Chapter Forty-Two: Sorry, I’m an Actor?

The advantage, of course, was that when he drove to the basket, he could swing his iron elbow directly at Feng Yisheng’s head—a ruthless move indeed! Every move Wang Hai made was anticipated by Feng Yisheng, who immediately understood what kind of dirty trick Wang Hai was preparing. But Feng Yisheng was not the type to be intimidated.

With a taunting glance, Feng Yisheng didn’t even bother to spread his arms in defense; he simply stared at Wang Hai.

This infuriated Wang Hai so much that he nearly lost his mind.

Lowering his shoulder, Wang Hai sped up his dribbling, alternating the ball quickly in front of him as he charged straight at Feng Yisheng. As he closed in, seeing that Feng Yisheng showed no sign of dodging, Wang Hai gripped the ball in his right hand and, with all his strength, swung his elbow and the ball viciously at Feng Yisheng’s head.

One must understand: the elbow is one of the hardest parts of the human body. Those who practice Muay Thai from a young age train their knees and elbows for a reason. Imagine a skull struck by a full-force blow from an opponent’s elbow. At best, a normal person would suffer a brief blackout; at worst, intracranial bleeding.

Naturally, Wang Hai couldn’t let the entire school witness such a move. That’s why, as he attacked, Zhao Hui was positioned just behind Feng Yisheng’s left side, and another tall player from the sophomore basketball team, Lin Zhiping—who played power forward and stood at 1.96 meters—was behind his right. Just as Wang Hai was about to swing his iron elbow at Feng Yisheng, these two blocked everyone’s line of sight from either side.

There were no cameras on the court. Unless someone was watching from very close by, everything the three of them did would go unnoticed. To everyone else, it would simply look like a standard pick-and-roll. Even if there were questions afterward, it could be brushed off as an accident on Wang Hai’s part, not intentional.

From the distant stands, Yang Yong could see at a glance that the sophomore team was about to resort to dirty tricks—their intentions were far too obvious. But the distance was too great. Although he was furious, Yang Yong could do nothing; he knew this was not something he could interfere with. Only a fool would fail to see this was premeditated.

Helpless, Yang Yong could only curse inwardly, “Such dirty play—even if nothing happens to Feng Yisheng this time, I must bring this up with the school leaders at the next meeting.” Clearly, the sophomore basketball team’s conduct needed serious reform. For now, all Yang Yong could do was pray the four senior referees on the court would have the sense to blow their whistles.

On the court, Luo Shan was running defense in the paint and could see everything Wang Hai was doing. But there was no time—he could only shout, “Feng Yisheng, watch out!”

Wang Hai’s iron elbow was already swinging toward Feng Yisheng’s head. Yet the expected scene—Feng Yisheng being knocked to the floor by Wang Hai’s elbow—never happened.

Instead, Wang Hai let out a miserable scream and, as if his strings had snapped, was sent flying backward through the air!

Only then did the referee’s whistle sound, far too late to matter.

When Luo Shan shouted, he had already abandoned his post in the paint, expecting Feng Yisheng to be knocked down and thinking he’d rush over to help him up. By the time he arrived, though, it was clear Feng Yisheng didn’t need any assistance.

Of all ten players on the court, Zhao Hui and Lin Zhiping were the most bewildered. What was going on? This wasn’t how things were supposed to play out! Was Wang Hai about to get up and tell the four of them, “Sorry, I’m just acting”?

Feng Yisheng remained calm, though a flash of anger crossed his mind. Outwardly, his face was as serene as ever.

Soon, the four referees walked over to where Wang Hai had fallen, followed by the sophomore team’s coach. Then Zhuang Bi came over, bent down, and whispered something to Wang Hai that only the two of them could hear.

The verdict came quickly: all four referees agreed—Feng Yisheng had committed a flagrant foul and was ejected from the game.

Hearing this, Feng Yisheng felt a sense of relief and, of course, didn’t bother to argue with the referees. It was obvious Wang Hai’s move had been premeditated.

But the audience was left speechless. What just happened? Why had Feng Yisheng been ejected?

Most spectators hadn’t seen clearly. All they saw was that, as Wang Hai made his drive, Zhao Hui and Lin Zhiping moved in for a pick, and then Wang Hai went flying backward four or five meters. Even if Feng Yisheng had fouled, how could he have sent Wang Hai—who was tall and weighed at least eighty kilos—hurtling through the air? Especially since Feng Yisheng looked so much thinner and weaker. Plus, their view of the breakthrough had been blocked by Zhao Hui and Lin Zhiping. Now, the crowd was more confused than ever.

Even so, Feng Yisheng, though ejected, had already broken several records for Nanshui Foreign Language School. Everyone sighed with regret. With the fourth quarter just beginning and over ten minutes left, it was a pity to lose him. After all, with a little more effort, Feng Yisheng could have easily pushed his score past a hundred points.

On the court, Luo Shan, who had witnessed the entire episode, was deeply puzzled. Why had Wang Hai been the one sent flying? If he’d been faking, there was no way he’d go so far as to launch himself several meters—if he had those skills, he should be a stuntman, not a basketball player.

Though Luo Shan felt the situation was unfair, Feng Yisheng told the four of them not to worry about him and to keep playing. With such a large gap, the sophomore team had little hope of catching up. Still, there was always a chance, and after seeing Wang Hai’s dirty play, Feng Yisheng warned his teammates to stay alert and not fall into any more traps.

The score was 101 to 61—a forty-point difference that the sophomore team would be hard-pressed to overcome. Feng Yisheng found a stool at the edge of the court and sat down to watch the rest of the game.

Unexpectedly, the game reached a fever pitch. Luo Shan’s team of four was hit by a 10–2 run from the sophomore squad, bringing the score to 103 to 71. Over two minutes had passed, and there were less than nine minutes left in the fourth quarter. Even though one of their players had just been injured, the sophomore team still had eleven to rotate, while the opposing twelve were already showing signs of fatigue. Unlike Feng Yisheng’s team, they had no one constantly replenishing their energy.