radicalducati Chapter 67 The Last Minute: The Terrifying Suona
Chapter 67 The Last Minute: The Terrifying Suona
There is 1 minute and 05 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter.
The air had been sucked out, leaving only twelve thousand lungs gasping for breath, like twelve thousand dilapidated bellows simultaneously pumping out their own. The glaring red numbers on the scoreboard, like two nails, were etched deep into the retinas of every Chinese person.
China 86: South Korea 83.
A mere 3-point lead. This isn't just a game; it's a tightrope walk, a fall into an abyss.
Lin Hao bent over, supporting himself on his knees. The sweat was no longer dripping, but rather pouring down his lean back, shoulder blades, and his tattered No. 7 jersey like a floodgate had been opened. Each drop of sweat that hit the maple floor left a dark stain, a mark of his desperate struggle.
A long, gruesome tear ran across the left chest of his jersey, ripped open by Fang Chengyun's fingernails during the third quarter. Through the tear, one could see the mangled, bloody skin and deep purple bruises. With each breath, a dull ache shot through his ribs, a lingering pain from the knee strike Ha Seung-jin had delivered earlier.
But he didn't frown, nor did he even utter a sound.
[Ding! Host vital signs monitoring: Heart rate 190, body temperature 38.7℃, severe muscle lactic acid buildup, pain tolerance threshold exceeded.]
[Real-time progress of the mission: Points 34/30, Assists 11/10, Steals 5/5, Technical Fouls 0/0]
[Warning: Only 65 seconds remain until the end. Please remain absolutely calm and do not allow the referee's decisions to cause mission failure. The S-rank talent "Iron Fortress" is waiting to be activated in the results queue.]
"Sixty-five seconds..." Lin Hao silently counted in his mind, his tongue pressed against his cheek, tasting the strong rusty flavor. It was blood flowing from the lining of his mouth, which he had bitten through. He had to swallow this blood, along with all his anger, back down into his stomach.
The attack and defense from just now are still replaying in my mind's eye, like a nightmare I can't wake up from.
The South Korean team then launched another attack. Fang Chengyun cut out using a double screen and received the ball beyond the three-point line. Lin Hao, like a wolf smelling blood, guarded him closely throughout the entire court.
Fang Chengyun changed direction, but Lin Hao advanced instead of retreating, using his chest to withstand Fang Chengyun's impact!
"Bang!"
With a muffled thud, Lin Hao staggered from the impact, but managed to hold his position firmly. Fang Chengyun lost his balance and barely managed to throw—
"Snapped!"
Du Feng leaped from the weak side to cover, slamming the ball down on the backboard with one hand! It was a sure shot!
But the referee's whistle darted out like a venomous snake.
"Beep—!"
Sharp and harsh.
The referee's finger pointed stiffly at Lin Hao.
"White team (China team) commits a blocking foul! Two free throws!"
"Fuck your mother!!!"
Like an enraged brown bear, Battier overturned a chair on the bench, his massive body smashing through the guard board as he tried to charge onto the court. Zhang Yunsong and Guo Shiqiang held him tightly, and the three of them wrestled together.
Zhao Dabao, who was in the stands, was crying and trying to rush into the stadium, but was firmly stopped by security.
Lin Hao stood still, without roaring, without shrugging, and without even glancing at the referee.
He just stared intently at Fang Chengyun. There was no anger in his eyes, because anger is a weak emotion. In his eyes was only a desolate, icy plain, cold as absolute zero.
[Technical foul: 0/0]
He endured it. For that "steel fortress," and to prevent his career from being destroyed by injuries again, he turned himself into an emotionless stone.
Fang Chengyun stepped to the free-throw line for his first shot.
"Whoosh." In. 86 to 84.
Second penalty.
"Bang!" The basketball hit the back of the rim and bounced out!
Battier's large frame tightly blocked South Korean center Ha Seung-jin behind him, leaving him no room to grab the rebound, and blocked that damn ball away!
Two points, damn two points.
Possession changed! China has possession! Time remaining: 00:52 seconds.
Coach Jiang Xingquan sprang up from his chair like a spring, waving his hands wildly: "Timeout! China team, timeout!"
The referee indicated that the timeout was valid.
The buzzer blared, and the game stopped.
Lin Hao, head bowed, walked slowly off the field like a lone wolf that had just finished its hunt. As he passed the technical table, the West Asian referee was keeping his head down, not daring to look at Lin Hao.
"Beep—"
Just as Lin Hao was passing by the first row of the audience, the West Asian referee suddenly shouted again.
The entire audience felt disheartened.
The referee pointed at the scorer's table, muttering something under his breath, then pointed to a spot in the stands, a hint of smugness on his face.
Everyone looked in the direction the referee was pointing.
At the highest point of the stands, Zhao Dabao was pulling a golden suona wrapped in red silk from a canvas bag.
"What is he trying to do?" Yao Ming jumped up in the VIP box, his fists clenched. "Why is he blowing the whistle now? The referee will call a technical foul on us!"
