Lord Eli

39 points, 8 rebounds, 8 assists. And a buzzer-beater to take down the defending champion Spurs. Xu Ling's debut had ignited the arena, exactly as planned. FedExForum began to erupt with a fervor that bordered on religious worship. As far back as when West had chosen Xu Ling, some who followed college basketball predicted that he would change professional basketball in Memphis. It was just that a small market like Memphis, mired in its lowest depths, had no idea how far the arrival of a future superstar would change the team. Those who truly followed college basketball told and retold his accomplishments at Texas Tech over and over, and this viral hype initially backfired. Some fans mocked, "You talk like that Chinese guy is as great as the Lord himself." That was the origin of Xu Ling's nickname. Grizzlies fans jokingly called him "Lord," or "My Lord," and some went further still, "Lord Eli." But before tonight, these nicknames had been mostly teasing, memes, and mockery. Yet after Xu Ling put on such a debut and drained that buzzer-beater, when he rose from the pile of teammates, the fans in the arena chanted in unison: "Lord Eli! Lord Eli! Lord Eli!" That mocking jeering evaporated without a trace in that moment, replaced by a worship bordering on the divine, as if to shatter the very name "Memphis Grizzlies" and engrave the name "Eli" in its place. Xu Ling looked somewhat at a loss. The teammates around him likewise cast excited, envious glances his way. How many players could win over the home crowd with a debut? Pau Gasol watched Xu Ling with a complicated expression. He had once predicted that Xu Ling would retrace the road he himself had walked. And now? He was no longer so sure. "Lord," Lowry said, like a devout believer. "Aren't you going to say a few words to your faithful followers?" Xu Ling glanced at the female TNT reporter waiting not far off and answered, "It isn't time for the sermon yet. There's still real business to attend to." With that, he headed straight for the TNT interview area at the sideline, while the fans' cheers only surged higher, nearly lifting the roof off the arena. Rudy Gay stood far off at the mouth of the player tunnel, his body almost entirely swallowed by deep shadow; unless you looked closely, it was hard to tell anyone was standing there. He had not joined the reveling crowd. But when Xu Ling hit that three-pointer to overturn the Spurs' go-ahead basket, he too could not help springing up from his seat—only to quickly force the emotion down and recover his composure. When the Spurs players' faces filled with despair and his Grizzlies teammates swarmed the No. 1 player in wild celebration, he merely stood in silence at the very edge of the cheering circle. Then Gay thought of that fatal choice of his: in the final moments, he had broken out early to steal a fast break, only for Manu Ginobili to alertly scoop up the offensive rebound Tim Duncan had tipped loose and easily knock down the go-ahead shot. If he had not chosen to break out early, would that rebound have fallen into his hands instead? Would the game have ended right there? Why? Why had he made that call? He knew the answer. He had simply wanted, too badly, to be the hero who settled it all in one blow. The three-pointer Xu Ling hit had at least spared him from being condemned like a war criminal by the media and the fans after the game. He should have felt relieved, even happy. But Gay could feel it with perfect clarity: everything he had once longed to contend with Xu Ling for—the focus of the spotlight, the team's reliance, even the status of the franchise's number one—had now fallen entirely into the other man's hands. He was like a fish washed ashore by a great wave; even if it could still thrash and flop a couple more times, what was the point? Just last year, especially after Pau Gasol had openly requested a trade, the team had poured nearly all its resources into developing him, handing him responsibility worthy of the franchise's next face. Though his performance then had fallen short of expectations, in the summer just past he had worked harder than anyone. He was firmly convinced he had made great strides, enough to win back everything. And in the end, Gay could only stand there, watching helplessly as everyone—including the whole city that had once placed its hopes in him—became the most devout believers at that Chinese man's feet. A feeling of powerlessness, jealousy, and self-loathing all at once seized hold of Gay. Gay stopped looking at the boiling, jubilant crowd on the floor. He whirled around, shoved aside the water-bottle rack beside him, and charged back into the player tunnel without a backward glance, flinging all the noise and lights fiercely behind him. The locker room was full of the clamor of players high-fiving one another and talking and laughing at the top of their lungs. Xu Ling was the last to walk in. "Eli, what you pulled off tonight is exactly what those people in Detroit once hoped I would do," Darko Milicic said, coming up to meet him, half moved and half teasing. "How does it feel to be the Lord of Memphis?" Honestly, as a man with no religious faith, this kind of title left Xu Ling feeling a little subtly uncomfortable. "Then why didn't you do it back then?" Xu Ling asked back with a smile, trying to steer things somewhere lighter. "Was it because Detroit's nightclubs are more alluring than Beale Street in Memphis?" "Hey! What are you talking about, rookie!" Mike Miller cut in, throwing up an arm and shouting, "Everyone