allendalepharm Chapter 182
Chapter 182
July 11th, 4:50 AM.
Before dawn, a faint bluish-green hue covered the eastern horizon, like a sheet of rice paper dampened by water, its edges slowly spreading.
The window behind the basketball court was pushed open from the outside, and the sound of the iron frame rubbing against the windowsill was particularly jarring in the quiet morning, like a rusty iron nail scraping against glass.
Chen Hao went in first, moving very quietly, like a slender cat.
He stepped onto the windowsill, braced himself with his hands, and flipped himself inside, landing almost silently.
Then it was Lin Feng's turn. He passed the ball in first, then braced himself on the windowsill with both hands, used his arms to push himself up the windowsill, and landed on his toes first, the wooden floor making a dull thud under his feet.
Finally, there was Gao Yuan. His movements as he climbed out of the window were much more clumsy—his stomach got stuck on the windowsill, and he had to kick his legs several times in the air before he could get over. When he landed, his knee hit the window, and he winced in pain, but he didn't make a sound.
Three people stood in the empty basketball court.
Morning light streamed in through the high window, casting long, rectangular patches of pale gold on the floor, their edges shimmering. The basketball hoop stood in shadow, its outline blurred, like two silent giants. The air carried the smell of the night before—dust, sweat, wood floor wax, and a hint of disinfectant, a mixture that wasn't pleasant, but one grew accustomed to it after a while.
Chen Hao walked to the three-point line, picked up his ball, and started shooting.
Gao Yuan walked to the door of the weight room, turned on the light, and began stretching. He had rushed in through the window, and his knee, which he had bumped earlier, was still aching slightly. He frowned as he squatted down.
Lin Feng stood at the free throw line.
He didn't rush to shoot today. First, he closed his eyes and dribbled fifty times with his left hand in place, feeling the ball's touch and the rhythm of its bounce. Then he opened his eyes and dribbled another fifty times, checking how far off he was. Less than ten centimeters off—better than yesterday.
Then he started practicing quick strikes.
The problem Coach Li mentioned—the pause between catching the ball and shooting—is something he aims to reduce to an almost imperceptible level today.
Gao Yuan passed the ball to him, standing at the top of the arc, feeding him the ball repeatedly with consistent force and angle, like an automatic ball-serving machine. Lin Feng caught the ball, bent his knee, jumped, and shot. The transition between catching the ball and shooting was seamless.
The ball was released with a high arc, hit the back edge of the rim, bounced once, and rolled in.
The second ball. Catch—shoot. Goal.
The third one. It's off-center.
The fourth one. It's in.
Gao Yuan fed Lin Feng thirty balls, and Lin Feng made sixteen, barely achieving a 50% success rate. It was slightly better than yesterday, but still far from the provincial team's requirement of 70%.
After Chen Hao finished throwing a set, he walked over and looked at Lin Feng's hand shape.
"Your wrist is too stiff when you shoot," Chen Hao said. "A fast shot isn't about speeding up your movement, it's about eliminating unnecessary movements. Your movement is fast now, but your wrist is tense, making the ball's spin unstable. Relax a bit."
Lin Feng gave it a try. He caught the ball, released it, and relaxed his wrist. The ball spun steadily in the air, its arc like that drawn with a compass, and it went into the net with a crisp "swish" sound.
"Yes, that's it." After saying that, Chen Hao walked back to the three-point line and continued shooting.
At 6:40, the three men climbed out the window, closed it, and locked it back in place. The morning light was already breaking; a few sparrows perched on the locust tree in the yard, chirping and their flapping wings making a clear sound in the quiet morning.