On the 5th, the Knicks found themselves in the middle of a back-to-back against the Hawks.

Coach D'Antoni, well aware of the grind, had been tinkering with the rotation from the Magic game—resting key guys here and there so they'd have some juice left in the tank for nights like this.

That was the plan, anyway.

Reality? A little different.

Because somehow, the Knicks had managed to collectively develop insomnia.

Lin Yi, now well into his second season, was no stranger to running on fumes—he'd long since adjusted to catching just a few hours' sleep between games.

And next season?

He was already bracing himself. The lockout schedule loomed on the horizon, with those infamous back-to-back-to-back stretches that chewed up even the toughest NBA veterans. For all their freakish athleticism, these Supermen of the league were still human. They still needed food… and maybe the occasional nap that wasn't interrupted by a film session.

The main culprit behind tonight's sleeplessness was—unsurprisingly—Lin himself.

Somewhere over the clouds on the team flight to Atlanta, boredom had struck. He'd decided to teach his teammates how to play Fight the Landlord, a Chinese card game. Within an hour, the guys were hooked. And that was the problem.

In the NBA, card games weren't exactly rare, but these guys weren't exactly poker sharks. The thing about Fight the Landlord was… you could get the hang of it just by watching a few rounds. And once they did, Lin's teammates were like kids discovering cheat codes.

The damage was done. Even when Lin started to feel his eyelids getting heavy, they wouldn't let him tap out. By the time Coach D'Antoni caught wind of it, the locker room looked like an underground casino—minus the cash, plus a lot of bad trash talk.

Lin had barely two hours of sleep under his belt when his body passed through the "I could sleep for a week" stage into that jittery, wired state where staying awake almost felt easier than resting. Killing time, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through Twitter before heading to Weibo.

From across the aisle, Danilo Gallinari—also looking like he'd been awake since the Clinton administration—leaned over.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding at Lin's phone.

"Weibo," Lin replied, "basically China's version of Twitter."

Gallo's eyes lit up. "I want in. Hook me up."

Lin looked at Danny, like, really.

" You don't understand Mandarin, why?"

"Just do it."

"OK. Ok. Talk about being pushy."

The problem was, you couldn't just casually make a Weibo account for a pro athlete without the site's team getting involved. Lin still had the direct number for a guy named Chen Xuyuan from Weibo HQ—because, well… he'd crashed their servers before.

"Hey, Chen? Yeah, it's Lin. Sorry, I know it's… uh… midnight over there. Listen, my teammate wants to register an account—"

On the other end, Lin could practically hear Chen shooting upright in bed. By the time they hung up, Chen had not only roused himself and woken his wife out of bed, but had woken up half his department, and set the wheels in motion for a VIP account setup.

A few minutes later, Gallinari was officially verified.

"Alright," Gallo said, grinning like a kid with a new toy. "I help me out. Post something for me."

"What do you want to say?" Lin asked.

"Just… hello to everyone!"

Lin typed it up and posted it.

Five minutes later, Gallo frowned. "No one's replying."

Lin rolled his eyes. "It's the middle of the night in China, man. Nobody's online to see it yet."

Still, he decided to give the post a push. Switching to his main account, Lin tagged Gallo and told his fans to go say hi. Within minutes, the comments section lit up like Times Square.

"What are they saying?" Gallo asked eagerly.

Lin skimmed a few. "Uh… that you're handsome, that they love your game. Pretty wholesome stuff."

Gallo beamed. "Chinese fans are nice."

Lin stifled a laugh. Yeah, too innocent… let's not dig too deep into the jokes and the darker side.

Still, watching Gallo happily scrolling through his phone with the help of a translator, Lin felt a spark of mischief. A bold idea started forming in the back of his mind.

Next season, during the lockout? Maybe he could stir up a little cross-continental chaos. The kind that would keep everyone talking—fans, media, even the league itself.

But that was for another day. For now, they still had to face the Hawks… on two hours' sleep.

...

The insomnia hangover was real.

The Knicks dragged themselves onto the court against the Hawks and… well, it showed. The legs were heavy, the shots flat, and the defense a step slow. The Hawks didn't even need to be spectacular—they just needed to be awake. Final score: another tick in the loss column.

In the post-game presser, Coach D'Antoni gave answers so clipped they could've been text messages. "We'll regroup. We'll be fine." That was about as much as anyone got out of him.

The loss tightened the East race. The Knicks still sat on top, but the Bulls were now breathing down their necks—just one game behind.

Meanwhile, Miami had crawled out from the rubble of its rocky start. When their offense sputtered, the Big Three turned the screws on defense, pushing the pace and hammering opponents with fast-break combos. Watching LeBron and Wade connect on those coast-to-coast plays was like seeing a highlight reel on repeat.

...

The East was starting to stratify—Knicks, Bulls, and Heat at the top tier. ESPN had even bumped the Knicks up to No. 3 in their power rankings, behind only the Spurs and Lakers.

Out West? Pure chaos. The Nuggets looked like they might fall right out of the playoff picture. Since Chauncey Billups' departure, Carmelo Anthony had dropped back-to-back 40-point nights… but his shooting percentage had dipped to 41%. The offense was disjointed, the defense worse.

Golden State was a different story. Curry, still a student by league standards, had help—David Lee and DeMarcus Cousins were both in sync with him. Monta Ellis, on the other hand, was on borrowed time. Everyone could see the writing on the wall: it was only a matter of when, not if, he'd be traded.

Word was that Dallas had their eye on Ellis. Coach Rick Carlisle already had the blueprint—Ellis as a sixth man. Without Tyson Chandler, the Mavs weren't quite the same juggernaut, but adding Ellis in that role could still make them dangerous.

...

January 7th brought the Knicks back to Madison Square Garden against the Nets. The scouting report had a new wrinkle—Brook Lopez had been stepping out to shoot threes. He didn't take many, but you couldn't just leave him open anymore.

For Lin Yi, the night came with a personal subplot: Kris Humphries, in the midst of what would be two peak seasons in his career, was glued to him all game. This was the Humphries averaging double-doubles, the guy who would soon sign a multi-year, eight-figure deal.

Of course, that was before the Kardashian chapter of his life, which would send his numbers into a nosedive the following season. But that was future history.

Right now, he was everywhere—boxing out, bumping in the post, contesting shots like he'd had a triple espresso before tip-off.

Lin Yi fought through it, finishing with 27 points on 11-for-20 shooting, 13 boards, 6 assists, and 3 blocks. The Knicks' role players shone too, stifling the Nets to under 40% from the field. Outside of Lopez's 14 points and 8 rebounds, New Jersey had no answer. The Knicks rolled, 107–80.

..

The very next night, they hosted the Blazers. Fans of Brandon Roy, the smooth guard with the tragic knees, knew his days were numbered. Roy's retirement announcement was still months away, but his body had been whispering the truth for years.

Portland leaned on LaMarcus Aldridge. Both teams looked gassed—Portland from travel, New York from the back-to-back grind.

It was an ugly, grind-it-out affair. Lin Yi dug into his guerilla warfare bag—picking his moments, hitting timely shots, and closing down the lane on defense. The Knicks edged it, 95–90, staying atop the East.

After the game, Lin and Aldridge shared a long handshake and a few quiet words under the din of the Garden crowd.

The next day—January 9th—Lin was finally home, stretched out on the couch, halfway to a nap when his phone buzzed. The caller ID lit up: Yao Ming.

"Yo, Lin! You busy?" came the booming voice of Yao Ming as soon as he picked up.

Lin rubbed his eyes and sat up. "Wasn't… until just now. What's up, big fella?"

...

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