The next day —
Game 7 of the NBA Finals.
Three hours before tip-off, the TD Garden was already a sea of green and white.
Every seat inside the arena was taken, and the square outside had become a living ocean of fans — heads packed shoulder to shoulder, voices rising in anticipation. The North Shore Garden had turned into a fortress of passion.
Even though Boston had blown a 33-point lead in Game 6, their confidence hadn't wavered.
Celtics fans believed their team's pride wouldn't be broken by a single collapse.
They expected blood tonight.
If the Lakers wanted the title, they'd have to survive the storm.
Chants of "Beat L.A.! Beat L.A.!" echoed through the concourse long before the teams even appeared on court.
Inside the arena, pregame interviews were underway.
Lakers interview room.
At the podium sat Head Coach Phil Jackson and Kobe Bryant — calm, composed, the picture of focus.
"Phil," a reporter began, "Jiang Chen had a heaven-defying performance in Game 6, helping the Lakers complete that historic comeback. Will he play an important role in tonight's Game 7?"
Phil's expression didn't change.
"Perhaps," he said evenly. "I'll give Jiang a few minutes and observe his performance. Hopefully, he can carry over that momentum."
The Zen Master's tone was unreadable, his words as controlled as ever.
Reporters nodded — it sounded reasonable enough. After all, Jiang's post-game interview last time had been... a little too confident. Comparing himself to Kobe had set the media on fire.
Realistically, this was the Finals. If you performed, you stayed on the floor. If not, you sat.
Simple. Brutal. NBA truth.
No coach would gamble Game 7 on a rookie who'd barely played all season — especially not an undrafted one.
At best, Jiang Chen might see a few minutes, take a couple of shots, then disappear back to the bench.
At worst, he'd fade out completely.
Yes, there was always the chance of another miracle — but everyone in the room knew that chance was smaller than winning the lottery.
"Phil," another reporter asked, "after the Celtics' dominance early in Game 6, have you made any adjustments?"
Everyone remembered how Boston had crushed L.A. early, leading by 33 before Jiang Chen's eruption flipped the script. Without that miracle, the parade might already be rolling down Causeway Street.
Phil gave a faint smile.
"Of course, we've made adjustments. I believe our new lineup will give us the best chance to win."
The media exchanged glances.
A new lineup? What kind of lineup?
Once again, Jackson dropped a smoke bomb and revealed nothing — classic Zen Master.
Then came the next question.
"Kobe, your performance this series has been inconsistent. Has injury or the Celtics' defense affected you? Are you worried about your form in Game 7?"
Kobe's eyes sharpened.
"No," he said flatly. "I'm not worried. I want to win — that's all that matters. No matter how I'm playing, I'll find a way."
His tone carried the same steely confidence that had defined his entire career.
Another reporter leaned forward.
"You also heard Jiang Chen's comments after Game 6. Do you think he can really back up those promises?"
Kobe's lips curved into a rare smile.
"Of course," he said. "He doesn't look like a guy who jokes."
"I'm looking forward to it."
The room froze for a moment. Even the reporters weren't sure they'd heard him right.
Kobe Bryant — the league's ultimate alpha — was actually looking forward to seeing an undrafted rookie take over Game 7?
Had the entire Lakers camp gone mad from championship pressure?
Phil said Jiang would only get a few minutes. Kobe sounded like he was expecting a show.
Whose word was true?
Nobody knew.
There was only one place the truth would reveal itself —
on the court.
...
Celtics interview room.
"Coach Rivers, in the upcoming game, who do you think poses the biggest threat to your team?"
Doc Rivers leaned slightly forward, answering without hesitation.
"Without question, Kobe Bryant. He's one of the greatest scorers in history, and we have to find ways to limit his impact."
There was genuine respect in his tone.
Even as an opponent, Kobe demanded admiration.
A reporter followed up quickly.
"What about Jiang Chen?"
Rivers blinked, then widened his eyes in exaggerated surprise.
"Are you kidding me?"
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
"I don't think Jiang Chen's performance can surpass Kobe's," Rivers said, regaining his composure but wearing a confident grin.
They had been caught off guard in Game 6, letting that Chinese rookie catch fire unchecked. That wouldn't happen again.
