Chapter 298: Chapter 77: Might as Well Charge You Some Money
Su Xi wasn’t from Los Angeles, and the first half of his life had little to do with the city. He had only trained here for a month before becoming an NBA rookie.
But if you asked the people of Los Angeles, "Which active NBA stars do you know?"
Su Xi’s name would come up far more often than any other superstar in the league.
He was incredibly famous.
His influence wasn’t just limited to fan circles. In Hollywood, across the entire entertainment industry, he held a position of significant importance.
People had long since considered him a part of the Hollywood community. No NBA player had ever achieved such astonishing fame in the entertainment world.
There was a place for Little Sheep Su Xi in Hollywood’s dream factory.
Mike O’Connor, who had followed Su Xi to Los Angeles, received a flood of unexpected invitations. Great directors, major stars, and super-producers he had once admired from afar were now inviting him and Su Xi to parties. Even some of the tycoons he’d only dreamed of associating with were extending olive branches.
Los Angeles high society had completely accepted Su Xi.
And this was despite Su Xi still being at war with the Lakers.
This thrilled O’Connor. He now felt that flexing on ordinary people and sponsors was pointless. He wanted to be the one schmoozing with the true big shots, the ones high up on the pedestal.
He wasn’t following Su Xi for money or personal gain, nor did he have any physical needs to satisfy. He simply wanted to flex. He wanted to unleash his own alpha aura in front of the truly powerful.
So, he constantly suggested to Su Xi, "Jack, we should go to these parties. They’ll be a huge boost to our overall profile, and we can find a lot of opportunities, get insider information on how to make a fortune."
O’Connor said, "Wealth is distributed from the top down. The higher your standing, the closer you are to the source of information, and the easier it is to get rich. Isn’t LeBron James cozying up to Buffett right now? He’s just trying to get his foot in the door, to get a taste of the scraps from the big shots’ table."
Su Xi was tempted, but he remained level-headed, still believing the games were his top priority. If he went to a party and got photographed, he knew the paparazzi would have a field day.
Just listening to it would be a pain.
...
On June 10th, Game 3 of the NBA Finals between the Pacers and the Lakers officially kicked off at the Staples Center in Los Angeles.
The arena was deafening. Although Los Angeles was often jokingly called "Luo Village," it had a massive fan base. The huge middle-class population meant the Lakers never had to worry about attendance.
The Lakers commanded at least eighty percent of the entire Los Angeles fan market. The Clippers, who shared the same arena, were treated like the proverbial red-headed stepchild in this regard.
The difference between a dynasty and a bottom-feeder was night and day.
Tonight, as expected, it was a sell-out crowd.
Lakers fans had a strong sense of superiority. A major city combined with a powerhouse team meant they often carried themselves with an air of arrogance. As a result, they were rarely as rabid as the fans in Salt Lake City, Detroit, or Indiana. Boisterous screaming and cursing would be seen as lacking class.
Tonight, however, many fans had shed their sense of superiority. They began to direct intense boos, and even some curses, at Su Xi.
"You can tell they’re scared of me," Su Xi said to Reggie Miller with a smile.
When it came to his mental game, Su Xi was more unflappable than a seasoned veteran.
’Trying to get under my skin like this? Childish.’
"They can’t afford to lose," Reggie Miller told Su Xi. "Last year’s loss hit them hard. If they fail again this season after investing so much, their dynasty will begin to crumble."
"So, we need to hasten their downfall."
Reggie Miller let out a sly laugh.
"Hey, Jack! Jack!"
While Su Xi and Reggie Miller were talking, a woman’s shriek suddenly erupted from the sidelines.
Su Xi turned his head and saw a fashionably dressed girl screaming for him.
The girl’s looks and figure were only slightly above average, but she looked familiar, and there were cameras pointed at her.
’Su Xi froze for a second before he recalled a piece of celebrity gossip he’d seen on TV. ’Isn’t this that ’Disney Little Princess,’ Lindsay Lohan? The one who claimed she’d already ’had’ me?’’
Su Xi gave her another careful look, up and down. He made a firm decision. ’No matter what, I can’t let this Disney Little Princess, beloved by teenagers across North America, get her hands on me.’
"Hey, Jack! Over here, over here!"
Su Xi turned his head again and saw Paris Hilton, the hotel heiress, waving at him alongside her "handbag holder," Kim Kardashian.
’Clearly, they were all after a piece of the prize.’
’But,’ Su Xi thought, ’one of them is average in looks and figure, while the other is nothing but tabloid fodder.’
’A hard pass.’
Then, Su Xi scanned the crowd again. He saw many gorgeously dressed women in the front row giving him looks of pure, unadulterated desire. Their goal was simple: they just wanted to have a good time.
"The happiness index for American women seems to be at an all-time low," Ron Artest remarked earnestly from the side. He even offered his own suggestion: "Jack, so many women here are lacking happiness. You should make twenty placards and just flip one over whenever you see someone you like."
Su Xi was taken aback for a moment, then gave Artest a thumbs-up. "You’re a genius, Ron. That’s exactly how the eunuchs in ancient China used to handle the king’s sleeping arrangements."
’Eunuchs?’
Artest mulled it over for a moment.
The game began soon after.
Playing on their home court, the Lakers showed an intense will to fight. From the very start, Shaquille O’Neal was a man possessed. He first won the tip-off, then powerfully established position under the basket. After receiving the pass, he simply barreled through his defender and slammed the ball into the hoop with one hand. Su Xi, rushing over to commit the foul, was a beat too late.
