Chapter Thirty-One: Long-Range Three-Pointer

Zhuang Bi pressed in closely to defend, which was exactly what Feng Yisheng wanted. As Zhuang Bi moved in, Feng Yisheng drew back his right foot, pretending to break through on the right. Zhuang Bi fell for it; his whole body shifted to guard Feng Yisheng's right side, fooled by the feint, leaning toward the right.

At that moment, Feng Yisheng stomped his right foot hard on the ground, seizing the opening on Zhuang Bi’s left. Accelerating with remarkable speed, he slipped past Zhuang Bi like a phantom, breaking through from the left. Zhuang Bi, worthy of his place on the basketball team, reacted instantly.

But he was already a step too late. With what appeared to be a simple, lightning-quick three-step layup, Feng Yisheng sent the ball smoothly into the hoop. Zhuang Bi, retreating to defend, nearly lost his balance—only his solid stance kept him from falling.

1:0.

There was no referee, but the student crowd—apart from Feng Yisheng’s own class, students from other classes had gathered as well, numbering over a hundred—was caught off guard by the play. Zhuang Bi himself was stunned.

He stared in disbelief, unable to accept that Feng Yisheng had slipped past his defense and scored. He was the strongest defender on the junior basketball team; even if it was hard to believe, he quickly adjusted—admitting defeat was not his style.

The rules of the game were alternating offense; now it was Feng Yisheng’s turn to defend.

Zhuang Bi stood at nearly one meter ninety, and even after Feng Yisheng’s body had been forged anew, he was still half a head shorter. In basketball, the advantages of height are many—every enthusiast knows this.

“Go for it, Yisheng! You’re doing great!” Jiang Zhiming shouted from the sidelines, amazed at Feng Yisheng’s dazzling play.

Chen Yunxi had somehow found her way to the court as well, watching from the edge. She didn’t know that the two players were dueling over her. She looked on, worried for Feng Yisheng, but didn’t try to intervene—she knew that women should not meddle in men’s duels.

Feng Yisheng glanced over; Chen Yunxi, having just arrived, was asking another girl about what was happening on the court.

He refocused. It was Zhuang Bi’s turn to attack.

Zhuang Bi could easily use his height to force his way in—he intended to do just that, believing the smaller Feng Yisheng would be powerless against him. But this was only Zhuang Bi’s wishful thinking.

Facing Feng Yisheng’s defense, Zhuang Bi grew uneasy; he saw confidence in Feng Yisheng’s eyes, as if his plan had been seen through. Still, Zhuang Bi forced himself to remain calm, having already devised another strategy.

He planned to step forward with his right foot, then feint left. If Feng Yisheng rushed to cover his left, he would lose his balance, giving Zhuang Bi a clear path and knocking Feng Yisheng out of play—a trick that had served Zhuang Bi well in many games.

Yet, he hadn’t anticipated that Feng Yisheng had already read him. As Zhuang Bi feinted left, Feng Yisheng intercepted the ball with a swift steal.

1:0.

With Zhuang Bi’s attack failed, it was Feng Yisheng’s turn to go on offense.

He tossed the ball to Zhuang Bi, who caught it with a grave expression, ready to take things seriously now. Zhuang Bi dribbled hard a few times, then handed the ball to Feng Yisheng. The rules were simple: three balls, two points win. If Feng Yisheng scored again, Zhuang Bi would lose; so he defended with utmost seriousness.

Feng Yisheng considered using Iverson’s signature crossover to break through again, but paused—if he scored, Zhuang Bi might refuse to accept defeat, clinging on stubbornly. He made up his mind.

Outside the three-point line, Feng Yisheng dribbled leisurely with both hands. Having been fooled once, Zhuang Bi was now wary, refusing to shift his defense easily, keeping his distance to avoid giving Feng Yisheng space to shoot.

But Feng Yisheng was a meter beyond the three-point line; Zhuang Bi didn’t believe he could shoot accurately from there, and was ready to close in if Feng Yisheng showed signs of driving forward.

Reality, however, can be cruel. Feng Yisheng saw Zhuang Bi daring to give him space, and cursed him inwardly.

Idiot.

He stepped back, a meter beyond the three-point line, jumped, and shot.

Watching Feng Yisheng release the ball, Zhuang Bi felt an inexplicable pressure; instinctively, he sensed the shot would go in. But he was more than a meter away, unable to contest the shot, and muttered under his breath,

Impossible!

But when he turned around, Feng Yisheng’s shot arced perfectly into the hoop. The ball dropped as the net rippled, as if praising Feng Yisheng and mocking Zhuang Bi.

2:0.

Within the three-point line, Zhuang Bi remained in a defensive stance, hands on knees, head lowered. He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

But reality is merciless, regardless of belief.

Over a hundred students at the edge of the court had already been stunned by Feng Yisheng’s earlier lightning-fast drive. Now, he had conquered the hearts of all the basketball lovers present.

Feng Yisheng, meanwhile, curled his lips in a cold smile—outwardly calm, but inwardly jubilant.

Now, with my body remade by my ancestor, my physical abilities are just as I hoped. Everything comes effortlessly. Zhuang Bi, let’s see what you say now.

“Zhuang Bi, you lost,” Feng Yisheng said.

“I lost? Lost what?”

Within the three-point line, Zhuang Bi looked up with a blank expression, as if he’d just arrived on the court, clearly ready to deny the outcome.

Feng Yisheng felt anger rising. Zhuang Bi, do you still think I’m the same as before?

He raised his voice, “Are you trying to cheat?”

“Cheat? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Zhuang Bi acted as if nothing had happened.

Feng Yisheng sneered, “Zhuang Bi, you’re asking for trouble. Don’t blame me. If you run a lap around the track now, I’ll pretend this never happened.”

“You listen up—I said I won’t run. What can you do to me, Feng Yisheng!”