According to FIBA rules, it is a violation for spectators to continuously create noise to interfere with free throws, and the referee has the right to issue a technical foul to the home team.
But Zhao Dabao was prepared.
Three days ago, he submitted an application to the organizing committee for a performance featuring traditional Chinese musical instruments, ostensibly to "promote traditional Chinese culture and complement the closing ceremony's cultural performance." After some mediation by the Chinese liaison officer of the Asian Basketball Federation, the application was stamped with the official seal and approved for display "before and during the awards ceremony."
Now, Zhao Dabao defines it as "a folk rehearsal before the awards ceremony, where the sound system is tested in advance."
The officer on duty at the technical desk glanced at the application form, then at the referee, and helplessly shrugged—they had already stamped it; this was part of an official cultural event, and the referee had no authority to issue a penalty. At most, they could only give a verbal warning.
Zhao Dabao took a deep breath, puffed out his cheeks like a frog, and suddenly blew the suona!
"Beep beep—da—beep beep—da—!"
The sound was sharp, shrill, and high-pitched, like a red-hot iron shovel that pierced into everyone's eardrums!
This isn't "Charge," nor is it "A Man Should Be Self-Reliant." This is a variation of "The Grand Funeral," mournful and desolate, specifically used for wailing and mourning at gravesites!
Fang Chengyun was just about to catch the ball when he was startled by the sudden howling, and his hand trembled, almost causing him to drop the ball.
"Damn it!" Fang Chengyun cursed, looking up and glaring fiercely at the stands.
Zhao Dabao grinned and gave him the middle finger, straining his cheeks even more to make the mournful "didi-didi" sound long and drawn out, as if he were wailing for Fang Chengyun.
A dozen or so trainees from the Spark Youth Training Camp nearby, each holding a small suona, also started playing. For a moment, a chilling, eerie wind swirled through the entire stadium.
"Beep!" The referee signaled the start of the free throw.
Fang Chengyun received the ball, took a deep breath, and prepared for the free throw.
"Beep beep-beep-beep-beep!"
The suona horn grew louder, even taking on a strange rhythm, like a Taoist priest chanting incantations to deliver the dead.
Fang Chengyun's eyebrow twitched as he took the first free throw—
"Bang!" The basketball hit the back of the rim and bounced out!
"Bravo!!!" The whole stadium cheered.
Fang Chengyun's face turned ashen as he picked up the ball, preparing for his second free throw.
"Beep beep-da!!!"
Zhao Dabao practically roared it out; the sound was so sharp it could pierce eardrums.
Fang Chengyun's hand trembled violently, but he forced himself to adjust his body and strike—
"Clang! Boom! Swish!" The basketball hit the back edge of the rim and bounced up, but then hit the backboard and bounced back into the basket.
86:84
"Sigh!" The entire audience and players sighed loudly.
Possession! China! Time remaining: 00:36.4 seconds!
The entire stadium erupted in a frenzy of red!
"Timeout! China team, timeout!" Coach Jiang Xingquan rushed onto the court like a madman, waving his hands.
The buzzer blared again, and the game stopped.
Lin Hao brushed his sweat-dampened hair back, revealing his bloodshot yet incredibly cold eyes. He strode towards the bench, exchanging a glance with Zhao Dabao as he passed the scorer's table.
Zhao Dabao proudly raised his suona and gave an OK sign.
Lin Hao didn't laugh. He walked straight to the bench, and his teammates immediately surrounded him, using towels to form a tent to block the camera lens.
"Listen, only one point left." Lin Hao's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper grinding iron, but every word carried immense weight. "Pass the ball up the court. After I receive the ball, I won't call a play. Stick to the offensive clock and prevent them from resorting to dirty tactics again."
He looked around at everyone, his gaze sweeping across each face like a knife.
"Fang Chengyun will press the entire court. I will use the bus's cover to move to the strong side, and the sudden split is a feint."
Lin Hao paused, his eyes turning incredibly fierce.
"If Fang Chengyun switches defense, I'll do it myself. All of you, clear the strong side and create space for one-on-one plays!"
"Understood!" the crowd roared in unison.
Lin Hao glanced one last time at the system panel in his mind.
[0/0 technical fouls - condition met]
[Approximately 8 seconds remaining until the end of the match. Completing the mission will reward you with the S-rank talent "Iron Fortress"...]
He tugged at the hem of his tattered jersey, took out the empty metal spoon from the can of yellow peaches from his pocket, twirled it halfway between his fingers, and clicked it into his shorts pocket.
"Let's win the championship."
Jiang Xingquan patted him on the back without saying another word. Adijiang handed him the last bottle of sports drink, still covered in ice crystals.
The timer resets, and the players return to the field.
Lin Hao stepped onto the center arc, glanced at the scoreboard, and then at the front row of the stands—Yao Ming, wearing a baseball cap, his right fist clenched to his lips, silently saying, "A game-winning shot."
Lin Hao gave a very faint smile.
He was waiting for the referee to give him the ball.