Marquette was thrown into disarray.
Although Wesley Matthews was not the team's primary spearhead, his importance was second only to Dominic James. Once play escalated from the minor skirmishes of early-season invitationals to the high-stakes battles of March Madness, Matthews was the player most capable of leveraging his immediate impact and physical toughness against the nation's elite collegiate athletes.
Last night, when analyzing Texas Tech's roster, Marquette's coaching staff had reached a clear consensus: without Jarrius Jackson, TTU was a toothless tiger. Shut down No. 1, and the rest were nothing to worry about.
Naturally, the task of locking down No. 1 fell to Wesley Matthews.
Yet after only a few possessions to open the game, far from carrying out his assignment, Matthews had suffered a brutal setback.
Marquette head coach Tom Crean had never expected that TTU, seemingly facing a dry spell of talent, had struck pure gold overseas.
However, Matthews could not afford to get dismantled like this. If Matthews got destroyed on the perimeter wing, it would deal a devastating blow to the team's morale.
After weighing his options, Crean stood on the sideline and shouted to another key sophomore guard, Jerel McNeal, "J-Mac, you take No. 1 for now!"
On the other sideline, Bob Knight was no longer pacing back and forth like a lion patrolling his territory the way he had in his younger days. He had seen more than enough big moments.
"Coach, they switched defenders!" Knight's trusted assistant Chris Beard called out.
"I see it." Knight's expression didn't even flicker. "Nothing's going to change."
If that bastard of a freshman really was as good as Knight thought he was, a defensive switch that barely qualified as a tactical tweak would have zero effect on him. Besides, the No. 22 switched over to him looked nowhere near capable of containing Xu Ling.
Knight was right.
Compared to Matthews, McNeal was less physically imposing. Standing at 193 centimeters, he was a textbook, standout college shooting guard—reliable at shooting and slashing alike—though relative to Marquette's other two backcourt stars, he functioned more as a secondary scoring option. Running the break, catch-and-shoot jumpers, and attacking the rim from the weak side were his bread and butter.
Yet after switching onto Xu Ling, he was rendered utterly silent.
Xu Ling was the best off-ball defender Knight had seen since arriving at TTU. The curious thing was that his defensive technique was nothing extraordinary, and his defensive awareness still needed refinement, yet he possessed the uncanny poise of a seasoned senior, rooted in experience that seemed to come from nowhere. His ability to read the game was a tier above everyone else on the floor.
On top of that, he possessed freakish concentration. Having kept a close eye on Xu Ling day after day, Knight had noticed another freakish trait: as long as he stood on the court, his gaze never once drifted away from the action.
McNeal went completely cold.
Once Xu Ling realized that his opponent lacked strong shot-creation skills—or rather, lacked the desire to create his own shot—he began leveraging his gifts to extend his defensive presence across the rest of the floor. On offense, Xu Ling dominated McNeal one-on-one, either scoring directly or drawing help to set up teammates, single-handedly generating a suffocating presence.
By the end of the first half, Texas Tech, widely seen as the underdog and playing without their captain, held an eight-point lead over Marquette, 44–36.
As Xu Ling walked off the floor, Knight was waiting on the sideline, seemingly there to greet him. Yet Knight didn't utter a word; he simply tossed a towel to him.
Xu Ling caught the towel, wiped his sweat, and asked, "Coach, don't you have anything to say?"
Knight didn't deliver the biting remarks Xu Ling had anticipated. He didn't say anything harsh at all.
"You played a Michael Jordan-level first half. I've got nothing to say."
A look of astonishment crossed Xu Ling's face. He truly hadn't expected those words from Knight.
"Don't get cocky!" Knight's face instantly hardened. "If you blow it in the second half, nobody will remember what you did in the first."
Xu Ling had no argument with that.
Back in the locker room, Knight displayed all the basketball acumen of a veteran coach. But his opening words stunned every player in the room.
"Good job." Knight's voice was as gravelly as ever, but hearing those two simple words come from his mouth was practically the highest praise imaginable.
He immediately reverted to his customary sternness, slapping his marker sharply against the clipboard. "But don't celebrate too early! Our opponents love to balance inside and outside, but tonight their perimeter shooting looks like there's a lid on the rim! Wesley Matthews, Dominic James, and that No. 22 who got roasted by TTU's very own 'custom-built Michael Jordan' shot a combined 3 of 16 from beyond the arc! In the second half, we stick with our zone defense—guard it like starving wolves watching a sheep pen! As long as they keep bricking shots, let them keep shooting! I want you to lock down the paint, don't give them an inch of breathing room! Am I clear?"
Listening to this, Xu Ling felt a slight pang of regret—or rather, quite a large one. He had only run his mouth a few days ago about becoming college basketball's Jordan, never expecting everyone to have such sharp memories. Not only had they taken it to heart, but they had turned it into a running joke.
