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

The Phoenix sun beat down on the asphalt outside the American Airlines Arena, distorting the air into transparent ripples. But inside the Golden State Warriors' visiting locker room, the temperature was as low as a Siberian winter.

In their third preseason game, the Warriors thrashed the Portland Trail Blazers 128-102. With three consecutive wins and an average margin of victory of over 25 points per game, their offensive efficiency is terrifying to all teams in the league.

Lin Hao sat in front of the locker, slowly untying his shoelaces. Sweat trickled down his angular jawline, dripping onto the ground and leaving a small, dark puddle. Tonight he scored 28 points and 12 assists, stats as ordinary to him as snow in a Northeast winter. Three games, three resounding victories; he felt like he hadn't even broken a sweat before the games were over.

"Lin, that pass was absolutely amazing!" Richardson waved his arms excitedly, mimicking Lin Hao's movement. "I had just crossed the center line when the ball 'thwack' into my hands! I didn't even need to adjust; it went in!"

"That's our Brother Hao's 'Northeast Sniper,' he hits exactly where he points!" Zhao Dabao squeezed in, holding a bag of newly bought snacks, and handed Lin Hao a can of yellow peaches. "Haozi, eat this while it's cold to replenish your sugar levels."

The locker room was filled with a joyful atmosphere. Young Arenas and Bowen were mimicking their famous fast break play, everyone reveling in the thrill of the "seven-second offense." This way of winning was so satisfying; no need to relentlessly battle in the paint like before, just run, run like madmen, and outrun your opponents.

However, amidst the laughter and chatter, in the far corner of the locker room, the atmosphere was so oppressive it was suffocating.

Eric Dampier sat heavily on the bench like a silent, black iron tower. He had just showered and hadn't even changed his clothes yet. He clutched a technical statistics sheet tightly in his hand, his knuckles white from the force.

He played for 21 minutes throughout the match.

Number of attempts: 4.

Number of goals scored: 1.

Score: 2 points.

Rebounds: 3.

This is the performance record of the Golden State Warriors' starting center, the man who calls himself "left-handed Duncan." In this run-and-gun team that averages 127 points per game, he's like an unnecessary decoration, an expensive mascot.

"Hey, Big Tree (Dampier's nickname), don't be so down." Gary Payton walked over, handed him a bottle of Gatorade, and said with a hint of slyness in his voice, "We scored 128 points today. Even if you didn't score, you still contributed. After all, you had to stand there and hold that position, right? That's called a 'post center,' it's a tactic too."

Dampier jerked his head up, his dark face contorted with humiliation and rage, like a rhinoceros whose tail had been stepped on. "Gary, do you think this is funny?" he gritted his teeth, his voice so loud it silenced the entire locker room. "I'm a center! I'm the core of the offense! Not some telephone pole!"

All the laughter and cheers came to an abrupt halt. The team members exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes all fixed on the enraged giant.

Lin Hao also stopped what he was doing, his brows furrowing almost imperceptibly.

"I can't even touch the ball!" Dampier became increasingly agitated, suddenly standing up. His 2.11-meter height loomed over everyone like a mountain. "Every time I finally managed to get into position in the low post, painstakingly pushing past that white center and reaching out for the ball, I'd turn around and see Lin Hao had already thrown it away! Either he shot it himself, or he passed it to someone else! I worked so hard to get position inside, and what did I get? Not even a pick-and-roll opportunity!"