Chapter 386: Undeterred by the Tech, Building Momentum
38 to 53.
China still held a 13 point lead, and Spain came back down with the kind of patience that made European teams so hard to shake.
Calderon brought it up slowly, eyes up, calling the set at the top while he tracked every cut and screen. He did not rush. He understood the math of a comeback, the more you are behind, the more you have to value possessions.
He swung it to Reyes, then Reyes bounced it to Pau Gasol. Gasol could not bully Yao Ming, so he made the smart read and hit Reyes on the cut.
Reyes caught, turned the corner immediately, and finished a banked layup through the lane.
40 to 53.
That was Reyes in his comfort zone. He had the body to post, but his real damage came from movement, timing, and those 45 degree attacks where he could get downhill before the defense set its feet. China had seen it before, and he was still doing it now.
…
China answered.
Liu Wei shielded the ball with his back to Calderon as he crossed half court. Calderon was not known as a stopper in the NBA, but against most Chinese guards he still had a physical edge. That was the gap.
Still, this was not Team USA pressure. Liu Wei could breathe.
He drifted to the left wing. Chen Yan floated up to the top to receive. Yi Jianlian stepped up to screen, but the angle was soft and Navarro slipped around it clean.
Chen Yan pointed left, calm but firm, asking for another one.
Yi Jianlian reset and this time planted his feet, giving Chen Yan a real wall. Chen Yan drove, drew Pau Gasol into a hard hedge, and pulled the ball back under control.
On the weak side, Zhu used an off ball screen and popped to the arc.
Chen Yan saw it instantly. That was Zhu's rhythm.
The pass came on time.
Swish.
40 to 56.
Chen Yan and Zhu slapped hands as the crowd roared. Across these 2 games, Zhu had been China's steadiest perimeter release, the one guy who looked ready the moment the ball hit his hands.
And Chen Yan was not just scoring anymore, he was stitching the whole offense together. With the Suns, he could live in scorer mode and sprinkle in playmaking. Here, if he tried to play that way, the offense would stall and die. He had to organize and attack, both.
He could not help but shake his head as he jogged back.
If it was not necessary, who wanted to do both jobs at once.
…
Spain ran their next possession with crisp movement, screens, cuts, and quick decisions. The ball zipped from side to side, a reminder of the discipline China still needed to learn.
The shot, though, did not fall.
Clang.
Pau Gasol missed from the midrange, and Yao Ming secured the rebound with two hands.
Chen Yan came to meet him.
And the moment the ball touched his hands, he exploded.
He pushed the break like the court had tilted downhill. None of his teammates could match his pace, they were running basketball, he was running track.
At midcourt, Reyes and Navarro converged to stop the ball.
Chen Yan did not slow. He split them anyway, forcing his way through the gap like he had a blade in his shoulder.
One step later, it was open runway.
Boom.
A violent dunk that set the arena on fire.
Reneses had no choice. Timeout.
Spain had not been inefficient to start the half, but the lead was stretching anyway, and the veteran coach wanted new energy on the floor.
He subbed out Calderon, Jimenez, and Reyes, bringing in Rubio, Marc Gasol, and Fernandez.
Younger legs. More speed. More aggression.
Jonas answered by pulling Yi Jianlian and sending in Wang Zhizhi. The adjustment was clear, spread the floor, put shooters everywhere, and carve out driving space for Chen Yan. China's version of 1 star and 4 shooters.
…
Spain came out of the timeout with Rubio handling.
The golden boy crossed half court with his head up, calm and fearless. Scouts had been watching him for years, and the NBA was already circling his name.
Rubio fed Marc Gasol, who was still raw on offense and mostly there to battle bodies and chase rebounds. Marc swung it to Fernandez, and Fernandez hit him with a sharp fake, then darted the other way.
Zhu bit, just a half step.
That was enough.
Fernandez drove straight into the restricted area, fast and decisive, a Spanish guard with real athletic pop, sharp instincts, and the kind of confidence that traveled well.
Yao Ming stepped up to help, and Fernandez dumped it to Pau Gasol behind the play.
Yao could not recover in time.
Gasol went up for the layup, thinking it was easy.
Then Chen Yan appeared from nowhere.
A blur from behind, a hand coming down like a hammer.
Slap.
A pin to the glass.
The building detonated. People loved that, a smaller guard erasing a star big man at the rim. It did not matter how many times you had seen blocks, that visual always landed.
Chen Yan secured the ball and turned to run.
Rubio lunged from the side, reaching for the steal.
Chen Yan lifted his off arm to protect the ball and Rubio crashed into his left hand hard. Rubio came in aggressive, even dipping his shoulder, and the contact jolted Chen Yan off balance.
A whistle.
Only a common foul.
Chen Yan walked toward the official immediately, jaw tight, talking with sharp, controlled anger. He knew the call would not flip. He was sending a message.
The referee shook his head, unmoved.
The crowd drowned the moment in boos. It was loud enough that you could feel it in the air, like pressure building behind your ears. Some fans started shouting things that definitely would not make the highlight reel.
Chen Yan stared for one more beat, then turned away.
Fine.
If the whistle would not help him, he would help himself.
…
China attacked again.
As Liu Wei crossed half court, Zhu ran off a screen to the arc, ready for another catch and shoot.
Spain read it.
Fernandez shot the passing lane, got a hand on the ball, and deflected it toward the sideline. Navarro sprinted and jumped to save it, but the ball floated into a messy space, half loose, half alive.
Chen Yan reached out with 1 hand and snatched it clean.
No pause.
He drove straight at the rim.
Marc Gasol rotated over, but his feet were late. Chen Yan changed gears and blew past him anyway.
Inside the restricted area, Chen Yan did not even gather like a normal guard. He planted and rose instantly, like the floor had springs.
The crowd stood before he even reached the peak.
He kept rising until his head was nearly level with the rim.
Both hands pulled the ball behind his head.
Then he detonated.
Boom.
The rim groaned.
And Chen Yan yanked it down with force, then slapped the backboard with his left hand in pure defiance.
Three sharp whistles.
Technical foul.
The referee did not hesitate. That kind of backboard slap was not allowed, not in this setting, not with FIBA officials watching every emotion like it was a rulebook page.
Chen Yan did not care.
He had taken the tech on purpose.
Because sometimes momentum cost something, and he was willing to pay, loud, unapologetic, and on home soil.
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