Yet that regret vanished in an instant, replaced by a cold, sharp thrill. He needed this attention. He needed players like Wesley Matthews going at him on the court purely because of what he had said. It served as the ultimate touchstone, offering an unvarnished test of where his skills truly stood.
And right now, the result was clearer than ever: the doors to the NBA were swinging wide open before him. All he had to do was march right through them, head held high, in the loudest fashion possible.
During halftime, Marquette adjusted their strategy—sending Wesley Matthews back to guard Xu Ling.
There was no small irony in the decision. In the first half, Xu Ling had not only thoroughly bested Matthews in their individual matchup, but had posted 19 points, 4 rebounds, and 3 assists to prove to the entire arena who the real star in the building was. Curiously, once that fact was established, Matthews and his teammates shed their mental baggage. When a player finally accepts that he is outmatched, the game actually becomes simpler—their only task now was to stop that TTU Jordan wearing No. 1, whatever the cost.
As for Xu Ling, tonight marked the very first time he was granted total offensive freedom. At the start of the second half, Knight told him, "I don't care what you do. As long as you put the ball in the basket, do whatever you want!"
Getting that stubborn old man to relinquish his control and grant a player free rein was no small feat.
Xu Ling seized that hard-won freedom. Right out of the gate, he sank a ridiculous, fading jump shot over Matthews's head. On the next possession, Matthews tried to back down Xu Ling in the post, only to have his shot thoroughly contested.
If Marquette had harbored any lingering illusions that Matthews's first-half beating was merely a mental lapse and that he could still match up under normal conditions, those were shattered. Just like every other opponent, they resorted to double-teaming Xu Ling.
Xu Ling, however, picked them apart like a veteran, finding open teammates. Alan Voskuil drained a three-pointer.
The aggressive trap was dismantled with effortless ease. Trotting back on defense, Xu Ling smiled and asked his opponents, "Maybe you guys should try a triple-team?"
"That damn TTU Jordan!"
Matthews had regained his composure, but Marquette's sophomore leader Dominic James lost his temper, because he had been the one sent to double-team Xu Ling on that possession. Rattled by such blatant disrespect, the acclaimed Big East sophomore guard drove headlong into the lane with reckless abandon, only to be rejected at the rim by TTU's senior big man, Darryl Dora.
Martin Zeno scooped up the loose ball, pushed up the floor in transition, and whipped a cross-court pass to Xu Ling on the left wing. Xu Ling barreled toward the hoop, muscling past Matthews like a rampaging bull before rising with explosive power to hammer down a thunderous dunk.
"Thank your coach for me," Xu Ling said in an unfailingly mild, friendly tone. "I love matching up against lousy defenders. Makes me feel like I'm still in practice."
"Damn it!" James roared at Matthews. "Wesley, how much longer are you gonna let that TTU bastard run his mouth?"
But once James shifted the blame onto him, Matthews's mindset shifted too. Who the hell was the clown who forced a trash drive, got blocked, and gave up the fastbreak in the first place? Real mystery, isn't it?!
Witnessing the squabble, Xu Ling couldn't help musing to himself: Was every guy named James naturally inclined to pass the blame?
The friction within Marquette didn't escape the watchful eyes of either coaching staff. Now Tom Crean was genuinely beginning to sweat. Losing an invitational final was one thing, but if a rift formed between James and Matthews, the fallout would be immense.
Knight glared fixedly at the court and grumbled, "Does that punk not know how to shut his mouth?"
Little Knight tried to smooth things over: "Well... this might not have anything to do with Eli."
"I saw his mouth moving!" Knight glared at his son. "You think anything good comes out of that kid's mouth?"
Little Knight could only smile wryly. In truth, those inside TTU hadn't really felt the sting of Xu Ling's trash talk firsthand. Ironically, the person who understood the bite of Xu Ling's tongue best was Knight himself, because he was the one most prone to triggering Xu Ling's passive trait: "I disagree with every single word you say, and I must talk back."
Marquette never even managed to build any real momentum before Xu Ling ruthlessly snuffed it out. Dominic James, the floor general who should have controlled the game's pace, had completely lost his head, even bickering with his own teammates. Meanwhile, under Xu Ling's orchestration, Texas Tech hummed along like precision machinery. With ten minutes left on the clock, a twenty-point deficit had already sealed the outcome of this clash for the fifty-thousand-dollar prize.
Yet this was far more than just the outcome of an invitational tournament. As Marquette's players stared blankly at the freshman sporting jersey No. 1, more than a few scouts and professionals in attendance dimly sensed that this night might prove to be a watershed moment in both teams' seasons.
Smack!
Another clean, decisive steal!
Xu Ling tore down the court like a bolt of lightning, finishing his third breakaway slam of the night as Matthews watched helplessly. After landing, he strolled past his stunned defender.
"To correct what you said before the game," Xu Ling murmured, his voice so quiet only the two of them could hear, "I'm not TTU's Jordan.
"I'm the Jordan who's going to rewrite college basketball history."
Chapter 9