After Lin Yi knocked down his tenth three-pointer of the night, the Rockets' head coach immediately called for another timeout.
77 to 66.
Lin Yi was five for five from deep in the second half.
Of those shots, only one came from a real defensive mistake by Patrick Beverley. The other four had Houston fans staring at the court like something was off.
This can't be real, right?
Lin Yi was so locked in that he had not even counted. He only realized how close he was when Klay Thompson leaned over and said it out loud.
"Bro. Two more."
That snapped Lin Yi back. He blinked, then laughed quietly.
That many already?
Klay's eyes were on Lin like a hawk. Lin did not say much, but moments like this stuck with Klay.
That quiet assurance.
Last season, when Lin Yi dropped 86 in a single game, Klay had watched in disbelief. Around the team, stories about Lin Yi's 61 points in three quarters came up all the time. The more Klay heard, the more unreal it felt.
He clenched his fist, muttering to himself, "Man, if I ever get 40 in three quarters, I'm celebrating for a week."
As the timeout ended, Klay kept swinging his towel like his life depended on it. Nights like this did not come often. Breaking a single-game three-point record felt like something you only saw on highlights from another era.
"Unbelievable," he said under his breath. "Absolutely unbelievable."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought about Curry and snorted.
Ten threes in one game, and you text me like you did something special?
On the floor, Houston missed again. Harden tried a step back three. It hit nothing but the backboard.
Lin Yi secured the rebound and pushed the ball up himself.
Beverley and Delfino both sprinted at him. The clock ticked down. Just before his hot stretch faded, Lin Yi pulled up from a step inside the logo, fading sideways, completely off balance.
They were all over him. Chest, arms, legs. It was about as tight as defense gets.
The ball still went in.
Swish.
The Knicks' bench exploded. Tracy McGrady covered his face with one hand. Yao Ming leaned back and let out a long breath. Klay grabbed the nearest teammate and started yelling.
Eleven.
On TNT, Barkley stood up from his seat. Around the arena, fans rose with him, not cheering for Houston, not cheering against them, just wanting to see history happen in front of their eyes.
Nobody cared about loyalties anymore. At this point, everyone wanted to know how far Lin Yi could take it.
Back on the court, Harden missed again. Paul grabbed the rebound, looked up, and saw his teammates already moving.
Screens everywhere. Bodies flying. It looked less like basketball and more like organized chaos.
Paul fired the pass ahead.
Lin Yi caught it in rhythm.
Beverley lunged with everything he had, but Lin Yi's release point was too high.
Legs set. Hang time. Wrist snap.
Clean.
Snap
"Twelve," Barkley shouted. "He has tied the NBA single-game three-point record."
The arena buzzed. Even D'Antoni stood frozen, arms crossed, no words left.
Lin Yi turned, smiled, and shrugged toward the Rockets bench, calm and casual, like he just hit a warm-up shot.
He did not expect this either. He knew his shooting had stabilized after months of work, but nights like this came from more than talent. They came from repetition. From empty gyms at four in the morning.
Houston scored quickly. Harden went straight to the rim. The Knicks barely contested. They wanted pace. They wanted possessions.
They wanted one more shot.
Lin Yi did not keep anyone waiting.
Next trip, Paul found him at the top. One step beyond the line. Beverley bear-hugged and crashed him mid-air to the floor.
The whistle blew.
The ball went in anyway.
Swish.
Thirteen.
Barkley was shouting now, his voice on the edge. "That's it. He's done it. Thirteen threes. A new NBA record. Eight for eight in this quarter."
Shaq slid down his seat in silence.
Across the ocean, millions of fans were already losing their minds.
Somewhere, someone turned off the game and laughed. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to play 2K."
Thirteen three pointers.
A brand new NBA single-game record.
On this night, Charles Barkley was convinced Lin Yi's right hand had been blessed by something higher.
After letting his excitement run, Barkley turned back toward O'Neal with a grin.
"Look at this," he said, clearly enjoying himself. "The great Shaq even brought a toothbrush. That level of preparation deserves respect."
