Brothers, remember this moment of Wembanyama.

What kind of moment is worth dedicating an entire post to?

Last night, lying in bed, I reviewed the fourth quarter of Game 7 between the Spurs and the Thunder.

With five minutes left in the game and a nine-point deficit, the Thunder grabbed a loose ball in the Spurs' offensive half.

SGA led a fast break and found McCain on the left side of the court.

Most people tend to focus on the offensive player, only noticing that the "Magic Boy" missed an open three-pointer, costing the Thunder a chance to close the gap.

Did you see what Wembanyama did?

He quickly transitioned from scrambling on the floor in the paint to chasing down the perimeter, showcasing his rare speed and lateral stride.

While sprinting, he was literally grimacing.

All to disrupt McCain's championship shot attempt.

The image of a tall monk sprinting, with that expression in that instant, really moved me.

Over the past few years, we've marveled time and again at this man's physical gifts.

A 2.26-meter player, at this point in the game, still running like that—even faster than the guards—is pure talent. It's not something simple training can cultivate.

No need to harp on that further.

But what I really want to say is:Talent is easy to come by, but backbone is hard to find.

Beyond talent, what drove Wembanyama to sprint so hard on that possession?

Heart.

That all-out dash across half-court had nothing to do with stats, highlights, or personal accolades. It was solely about closing the team's critical gap.

As a superstar rookie with top-tier talent and worldwide attention, he could have coasted on his gifts to build personal stats and enjoy the star treatment. Yet he chose the hardest, most unglamorous, and most selfless way to defend.

Ignoring the deadly risk of having five fouls, disregarding extreme fatigue, he jumped with full force, stretched his long arms, and used maximum intimidation to disrupt the shooter's rhythm.

Even though he didn't end up with a spectacular block, he successfully deflected that game-altering three-pointer...

Isn't that exactly what many star players without championships lack?

I won't bother calling anyone out one by one.

In today's league, there's no shortage of talented young stars or explosive scorers. What's truly lacking is this kind of gritty, do-or-die spirit that holds the line in desperate situations.

Too many players approach the game with a utilitarian mindset—weighing pros and cons, calculating gains and losses, fearing injury, avoiding mistakes—slowly losing the purest will to win that basketball demands.

In an internet era where everyone chases flashy stats and highlight reels, he chooses to guard the team's baseline.

In an era where everyone knows how to conserve energy and protect themselves, he chooses to fight until exhaustion.

His sprint won't appear on post-game stat sheets or in media highlight packages, yet it shows everyone the most touching essence and backbone of competitive sports, while redefining what it means to be a superstar in the new generation.

Many talk about wanting to win, but the game never lies.

Was Wembanyama tired at that point? Of course he was.

But in crucial moments, true superstars can forget physical pain and give everything they have without reservation.

Finally, one thing really struck me:

For Chinese players at age 22, they're labeled as "young players" by coaches—either stuck on the bench or still grinding in youth teams.

For players elsewhere, at 20 or 22...

Don't get me wrong.

I'm not saying our players need to achieve what Wembanyama has...

Looking at global basketball, he's unique and irreplaceable.

But don't forget one thing: great players are already great early on.

Both in ability and mentality.

I'm tired of hearing stories about late bloomers.

In the upcoming Finals, listen to the young voice from San Antonio.