n the third quarter, as the Heat tried to close the gap, Lin Yi noticed something was off — drawing fouls wasn't working tonight.

Part of it was that LeBron James had grown wiser to his tricks. But the bigger reason? Stern had started loving LeBron again.

No one played the carrot-and-stick game better than David Stern. LeBron was, after all, one of the league's crown jewels — the player they'd invested years into building up. A decline in his shine wasn't just bad for LeBron; it was bad for business.

In Lin Yi's memory, LeBron's back-to-back MVPs in the 2011–12 and 2012–13 seasons had as much to do with PR as performance. The league wanted to reestablish him as the undisputed face of the NBA.

Otherwise, if Derrick Rose could win MVP in 2010–11, why couldn't Durant take it in 2011–12?

Lin Yi knew LeBron would be his main rival in the MVP race this season.

The problem was that Stern himself was stuck in a dilemma. Both Lin and LeBron were vital to the league's narrative.

Lin's rise had unintentionally accelerated LeBron's fall from grace. The Knicks' slogan last season — One man, one city, one core, one championship — had hit LeBron right where it hurt most. It was like stabbing a transparent hole in the King's chest and then sprinkling salt over it.

Stern was leaning toward making this year's MVP pathway for LeBron a bit easier to restore his prestige. But Lin Yi's 86-point game and the Knicks' league-leading record made that almost impossible. If Stern forced it, the backlash would be nuclear.

After all, Lin Yi wasn't just dominating on the court — he was dominating markets. His presence had practically supercharged the NBA's growth in China. Stern, ever the pragmatist, decided to play it neutral this time.

His message was simple: You two settle it yourselves.

That said, LeBron's superstar privileges were clearly back. At least now, when he went up for those borderline-travel layups, the whistle stayed silent more often than not.

.

By the end of the third quarter, Lin Yi already had a triple-double. But the Heat weren't letting LeBron fight alone tonight. Wade, Bosh, and the rest of the supporting cast stepped up, keeping the game tight.

83–80. Knicks by just three.

To start the fourth, Lin Yi and Paul took a breather, while LeBron and Wade stayed in. Miami seized the moment — and the lead.

Lin could see how hard LeBron was pushing, and Wade was giving everything just to keep up. He respected it — but this wasn't charity. Sympathy could wait until the final buzzer.

After five minutes of rest, the 404 duo checked back in, fully recharged. Lin and Paul went into a back-and-forth isolation rhythm, trading possessions, slowing the game down. At that stage, minimizing mistakes mattered more than flashy plays.

With 3:59 left, Lin Yi hit a pull-up jumper for his 20th point of the night — tying the game at 106 apiece.

LeBron stood there, hands on his hips, his eyes distant.

The Knicks — and Lin Yi in particular — were becoming his personal nightmare. Not even the old battles against the Spurs or Celtics had drained him like this.

Still, LeBron's mental toughness kicked in. If there was one thing he'd mastered, it was falling, then standing back up.

He finally understood something tonight: failure wasn't the mother of success — failure, damn it, was merciless.

.

On the court, after a tense back-and-forth, the Knicks broke the deadlock first. LeBron's tank was nearly empty by now. Lin Yi blew by him—this 7' blade of chaos slicing right through the heart of Miami's defense.

108–106. Knicks lead.

Lin Yi didn't hesitate in clutch time. LeBron's stamina was slipping fast, and with the blade in hand, Lin Yi was ready to finish the job.

The fans at American Airlines Arena were on edge. Every possession now felt like life or death. Fortunately for Miami, Wade came through—beating Green off the dribble and twisting in mid-air to avoid Chandler's block before banking in the layup.

108–108. Tie game.

On the next Knicks possession, the 404 duo linked up again for the night. Lin Yi set a screen for Paul and rolled hard to the rim. CP3 tossed it up, and Lin hammered it home with authority.

110–108.

That dunk had all the brutality and joy of streetball—pure, clean violence for the highlight reel.

Spoelstra immediately called a timeout, trying to settle things down. D'Antoni countered by bringing in Klay Thompson for Markieff Morris, sliding Lin back to power forward.

It was a subtle but smart move—classic post-championship D'Antoni. Lin and Klay were back, and it effectively neutralized Wade's foul-hunting drives.

