Chapter 5: The Treasure

“Tang, he says…”

John Liu immediately translated and reminded in Chinese, “They want to see your skills; after all, a basketball team is judged by playing ability.”

“There’s no first in literature, no second in martial arts; it’s the same everywhere,” Tang Bei nodded. Seeing everyone’s eyes on him, he knew this game had to be impressive—he couldn’t let these guys underestimate him.

Grasping the ball, he moved to the top of the three-point arc. Without much preparation, he tossed the ball against the backboard and charged forward.

“A self-alley-oop dunk?”

Many, including Rick Hanks, thought so.

However, Tang Bei lacked experience and misjudged the ball’s rebound height. When he jumped, his hand missed the ball.

“Hahaha…”

The training hall erupted in wild laughter.

Yet, some didn’t laugh. A few coaches, noticing Tang Bei’s jump exceeded three feet, couldn’t help but widen their eyes.

The laughter told Tang Bei that despite his one-armed throw of Chris Ander, these people didn’t respect him.

And just as John Liu said, in a team, it ultimately comes down to playing strength.

This time, he stood again at the arc, threw the ball toward the backboard once more.

His timing was better now; after three steps, he leaped high, catching the rebounding ball with both hands, bending backward into a bow shape, then explosively springing up to slam it down with full force.

“Bang!”

His powerful double-handed dunk sent a fierce crash through the gym, making every heart skip a beat.

Under his terrifying burst of strength, the transparent backboard instantly blurred and shattered into countless fragments. Simultaneously, the massive hoop frame was yanked down heavily.

“Crackling…”

The thick support arm groaned under the strain, holding on for two seconds before collapsing with a thunderous crash.

Tang Bei had already retreated to safety, his right hand gripping a hoop rim.

“…”

Silence blanketed the gym; all stood dumbfounded.

“Do you want me to dunk another one?”

Tang Bei swept everyone with an intensely imposing glare, then turned toward the other hoop, his eyes filled with savage delight.

“Do you want me to dunk another one? Want more? I can dunk all day, haha!” John Liu translated excitedly, adding his own flair.

At his words, everyone quickly shook their heads in unison.

At five o’clock in the afternoon, Eric Fletcher arrived in a spacious rented Ford pickup to pick up Tang Bei.

“Tang, what did you do? Haha, you’re amazing!”

When he learned Tang Bei had smashed a backboard, pulled down a hoop frame, and ripped off a rim, he was nearly ecstatic.

“By the way, Tang, do you know kung fu?”

After getting in the car, remembering how Tang Bei had flipped that player with one hand, he hurriedly asked.

“Yeah, I’ve trained in wrestling and boxing, and…”

Seeing Fletcher’s interest, Tang Bei briefly explained his background.

John Liu looked surprised and quickly translated.

Fletcher excitedly said, “Tang, you know wrestling is popular here in the U.S., and boxing is one of the hottest professional sports—far bigger than the NBA. You could even consider these sports in the future.”

Tang Bei wasn’t opposed but shook his head, “I’ve trained a bit but not professionally, and not for long. I probably couldn’t beat professional boxers or wrestlers now.”

Fletcher advised, “If you have time to train, that’s another option. The more choices you have, the greater your flexibility—and it’s more marketable.”

“Okay.”

After John Liu’s translation, Tang Bei didn’t quite grasp the meaning of “flexibility,” but he nodded.

At the hotel room, Fletcher arranged a single room for him.

It was just a modest inn, far from the luxury of Madison Garden Hotel, yet Tang Bei felt freer and preferred this environment.

Lying on the bed, he opened the treasure chest panel.

“Congratulations, host, on becoming a professional basketball player. Reward item: a pair of custom high-tech insoles, reducing foot injury risk by 30%.”

“Insoles have been placed into the treasure chest space; the host may retrieve them freely (no other items can be stored in this space).”

Tang Bei was stunned. This treasure chest was quite magical—he could even take things out?

“Insoles?”

With a thought, a pair of white insoles appeared in his hands.

The material was unknown but felt very solid, thickest at the heel by about one centimeter, featuring arch support—clearly high-tech.

He eagerly placed the insoles into his basketball shoes and tried them on. They fit perfectly, clearly custom-made.

After putting them on, his height reached 214 cm. They felt very comfortable; the impact upon landing after jumps was greatly reduced, with excellent shock absorption. They also fixed his feet firmly, unlike regular insoles that tend to slip.

On the 21st, in Miami at the Dennis Arena, the CBA playoffs began.

Seaweed Team’s first-round opponent was the Seagull Team. Seaweed held home-court advantage in a best-of-three series with schedule 1-1-1.

At the height of the NCAA men’s basketball March Madness, NBA games’ attention plummeted, and CBA matches were nearly ignored. The arena, with a capacity of three thousand, was only ten percent full.

Looking at the sparse crowd, wearing jersey number 88, Tang Bei was excited—it was a new beginning. Success here would mean returning home in glory.

“Jerry, Jim, Rick, this is Tang.”

At the sidelines, Eric Fletcher smiled as he watched Tang Bei take the court, then said to the three men beside him.

He waved to Tang Bei, calling, “Tang, come here.”

“Oh, okay.”

Tang Bei snapped out of it and quickly strode over.

Jerry West and the other three watched as a giant humanoid beast approached them, radiating an overwhelming presence.

“A Chinese?”

Jerry West furrowed his brow.

Eric Fletcher only said there was a gifted center he wanted them to see; he hadn’t expected him to be Chinese.

When Jerry was twelve, his older brother died in the Korean War—a childhood trauma that left him with no fondness for Chinese people.

“Tang, this is Jerry West, Lakers’ general manager and NBA legend,” Fletcher introduced.

John Liu was still translating when Jerry West told Fletcher, “Sorry, Eric, I’m feeling unwell. I’ll leave first.”

“…”

Watching Jerry West leave, Fletcher was stunned—what just happened?

Tang Bei glanced at Jerry’s departing back, his sixth sense alerting him to the man’s hostility.

But he didn’t care; since coming to the U.S., he’d encountered many who were hostile—commonplace.

Next, he met with Timberwolves’ GM Jim Brewer, Mavericks’ GM Rick Sanders, before heading to warm up.