O'Neal stared ahead in silence.
As Lin Yi kept dropping shot after shot, Shaq felt like he was watching a slow-moving horror film. You know what is coming, and you still cannot stop it.
Barkley kept going. "This is the scary part. Every time you think Lin has reached his ceiling, he comes back and says, no, this still isn't it. People used to say they grew up watching Jordan. Now there's a whole generation saying Lin changed how they understand basketball."
"He shoots from twenty-five feet like it's nothing, and then he turns around and punishes you inside. Nobody has ever played like this. It feels like God sent him down just to ask us one question. Is this really all you thought basketball could be?"
Barkley spoke with a glaze of unprecedented proportion. Bro was basically performing tricks on it.
He insisted it had nothing to do with Lin Yi saving him from embarrassment tonight, and absolutely nothing to do with enjoying Shaq's misery.
Shaq leaned back and looked up again. Lately, it felt like all of his former teammates had made it their personal mission to make his life harder. He criticized Kobe, and Kobe dropped forty the next night. Now this.
Kenny Smith watched Barkley perform like a storyteller in full rhythm and added calmly, "Welcome to the Kiss the Donkey Club, Shaq."
Unlike Barkley, Kenny did not twist the knife too hard. Instead, he offered advice.
"First, hold your breath. Second, don't hesitate. Go in confidently. And bringing a toothbrush," Kenny nodded approvingly, "that's veteran awareness."
Shaq sighed. "You know what. I'm visiting the Knicks."
He paused.
"This still feels awful."
He swore to himself that if anyone mentioned logic to him again, he was done listening. In this era, logic was the Grim Reaper's toy.
That night, the Knicks blew the game open in the third quarter and never looked back. Final score, 123 to 105.
Lin Yi played just 29 minutes. He went 17 for 24 from the field, 13 for 17 from three, and a perfect 6 for 6 at the line. Fifty-three points, his sixth-highest total ever.
As soon as the buzzer sounded, reporters swarmed him.
Off to the side, Harden stood still, staring at the scene. He had scored 31 in a losing effort and played hard all night, but the spotlight was nowhere near him.
Klay walked over and patted him on the head. "James, don't feel too bad."
Harden nodded. Klay was solid. Always had been.
Then Klay added, smiling, "Just give up. The future's ours."
Harden froze.
Klay walked away before Harden could respond.
That hurt.
Harden had planned to quietly disappear after the game to protect his own mood. Instead, it was a sidekick who delivered the knockout line.
Enough was enough.
Harden decided that for the rest of the season, he would cut his nightclub time by at least a quarter and put that energy back into basketball.
Just wait. Even if Lin Yi was the Grim Reaper, when it came to selling contact, Harden had never lost to anyone.
Lin Yi's thirteen threes turned an ordinary regular-season game into something unforgettable.
At the press conference, D'Antoni was asked about Lin Yi's performance.
"I'm not afraid of him going crazy," he said with a smile. "I'm afraid of him not going crazy enough."
When reporters asked why, he thought for a moment. "Because if he really wants to, I can't stop him."
He leaned back. "Honestly, if I left him out there longer, thirteen wouldn't be the limit. But you can't let a guy break every record at once. You need something for tomorrow's headlines."
The room laughed.
Lin Yi was asked how it felt to break the record.
"It's surreal," he said. "Even when I play 2K and try to be reasonable, I don't shoot like this."
The reporters laughed.
"No," Lin Yi added, more serious now. "Tonight felt abnormal. In a good way."
He meant it.
Later that night, Curry called him.
"Thirteen," Curry said, almost shouting. "That's ridiculous. I feel like I just found a new goal."
Lin Yi looked up at the ceiling and smiled.
In draft group chats, morale collapsed. Around the league, players who thought Lin Yi would slow down were forced to accept something uncomfortable.
This was not a hot stretch.
This was the beginning of an era.
As his twenty-third birthday approached, Lin Yi was telling everyone in the league the same thing.
The Knicks were here. And he was not going anywhere.
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a