NBA: Northeast China's spectacular dunks sweep the entire league.

The air in the training hall was filled with a smell of rosin and sweat, and the lights were so bright they were almost blinding.

Gary Payton stood in the center of the court, dressed in a purple and gold casual outfit, arms crossed, his mouth, famous in the league for its trash talk, was spewing out words.

"Kid, I heard you're the MVP? I heard you shut those guys down?" Payton glanced at Lin Hao, his eyes revealing the arrogance of an old-school player. "I'm not here today to listen to your bragging. I want to see just how good you are, you Eastern kid."

Lin Hao was tying his shoelaces when he heard this. Without even looking up, he retorted, "Gary, your mouth is more famous than your defense. Enough talk, what do you want?"

"One-on-one." Payton held up two fingers. "11 balls, whoever gets to 11 first wins. If you win, I'll stay and be your defensive mentor; if you lose, you pack your bags and get out of here, don't waste my time."

The air in the training hall seemed to freeze instantly.

Zhao Dabao had just carried in two boxes of canned yellow peaches when he was so startled that his hand trembled, and the boxes almost fell to the ground: "Haozi, don't be impulsive! These are 'gloves'! They can really protect you from death!"

Dale Curry frowned as well, walked over to Lin Hao and whispered, "Lin, Payton is too experienced; a one-on-one fight would be disadvantageous for you..."

He walked up to Payton, a head taller than him, his eyes as cold as ice: "What about the rules?"

"Rules?" Payton sneered. "There are no rules. One point for every goal scored, no points for crossing the line, and points for every foul committed. It's that simple. Want to play?"

"Let's play!" Lin Hao readily agreed, then turned to Zhao Dabao and shouted, "Dabao, go get the timer! And get two cases of chilled canned yellow peaches, we'll share them with everyone if we win!"

The atmosphere in the arena instantly ignited. Richardson, Arenas, and several other players who hadn't left yet all gathered around, filling the sidelines. Everyone wanted to see if this second-year MVP could withstand "The Glove's" relentless harassment.

Payton ripped off his jacket, revealing well-developed muscles—the steel-like frame honed by over a decade of high-intensity NBA competition. He patted the basketball, his eyes instantly sharpening like an eagle's: "Kid, ready? I'm about to start."

Payton kicks off the first ball.

Payton had the ball and, without any fancy changes of direction, just the simplest and most powerful crossover. But his pace was too fast; the ball seemed glued to his hand. Lin Hao kept his center of gravity low, his eyes fixed on Payton's waist.

"Snapped!"

Payton accelerated, and Lin Hao moved laterally to cover.

But Payton was too cunning. He took advantage of Lin Hao's momentary lateral movement, pulled back and stopped to shoot, and the ball swished through the net.

"1-0".

Payton landed and started trash-talking Lin Hao: "Is this the MVP's defense? It's too slow! Like an old lady taking a walk!"

Lin Hao didn't say anything, picked up the ball, and walked to the three-point line.

He didn't make any extra moves, just a simple probing step, and then a pull-up three-pointer.

"Whoosh!"

The basketball went through the net cleanly.

"1-1".

A round of applause erupted from the audience. Payton's smile faded slightly, and his eyes became more wary.

The next few minutes were an ultimate battle of defense.

With his extensive experience and strong physique, Payton scored 5 consecutive points by using back-to-the-basket moves and changes in rhythm.

Lin Hao was not to be outdone. Using his height and wingspan advantage, he made two difficult fadeaway jump shots over Payton's head.

But Payton still managed to pull ahead.

"8-4".

Payton is leading by 4 points; he only needs 3 more goals to win.

"Kid, you're out of luck." Payton was panting heavily, sweat dripping down his chin, but his eyes were full of confidence. "Your defense is too green. I could get past you with my eyes closed."

Lin Hao stood outside the three-point line, twirling the ball in his hand, his eyes chillingly cold.

He suddenly moved.

This time, he didn't choose to shoot, but instead drove straight into the paint.

Payton instinctively pressed forward to defend, and the two bodies collided violently with a dull thud.

"Bang!"

Using his weight advantage, Lin Hao squeezed Payton out half a step, then made a very slight turn and threw the ball with his right hand.

"Whoosh!"

"8-5".

Payton was taken aback, clearly not expecting Lin Hao to dare to confront him so head-on.