Out of the timeout, though, the Heat looked completely lost. LeBron's face said it all—Miami's offense ran out of ideas. A 24-second violation followed.

The Knicks capitalized right away. Paul isolated Chalmers and hit a pull-up jumper for his 28th point.

112–108, Knicks.

Another timeout for Miami. Spoelstra had just one left.

Then came the twist.

When the Heat came out of the huddle, Spoelstra threw in James Jones—a move born out of desperation. The Knicks' zone was suffocating them, and they desperately needed spacing.

And somehow, that gamble paid off.

Jones drilled a corner three, cutting it to 112–111. After Green scored on a backdoor cut, Jones struck again—pulling up from just beyond the 45-degree mark and splashing it home at the buzzer.

114–114. Tie game.

American Airlines Arena exploded.

LeBron hugged Jones like a long-lost brother, both of them shouting and pounding their chests. For once, it wasn't that James saving the day—it was James Jones.

1:04 left on the clock.

D'Antoni called a timeout, calmly drawing up two plays. "Klay, Green—keep moving, keep the floor spaced. Lin, Chris—take what the defense gives you. If you're open, shoot. No hesitation."

Back on the floor, the Knicks had the ball. The atmosphere was suffocating. Lin and Paul ran their usual high pick-and-roll. Lin rolled to the basket, slipped past LeBron, and scored with ease.

116–114, Knicks.

Lin exhaled, feeling the adrenaline flood through him. It had been a while since he'd been in this kind of moment—the kind where every second could swing everything.

And he loved it. This—this was basketball.

Then, Wade attacked again. He baited Klay into contact and got the whistle.

Klay grimaced, clearly upset. Lin gave him a gentle pat on the head.

"Klay, be careful with your hands at the end. Refs usually won't call normal contact, but if you reach, they'll see it every time."

Klay nodded, still frustrated.

Wade sank both free throws. 116–116. 39 seconds left.

The crowd began to roar—"Defense! Defense!"

The Knicks slowed it down. Paul dribbled out the clock, waiting for the screen. Lin popped out this time instead of rolling. CP3 drew the double-team and kicked it out. Klay caught, rose, and fired…

Clang.

The rebound fell to the Heat. Spoelstra didn't call a timeout—Wade took charge.

"This is my house!" he shouted, before crossing over, stepping back, and hitting the jumper.

116–118, Heat.

The arena erupted. Fans were jumping, screaming, and the Miami bench was waving towels. It felt like a coronation.

LeBron was ecstatic yet again. Jones, Wade—they'd done it.

Or so it seemed.

The officials checked the clock. 0.4 seconds remained.

Lin Yi tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling lights. 0.4 seconds? That's basically impossible.

Klay, meanwhile, looked devastated—he'd fouled, missed a wide-open shot, and now felt responsible for everything.

Lin reached out again, resting his hand on Klay's head. "It's fine. This is how you grow. We may lose, but we'll learn, and we'll be better."

Coach D'Antoni's final play was simple: Paul inbounding, with Klay, Green, and Battier screening for Lin. If Lin could get a lob, they'd go for it. If not, whoever got open would shoot immediately.

There wasn't time for speeches—everyone knew what this game meant.

When play resumed, LeBron and Wade were grinning, finally relaxed. The Heat bench was on its feet, ready to celebrate.

As the players took their spots, Lin sprinted toward the rim, with Bosh shadowing him closely. Lin had already made up his mind—if Paul threw it up, he'd go for it, no matter what.

But at the last moment, Paul saw something—someone—flash open on the wing.

Klay Thompson.

Paul didn't hesitate.

Klay rose, form perfect, release clean. 0.4 seconds was just enough.

Because shooters don't count time—they count rhythm.

Even if you've missed ten in a row, you shoot the next one like it's the only one that matters.

In that moment, Klay was moving in slow motion in Lin's mind.

The ball arced through the air.

The crowd collectively held its breath.

No way. Not at 0.4. That just doesn't happen.

.

.

.

Just kidding—

Swish.

Lin Yi: (⊙﹏⊙)

"KLAY THOMPSON! He hits it! He hits the game-winner against the Miami Heat!"

"Oh, unbelievable! The Knicks win their nineteenth straight!"

When the splash flies, the rim gets wet.

...

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