This time, they had prepared a defensive scheme specifically for him.
The moment Jiang stepped on the floor, he'd be hounded until he questioned everything he thought he knew about the game.
The reporters chuckled knowingly. The question had been more for show — after all, how could an undrafted rookie be compared to Kobe Bryant?
"Ray," another reporter turned to Allen, "Jiang Chen said he'd make ten three-pointers again tonight. What do you think about that?"
Ray Allen exhaled slowly, his voice calm but edged with veteran confidence.
"As someone who's been in this league over a decade, I know how hard that is. Making ten threes in one game is already incredible — doing it twice in a row? That's never happened in NBA history."
He paused, looking straight into the cameras.
"It's a massive challenge. I haven't done it. Reggie Miller hasn't done it."
Then he gave a faint smirk.
"As for Jiang Chen… let's just say the goddess of luck already visited once. If she comes again, that'd be a little unfair to us, don't you think?"
He didn't say the words outright, but everyone understood his meaning.
In his eyes, Jiang's outburst in Game 6 was lightning in a bottle — luck, not sustained ability.
"Then are you confident you can outshoot him tonight?" another reporter pressed.
"Without a doubt," Ray replied firmly. "The three-pointer is my weapon. Always has been."
His tone carried that trademark cool dominance — the quiet assurance of one of the league's deadliest shooters.
After a few more questions, the press conference wrapped up. Cameras clicked, reporters gathered their notes, and the room began to empty.
Outside, the roar of the crowd waiting for Game 7 could already be heard — a storm gathering over Boston.
After both teams finished changing in the locker rooms, the Celtics and Lakers emerged from the tunnel and stepped onto the court.
Under the blinding glare of the arena lights, every player wore the same look — focused, unflinching, eyes burning with determination.
The Garden was a sea of green. Amid that tide, the Lakers' purple and gold stood out like a small island, surrounded on all sides.
The noise hit them like a wave — drums, chants, the roar of twenty thousand voices shaking the rafters.
It was hard to breathe in that kind of pressure. Every step, every heartbeat felt heavier.
Game 7 of the NBA Finals — the game that would decide everything — was seconds from erupting.
…
…
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to TD Garden for Game 7 of the NBA Finals!"
The voice of Charles Barkley, the "Round Mound of Rebound," boomed through the live broadcast.
"Who's taking home the championship tonight? The atmosphere in here is already insane!"
Beside him, Reggie Miller couldn't help but smile.
"Yeah, Chuck, the energy is unbelievable. You can feel the tension just sitting courtside. Both teams have been through a war — now we'll see who's got one last punch left."
The two TNT commentators — both Hall of Fame players in their own right — were among the most respected voices in basketball. Their chemistry, built over years of banter and competition, made every game come alive.
Barkley leaned back with that trademark grin.
"Old buddy, tell me — who's your pick for Game 7? Who's lifting that trophy tonight?"
Reggie chuckled. "I've got to go with the Celtics. Through six games, they've been the stronger team. And let's not forget — this is their house. They've got the crowd, the confidence, and momentum on their side."
He spoke with conviction, knowing full well Barkley was baiting him.
"As for the Lakers pushing it this far," Reggie added, "I think a big part of that was… luck."
Barkley raised an eyebrow, playing it up for the cameras.
"Oh? Luck? You talking about that Chinese kid?"
He grinned, his voice rising with mock disbelief.
"Ten three-pointers in just ten minutes! Come on, Reggie, you think he can pull that off again tonight? Could he really be one of the next great NBA shooters?"
The mention of Jiang Chen immediately reignited the debate that had dominated sports shows for days. His Game 6 explosion had become the biggest story in basketball.
And sitting beside him was the man best qualified to comment — the NBA's all-time leader in three-pointers.
Reggie gave a small laugh, shaking his head.
"Very difficult, Chuck. I watched Game 6 live and again on replay — a lot of those shots were tough, high-difficulty looks that just happened to drop. But nobody, and I mean nobody, has that kind of luck two games in a row."
He leaned closer to the mic.
"And as for him being a top-tier shooter? Let's slow down. His draft report said shooting was his strength, sure — but he hasn't proven anything all season. One hot night doesn't make a career."
