Chapter Three: Whose Script?

Tang caught, rose, and—though her movement was still a little stiff—did not hesitate. The three fell. 87–84. Yunzhou's final shot missed. Qiao seized the rebound as the horn disappeared beneath the roar. Tang crashed into Xinglan's arms in tears. Zhou hovered nearby, wanting to join but afraid. Xinglan reached out and pulled her into the circle. At the press conference, a reporter asked, “You scored fourteen but set a playoff career high with fifteen assists. Why give up the chance at a game-winner?” “Because I wasn't the open player.” “Is it true you and management disagreed about your minutes?” Luo sat in the front row, his gaze sharp as a needle.