listen up! There's only one right answer to this—f*** Larry Brown!" The locker room instantly erupted in knowing laughter and shouts of agreement. At this point Jarrius Jackson—Xu Ling's most steadfast ally, or perhaps the Lord's most faithful believer—looked around and asked, "Where's Rudy?" Hearing that, Milicic, who knew the inside story, walked a few steps over to the shower and raised his voice toward it. "Hey, Rudy! Don't soak in there too long. If you ask me, you really ought to come out and thank Eli. You know perfectly well whose name would be splashed across every headline tomorrow if he hadn't hit that buzzer-beater." Inside the shower, the sound of water suddenly swelled, the fierce stream pounding against the floor becoming the only reply. Gay stayed silent throughout. "All right, Darko," Xu Ling cut in. "Leave him be." Milicic at once turned, faced Xu Ling, and swept him an exaggerated bow, answering with mock solemnity, "As you command, My Lord." Xu Ling didn't like Gay. From the very first day of training camp, it was fated that there would never be much between them, like parallel lines that never meet. But for now, he had taken the logo man's words to heart. He disguised it well—and grew ever more keenly aware of the necessity of that disguise. Keeping Gay's mindset steady, letting him at least perform normally most of the time—only in that way could he possibly be sold for a good price down the line. So when the moment called for it, Xu Ling would not only refrain from kicking a man while he was down, he would even reach out and haul him back up. This was the act that a man trapped in basketball hell, forced to play the magnanimous one, had to keep performing. Let it be known. It was only a question of how long this act could go on—and what would happen when things started to go wrong. Before long, Marc Iavaroni came in with his assistant coaches. The excitement in Iavaroni still hadn't faded. "Good work, fellas! What a great win! I'm proud of you! Especially the execution and the toughness in the closing minutes—enjoy tonight! But tomorrow morning in film session, we're going to take a hard look at the problems that cropped up in the second quarter!" The team cheered in agreement. Iavaroni looked at Xu Ling and said with a smile, "Eli, I think I'll go with you to the press conference after all." "May I ask why?" Xu Ling raised an eyebrow. "Because as long as you're there, the reporters won't hound me with questions nonstop," Iavaroni admitted frankly. It was a reason so honest there was no arguing with it. Xu Ling and Iavaroni had barely neared the media interview room when the noisy tide of voices had already pierced through the door. The instant it was pushed open, a nearly suffocating wall of blinding flashes surged at them, lighting the corridor as bright as day. The room was packed with reporters, long lenses and camera bodies stacked in rank upon rank. TNT, ESPN, the Associated Press, The New York Times, Sports Illustrated, Memphis's most influential local magazine Blues Weekly, and a large contingent of overseas media. Nearly every outlet worth naming had turned out. Amid the shifting crowd, one could even pick out a few famous faces that usually showed up only at nationally televised events. They weren't there for Iavaroni—every eye was fixed, burning, on Xu Ling. Xu Ling knew the work in the media interview room might be even harder than the game. He took a deep breath, sat up straight, and gestured with a smile toward the ESPN reporter. "Eli, tonight you put up 39 points, 8 rebounds, 8 assists. How would you grade your own debut?" Xu Ling answered with a smile, "Grade it? I'm no referee. But if a perfect score is 10, I'd probably give tonight's rim a 10—it was pretty friendly to me." A good start—the Lord had a sense of humor. Then came the Times reporter, who naturally brought up the sportswear-brand feud: "Eli, do you think tonight's performance can answer those who questioned Adidas giving you a four-year, sixty-million-dollar endorsement deal?" Xu Ling answered without a moment's hesitation: "The doubters only have to open their mouths and say their piece; I have far too much to think about. What Adidas believes in is my future, not just this one game. As for tonight... I'd say at least this sixty million doesn't look so much like Monopoly money anymore, right?" Next, the local media asked, "How was that final play drawn up?" Naturally, Xu Ling answered for Iavaroni as well. "Honestly, the best play is to give the ball to the person who deserves to win the most—and tonight, that person is me." Hearing that, if not for the setting, the Memphis reporter who had asked would have wanted to bolt straight out of the media room and join that army of lunatics outside FedExForum hollering "Lord Eli." Of course, the most interesting answer belonged to the most interesting question. Grant Wahl of Sports Illustrated—an old acquaintance of Xu Ling's—raised the name everyone had all but forgotten: "Eli, how do you assess Rudy Gay's decision to break out early for the fast break in the final moments?" There were always some things in this world Xu Ling found hard to understand. For instance, the way Kanna Seto had blown up before he transmigrated; and again tonight, Gay's utterly baffling choice. How on earth had any of it happened? "I don't know, and I have nothing to say about it," Xu Ling replied with a smile. "When the sun rises tomorrow, I'll have forgotten all about it." The media interview room erupted at once in a wave of knowing laughter.