His tone carried polite doubt — and just a hint of pride.
Barkley smirked, knowing exactly where to prod next.
"Well, he told reporters he'll hit ten again tonight — said that's just his normal performance. What do you make of that?"
Reggie's face tightened.
"Normal?" He gave a dry laugh. "That's just talk. Anyone can make bold claims, Chuck. The question is whether you can back it up. Forget ten — if he hits five threes tonight, I'll be impressed."
Five threes — even that was no small feat in 2008, when the game still revolved around the paint and mid-range.
Barkley chuckled, dodging any clear stance. "Well, we'll see. Either way, someone's walking out of here proven wrong tonight."
He shot Reggie a mischievous glance, barely hiding his grin.
Because if Jiang Chen really went off again…
It wouldn't just shake the Garden — it would shake Reggie Miller's pride on live national TV.
And Barkley couldn't wait to see that reaction.
...
On the court, the players wrapped up their warm-ups and headed back to their benches for final instructions.
Both head coaches gathered their squads, sketching last-minute adjustments as the assistant coaches handed in the official starting lineups to the scorer's table.
Moments later, the arena lights dimmed slightly, and the big screen came alive with the lineups for Game 7.
And then —
Jiang Chen's name appeared among the Lakers' starters.
The Garden exploded into a mix of gasps, laughter, and disbelief.
"Wait—what? He's starting?!"
"Has Phil Jackson lost his mind?"
The murmur became a roar. Celtics fans could hardly believe what they were seeing.
A benchwarmer — an undrafted rookie from China — in the starting lineup of the biggest game of the year?
Phil Jackson's legendary calm suddenly looked, to them, like madness.
"He really bought into that kid's talk from the interview," one fan shouted.
"The Zen Master's gone crazy this time!" another laughed.
Confidence rippled through the green-clad crowd.
If this was the Lakers' plan, the Celtics' title seemed all but assured.
In one of the luxury boxes, Pat Riley leaned forward, raising an eyebrow.
"Jiang Chen's starting?" he murmured.
Beside him, Dwyane Wade smirked.
"Well… we came all the way here to see what he's really got. Let's hope he doesn't let us down."
Their eyes stayed locked on the floor — curious, analytical.
And they weren't the only ones watching. Across the arena, celebrities, retired legends, and active stars whispered in surprise.
"God, he's starting him?" Barkley burst out over the live broadcast, his tone half-shocked, half-thrilled.
"Phil's got guts, I'll give him that."
Reggie Miller scoffed beside him.
"Hmph. More like digging his own grave," he said coldly. "I've been around this league a long time, and I've seen a lot of coaching gambles… but this? Starting a guy who made one three-pointer all season because of one hot night? That's new even for the Finals."
He shook his head. "No matter the outcome, Phil just made history — one way or another."
Courtside, the reporters were no less stunned.
Phil Jackson — that famously reserved, calculating strategist — had clearly been bluffing during the pregame presser.
He'd said he'd "give Jiang Chen a few minutes" to test him out.
A few minutes?
He was starting.
Even the seasoned journalists looked at each other in disbelief.
Whatever Jackson's plan was, it wasn't playing it safe.
The Zen Master had gone all in.
...
Across the ocean, millions of viewers tuned in to CCTV-5.
Behind the microphones sat two of China's most respected voices in basketball — Sun Zhengping and Zhang Weiping, the familiar duo who had guided Chinese fans through countless NBA nights.
Sun's voice carried clear excitement.
"Jiang Chen is starting! This is truly historic — the first time in Chinese basketball history that one of our players starts in the NBA Finals!"
Zhang Weiping, affectionately known to fans as "Grandpa Zhang," chuckled warmly.
"Hey! Phil Jackson really does have vision. I think this decision makes perfect sense."
He leaned toward the mic, his tone bright with both pride and nerves.
"Jiang Chen's breakout wasn't a fluke. I'm optimistic he can surprise everyone again tonight. Let's see if this young man can keep making history!"
Sun Zhengping laughed softly.
"No matter what happens, it's already a proud moment for Chinese basketball."
Their voices blended with the hum of the crowd across the Pacific — the entire nation watching, hearts pounding, as the Finals reached its final, decisive night.