shaq rotated over, Yao paused for half a beat, staring at his old rival. But instead of banging inside, Yao floated out to the perimeter.
Shaq raised an eyebrow. He didn't like this new wrinkle.
Splash.
Yao drained the three like he was practicing free throws. Lin couldn't help but admire it.
Despite still trailing 39–45, the Rockets had picked up some momentum. Coach Rick Adelman looked noticeably calmer than earlier, trusting in his veterans.
Lin Yi didn't mind being caught between these two legends. Offensively, Yao had slimmed down and stretched the floor, while Shaq, though aging, was still a problem in the paint.
And Lin knew one thing: Shaq wasn't about to let himself get outplayed tonight.
Well then, Lin thought, let's feed the big guy.
So Lin went to work. He drove into the paint with Shaq trailing behind him. One slick crossover later, Lin spun like a dancer, slicing through the gaps.
Yao stepped up to contest—too late.
Lin's pass behind the back was pure poetry, and Shaq thundered it down with a dunk so heavy it rattled the rim.
BANG!
O'Neal had four slams by halftime. He turned to the crowd and cupped his ears, soaking up the roar of Madison Square Garden. It was classic Shaq: larger than life.
...
Back in China, fans couldn't resist the wave of emotion. Phones lit up. Messages flew.
"Bro, remember when we used to sneak off to the cafeteria to watch Shaq?"
"Remember refreshing the e-net page non-stop for scores?"
"Remember collecting every issue of Basketball Pioneer?"
...
On the court, Lowry and Yao ran the same play again. This time, Jeff Van Gundy—commentating now—sighed thoughtfully. Maybe I was wrong about making Yao bulk up so much. 120 kilograms would've been enough for him to thrive.
Van Gundy's coaching days came flooding back—memories of holding onto Alonzo Mourning's leg during a scuffle with Larry Johnson, his tough-love approach, his obsession with turning Yao into a low-post bruiser.
Yao at 120–125 kg was already a nightmare matchup for most centers. He had the size, the footwork, and—crucially—the shot. And that shot was on display tonight.
"Imagine this version of Yao against Boozer and Okur," Kenny Smith said. "Would the Jazz still get those easy pick-and-pop looks?"
Van Gundy, chuckling, gave a rare standing ovation on air. He knew it too.
This wasn't the same kind of battle these two titans had in their primes. Yao was now focused on finesse, stretching the floor. Shaq? He was here to devour everything at the rim.
And in between them stood Lin Yi, quietly doing what he always did—facilitating the play.
To many fans watching, it became clearer by the minute: Playing with Lin makes guys eat good.
The effect was real.
Shaq, feeding off the rhythm, played with joy. Lin tossed another beautiful lob—one-handed off the glass. O'Neal flushed it home with ease.
"People complain about playing with Shaq or Kobe," Kenny Smith quipped. "They should see what Lin's doing tonight."
They laughed.
Smith added, "Of course, it's all hypothetical, but man… Imagine a young Shaq with Lin feeding him inside."
Barkley nodded. "Lin playing the four is smart. Keeps his scoring edge while letting him facilitate."
Just as they were pondering the what-ifs, Yao drained his third triple of the quarter.
With a grin, he walked over to Lin and muttered, "Death is coming."
Lin doubled over, nearly laughing mid-game.
He was loving this.
By halftime, the Knicks led 59–51. Lin had only 6 points, but he was everywhere—9 rebounds, 8 assists. The game's top scorer? None other than the rejuvenated Shaq.
When the buzzer sounded, the big man scooped Lin up and carried him like a bag of potatoes into the tunnel like a proud older brother.
Back in 2009, Shaq once dropped 45 points while going 20-of-25. Tonight, he was 9-of-10 in the first half alone, with 22 points on 4-of-6 free throws.
The moment Shaq lifted Lin, camera flashes lit up. Fans knew they had just witnessed something special.
Shaq had been conquered… by Lin Yi..
Shaq just grinned like a kid and jogged into the locker room, Lin bouncing on his shoulders.
Photojournalists were already crafting tomorrow's headline. The shot? Shaq carrying Lin.
Meanwhile, Yao wasn't far behind. In under 13 minutes, he'd gone 2-of-2 from the field, 4-of-7 from deep, and a perfect 2-of-2 from the line for 18 points and 5 boards.
As the sun set outside, two giants—past their prime but not their pride—kept charging forward.
Inside the arena, Kenny Smith shook his head. "The Knicks' chemistry is just special. Tyson didn't play much this half with Shaq eating up the minutes, but he's been cheering like crazy from the bench."
Barkley grinned. "Last season's Knicks were different. This year? It feels like Lin cast a spell on the whole team."
In living rooms across China, fans made a collective decision: Download this game. Save it. Replay it. This is history.
And Lin? He felt it too.
He remembered his past life when Yao retired, and how the guys in his class acted as if they'd all been dumped on the same day. Then Shaq retired… and now? He was here, with them.
Back in the locker room, Lin turned to Shaq.
"Shaq… let's go win the whole damn thing."
The room went still.
This was the first time Lin had ever said it out loud: championship.
Until now, even with their hot start, the Knicks hadn't dared speak the word. No one wanted to jinx it.
But Lin broke the silence.
Shaq looked at him for a moment, then smirked. "Why do you think Big Diesel came to New York?"
