Yao Ming froze for a moment.
Lin Yi's invitation had genuinely caught him off guard.
It wasn't that Yao Ming had no regrets about his NBA career—of course, he did. But accepting Lin Yi's offer wasn't a simple decision. Family. Health. His body. All of it weighed heavily on him.
And there was another thing.
In Yao Ming's eyes, Lin Yi had always been a younger brother. A talented one, sure—but still someone he looked after. Now, that same lil bro was offering to shoulder him.
That alone took some getting used to.
Lin Yi could tell Yao Ming was hesitating, but he wasn't in a rush. If he'd decided to make the offer, he was prepared to be patient. He wasn't the type to force anyone's hand.
He preferred persuasion. Calm logic. A little emotion—when necessary.
"Brother Yao," Lin Yi said, "just look at your condition. Retiring now would be a waste."
Lin added, taking a playful jab at his partner, "Plus, your three-point shot is steadier than Paul's."
Yao Ming laughed.
"And come on," Lin Yi added, half-joking, "Having a championship ring for pictures will be nice. Can't have Shaq have all the fun, right?"
"Enough," Yao Ming said, shaking his head, but the smile gave him away.
Not far away at the Houston training facility, Yi Jianlian watched the two of them from a distance and leaned toward Wang Zhizhi.
"Big Wang… what's Lin doing?" Yi asked quietly.
Wang Zhizhi shrugged. "I heard he's trying to bring Yao to the Knicks next season."
Yi Jianlian stiffened.
After days of training, he had already accepted his role as the younger generation. But if Yao Ming really joined the Knicks… that would be brutal for the rest of the league.
Drive inside, and you'd meet Lin Yi. Or Yao Ming. Or Tyson Chandler. Or all three.
Who was supposed to survive that?
Even late into his career, Yao Ming's shooting touch was good. ESPN's analytics had once shown that from the 2010–11 season onward, his mid-range efficiency was hot. At that height, it wasn't about defenders being lazy—they simply couldn't reach him.
Three giants standing together.
Blocking wasn't an option. Contesting wasn't realistic.
At this point, Yao Ming was already halfway convinced. Even after slimming down, he could still back down big men who jumped like fireworks. His minutes didn't need to be long—New York didn't require that from him.
The real reason he'd decided to retire was simpler: he felt he'd given everything he had to Houston. He thought that after the London Olympics, he could finally walk away without regret.
But Lin Yi's invitation struck a nerve.
An NBA championship.
Who wouldn't want one?
Yao Ming had been treating Lin Yi to dinner every day during camp, joking like always. Yet when he watched Lin Yi walk ahead—young, energetic, carrying the weight of an entire era—the man who had once opened the NBA's doors for Chinese basketball found himself standing still.
Without realizing it, ten years had passed.
How many ten-year stretches does a person get?
From Shanghai to Houston. From curiosity to responsibility. From a lone giant crossing the ocean to a generation standing behind him.
The words on paper were never enough to capture that youth.
Time moved forward, indifferent to nostalgia.
Ten years ago, Yao Ming had boarded a plane with a suitcase and a dream. Ten years later, standing at the edge of retirement, he found himself unwilling to let go—because he could see it now.
A real breakthrough.
Last year, brutal battles with Dallas, victory brought a banner to New York.
This year, seven wars against Miami in the Conference Finals—defeated, yet crowned.
Lin Yi was only twenty-two.
Yao Ming was about to turn thirty-two.
Time would pass. Bodies would age.
But some things—ambition, pride, belief—didn't have to.
...
On the 25th, the Chinese men's basketball team departed for London.
Before takeoff, head coach Dan officially announced the 12-man roster:
Centers:
Yao Ming, Wang Zhizhi
Power Forwards:
Lin Yi, Yi Jianlian
Small Forwards:
Zhu Fangyu, Zhou Peng, Ding Yanyuhang
Shooting Guards:
Wang Shipeng, Yang Ming
Point Guards:
Liu Wei, Sun Yue, Guo Ailun
On the plane, Yao Ming and Lin Yi sat side by side. Given the height of most of the roster, the long-haul flight was a charter—no cramped commercial seats this time.
At the London Olympics, the Chinese men's team was placed in Group B, just as Lin Yi remembered. Spain, Great Britain, Australia, Brazil, and Russia—none of them weak opponents. Still, with Lin Yi joining the squad and Yao Ming delaying retirement, the outside world was cautiously optimistic about China advancing from the group.
Lin Yi remembered clearly: in another timeline, this team would've gone winless, losing by over twenty points a game. But history had already shifted.
With this squad, even the media started getting carried away.
"We want revenge on Spain for Beijing 2008!" they shouted.
Lin Yi couldn't help but feel that his presence had somehow made everyone around him a little too confident.
That said, advancing from the group wasn't unrealistic. This wasn't arrogance—it was just that this version of the team was far stronger than the one he remembered.
As for beating Spain? That would depend on the game itself. In the NBA, the Gasol brothers and Ibaka looked uncomfortable every time they matched up with Lin Yi. But Spain's overall balance was still superior. The Chinese team couldn't shut them down completely, and any shootout would come down to whether the perimeter players could hit their shots.
Just as the plane was preparing for takeoff, Yao Ming looked over at Lin Yi, who was studying the schedule.
"Lin."
Lin Yi looked up. "Yeah? Seat bothering you?"
Yao Ming shook his head. "I've been thinking about what you said these past two days."
He paused for a moment.
"I haven't talked it through with my family or the team yet. But… I appreciate you believing in me."
Then he continued, more quietly, "I really do want to play one more year."
Lin Yi stayed silent, listening.
"Give me a veteran minimum," Yao Ming said. "I'll come to the Knicks."
For a brief moment, Lin Yi felt a surge of excitement he couldn't quite explain. He knew this might end up being the most important signing New York made that summer.
He smiled, and the two bumped fists.
As the engines roared to life, the Chinese men's basketball team officially lifted off for London.
Ahead of them waited a journey that would be remembered for years to come.
...
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