Chapter Eighty-Eight: This Is Not Oracle Bone Script

“Dunk!”

Inside Orlando’s Amway Center, the announcer could hardly contain his excitement. “Look at the fans courtside—they’ve been waiting for that all night!”

Wu Rui had barely landed, still adjusting his stance, when CJ Wilcox—the teammate who’d assisted him on the alley-oop—hurried over and patted his chest. “Sorry, Michael, my pass was too far behind you!”

Wilcox, caught up in the moment, had focused only on making the alley-oop and overshot his mark. By the time he released the ball, it was already behind Wu Rui’s head—an impossible spot for most players to finish from. Pulling off an alley-oop from there would’ve been a tall order for anyone.

“It’s alright, CJ. That was no trouble for me,” Wu Rui smiled at his teammate. “You can throw it like that every time if you want.”

As the saying goes, every top-five alley-oop highlight usually features a disastrous pass. If you don’t believe it, just look at the greatest player in Cleveland Cavaliers’ history as proof.

Back on the court, Harrison Barnes was fuming. After missing his own shot, he watched Wu Rui seize the opportunity for a fast-break alley-oop. To make matters worse, the rookie had pulled it off with an ease that completely dismissed Barnes’ presence—leaving the North Carolina Black Hawk’s scalp tingling.

“Seth, make sure you get me the ball!”

Barnes inbounded the ball and, as he raced up the court, muttered to Seth Curry in passing. Curry glanced at his teammate’s retreating back, wanting to say something, but swallowed his words—Barnes was in no mood to listen.

With a thud, Curry dribbled over half-court. He glanced at Barnes, locked in a wrestling match with Wu Rui, and without hesitation, passed him the ball.

Seeing Barnes with the ball again, Wu Rui took a step back, making things clear. “Just saving you from shoving me in a minute. This way, the ref won’t call you for an offensive foul.”

“Are you serious?”

Wu Rui mumbled as he gave Barnes space, making Barnes’ face darken. “Get up here and defend me!”

Barnes’ original plan was to exploit his physical advantage and drive hard against Wu Rui’s tight defense, either scoring or drawing a foul. Even if he couldn’t get an and-one, it would be enough to quash the second-round rookie’s confidence. With luck, he might even throw down a vicious dunk in reply.

But now, Wu Rui simply backed off, throwing Barnes’ plan into disarray.

Even worse, Barnes was now left with only one option: shoot. And he found himself in a familiar—too familiar—spot.

“Take the shot, man. Pretend this is your Dallas home court,” Wu Rui chattered, activating his trash-talk mode the moment he saw Barnes hesitate. “Relax, this isn’t Oracle Arena. You’ll make it, no problem!”

“Damn it!”

Barnes’ face flushed red. Staring at Wu Rui, who looked as harmless as a lamb, he pulled up for a jumper right there. He refused to believe he couldn’t hit a shot in this building.

But cold reality slapped Barnes in the face.

Clang!

The ball struck the back of the rim and bounced high. Bismack Biyombo corralled the rebound and immediately ignited the break. DJ Augustin and CJ Wilcox raced ahead—a textbook two-man fast break, and the Magic collected another easy two.

With Orlando repeatedly scoring in transition, Mavericks head coach Rick Carlisle was irate, shouting from the sidelines. He’d started Curry and Barnes in the second quarter, hoping his starters would secure a lead.

Instead, the Magic were close to building an insurmountable one.

“Dig in, guys, move the ball!” Carlisle cupped his hands around his mouth, making a megaphone. “Seth, stay patient! Harrison, keep your cool!”

Keep your cool, Harrison. Barnes heard his coach’s cry, but bitterness welled up inside him. He’d been keeping cool all summer, but now, inside Amway Center, with Wu Rui’s endless banter in his ear, he was completely lost.

As the Mavericks’ offensive spearhead, Barnes’ struggles signaled a complete collapse of Dallas’ offense in the second quarter. Curry had orchestrated a few decent plays, but with no one able to finish, they all unraveled.

On the Magic’s side, things couldn’t have been smoother. A simple pick-and-roll between Wu Rui and Biyombo was all it took to get open looks. Familiar spots, familiar rims, and Wu Rui’s most practiced form—he sank two mid-range jumpers in a row.

“Michael—Wu!”

The arena DJ was on point. Each time Wu Rui’s shot dropped, his name reverberated through the building.

“Michael hits another jumper. Man, I think I need to buy a lottery ticket tonight!”

“Count me in. I used to think the odds of Michael making a mid-range were worse than me hitting the jackpot!”

Wu Rui’s streak had the crowd on their feet, arms waving, voices roaring.

Those who’d stayed through that dreary first quarter in Amway Center had proven themselves the truest of Magic fans. They all knew Wu Rui’s greatest strength was his athleticism—his ability to sprint from backcourt to frontcourt, chase down blocks, soar for put-back dunks over the likes of Rudy Gobert. His shooting, though, was another story—usually an eyesore.

But tonight, everything had changed.

“Michael is on fire! The second quarter isn’t even over and he’s six of seven for 12 points!” The announcer flipped through the stat sheet courtside. “Only one of those was a fast-break dunk—the rest were all mid-range jumpers!”

“And remember, last game, Michael was stuck on the bench watching the water cooler!” his partner chimed in, shaking his head. “The game before that, he was paying tuition to Paul George in Indiana!”

Swish!

Wu Rui nailed yet another mid-range jumper, oblivious to the stunned looks from fans and commentators alike. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he glanced up at the clock.

15.3 seconds left in the third quarter.

Then he looked at the scoreboard’s stat display: Magic #0, Michael Wu: 18 points!

“Mission accomplished. Time to punch out.”

He turned his gaze toward coach Frank Vogel on the sideline, raising a finger skyward.

Vogel, stone-faced all game, finally broke into a rare smile.

Wu Rui played the entire second quarter, going seven for nine and putting up 14 points. In the latter part of the third, after missing his first shot, he hit the next two, helping the team preserve its lead.

Twelve for nine, eighteen points, four rebounds, one assist—that was Wu Rui’s stat line when he checked out, and it held until the final buzzer.

In the end, the Orlando Magic, in control from start to finish, defeated the undermanned Dallas Mavericks 97–84, notching their second straight home victory.