Lin extended his right hand. Shaq gripped it tight with his right.
They weren't perfect. The Knicks weren't the favorites. But none of that mattered anymore.
...
As the clock finally ticked down to zero in the fourth quarter, Yao Ming stood motionless at the top of the key, hands resting on his hips, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The scoreboard glowed as the arena lights reflected off his sweat-drenched face.
Across from him, Shaquille O'Neal leaned forward with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. After a few deep exhales, Big Aristotle straightened his back and walked toward center court.
No one said anything—not the players, not the coaches, not the fans. But everyone seemed to know what was coming.
When Yao and Shaq met at center court and embraced, the Garden lit up. Photographers swarmed like bees, shutters firing rapidly as if trying to preserve every angle of this moment for history.
"Take care, Shaq," Yao said in Mandarin-accented English, his voice calm but sincere.
"You better not retire yet," Shaq grinned. "We're going all the way to June. Try not to be jealous when we lift that trophy."
The crowd in Madison Square Garden roared—every Knicks fan, every Rockets supporter, every basketball purist in the building rose to their feet.
...
Shaq had just turned back the clock: 25 minutes, 15-of-21 shooting, 38 points, 6 rebounds, and three thunderous dunks that could've passed for 2001.
Not to be outdone, Yao Ming logged 26 minutes, shot 11-of-18, including 5-of-9 from deep, added 5-of-5 from the line, and walked off with 32 points and 9 rebounds. The Rockets may have lost the game, but Yao had played like a man possessed.
And Lin Yi? Another triple-double. His third of the season. 30 points, 11 assists, 12 boards—quietly dominating the game without even trying to steal the spotlight.
After the game, reporters swarmed around Lin, asking the same old question:
How are the Knicks doing so well with a roster that, on paper, isn't nearly as deep as other contenders?
Lin smiled, wiping sweat from his brow. "First off, basketball is a five-man game."
He paused, then added, "I don't know who's saying our roster isn't good, but I'll tell you this—my teammates? They're killers. They're smart, they work hard, and they've bought into the system. Defense, ball movement, trust—that's the Knicks' formula."
The truth? Only a few people saw this Knicks team as legit contenders. It was the same bias that haunted the 2014–15 Warriors—a lingering disbelief that a jump-shooting, ball-sharing team could win it all.
People called that Golden State team lucky. Now, they were calling the Knicks overachievers.
But what people saw was just the surface. Sure, the Knicks didn't have the flashiest roster. No max-contract superstar outside of Lin. But what they had—chemistry, effort, and a leader who made everyone around him better—was harder to quantify.
Still, Lin wasn't about to shout "championship" from the rooftops. Not yet. Let the playoffs come first. For now, he was content to let the Knicks fly under the radar.
The media, though, had already started to notice.
...
Postgame, when Chris Webber asked Shaq why he had picked Lin up mid-game and carried him off the court, Shaq didn't hesitate.
"Because I love this kid," Shaq said, beaming. "He's the best big-man teammate I've ever had. I mean that. Even if we dropped him into the era of the four towers—me, Duncan, KG, Robinson—he'd still be making noise. He's that good."
Lin, watching the interview later that night, just stared at the screen.
O'Neal? Me? In the same sentence as Duncan and Garnett? Man… my future media rep just wrote itself.
TNT's Kenny Smith had already started shifting allegiance, and Barkley—well, Barkley had always been on Team Lin. With Shaq now endorsing him? Game over.
...
After the game, Lin invited Yao to dinner. Shaq tagged along too, of course.
When Lin's chef brought out mooncakes for dessert, Shaq looked utterly confused.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered, staring at the filling. "Mooncakes?"
Yao laughed so hard he nearly spilled his tea. "That's because you've never tried mooncakes."
Shaq shook his head. "I'm gonna need a burger after this."
...
The Knicks, sitting at the top of the standings, were finally starting to feel the buzz.
November's schedule had been kind: mostly home games, lighter competition. On the 16th, they hosted the Timberwolves—and that game, oddly enough, became a different kind of milestone.
Kevin Love was beginning to blossom. More threes, more confidence, more swagger. His footwork had improved, and he seemed inspired by Lin's style of play. Love now believed that evolving into a stretch-four was the only way forward.
He was averaging 21.2 points and 15.3 boards. On paper, he looked like a future MVP. Tyreke Evans, his teammate, wasn't far behind: 19 points, 5 boards, 5 assists per game.
But no system. No defense. No direction. The Wolves were like a pack of wild Huskies running loose—fun to watch, impossible to control.
Jonny Flynn, who had once shared a backcourt with Lin in college scrimmages, was now playing hurt. Hip problems. Lin noticed. After the game—a blowout win by 30—Lin sought Flynn out.
"Jonny, listen… don't push it," Lin said. "That hip's not going to heal if you keep grinding like this. You've got options. Overseas."
Flynn looked down, unsure. "Overseas? At my age?"
Lin had once even suggested that Greg Oden head overseas, maybe even to China. CBA doctors, as strange as it sounded, had their way of reviving careers. The league was unpredictable, but somehow, it worked.
Oden refused. Still clung to the NBA dream. Lin didn't blame him.
Flynn, though, seemed to take the advice seriously.
"I'll finish out the season," he said finally. "But if nothing changes… yeah. Maybe I'll take the flight."
...
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