When a professional athlete encounters a professional problem, the smartest move is to consult a professional.
Where was the nearest top-tier specialist?
As it turned out, right inside the Fujian Xunxing Men’s Basketball Club.
The club’s American head strength and conditioning coach, Tom Bruce, commanded an annual salary of $360,000—a steep price tag for a domestic franchise in 2011, but one that guaranteed world-class expertise.
And right now, Wang Zhelin was putting every cent of that salary to work.
“Oh!
My!
God!” Bruce stammered, staring at the barbell with wide, disbelieving eyes.
In the center of the weight room, seventeen-year-old Wang Zhelin had just smoothly racked a 148-kilogram (326 lbs) bench press after completing his sixth clean repetition.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, barely showing signs of strain.
Bruce’s heart hammered against his ribs.
What kind of natural-born physical anomaly am I looking at?
He was only seventeen!
How could a young center who had yet to play an official minute of professional basketball possess this level of raw upper-body power?
More baffling still, Wang Zhelin’s muscular density appeared noticeably superior to what Bruce had logged during his physical testing just six weeks prior.
No standard training routine produced strength gains at this velocity.
Around the bench press station, several onlooker coaches and first-team veterans—including Head Coach Fan Bin and youth director Fan Songlin—were muttering among themselves in absolute astonishment.
“Xiao Wang’s raw explosive power is unreal,” Coach Fan Bin remarked, shaking his head with a grin.
“Old Fan mentioned to me last month that the youth system had a special kid, but seeing him push nearly 150 kilos like it’s warm-up weight is something else.” “Look at his shoulder caps and lats,” a senior team veteran chimed in.
“He looks significantly broader than he did during the national youth camp two months ago.
The kid works like a dog in the gym.” In the basketball world, a 148-kilogram bench press for a seventeen-year-old big man was practically unheard of.
To put it in perspective, legendary NBA physical freaks like Shaquille O’Neal, Karl Malone, and Ben Wallace pushed well over 190 kilograms in their primes.
But when Dwight Howard—the NBA’s undisputed consensus number-one center in 2011—entered the 2004 NBA Draft Combine, his bench press recorded at 157 kilograms, sending shockwaves through scouting reports across America.
For a seventeen-year-old domestic prospect to touch 148 kilograms six times in a single set was nothing short of jaw-dropping.
“King, now I fully understand why your touch around the perimeter has been feeling off,” Bruce said, wiping sweat from his forehead as he stepped closer to inspect Wang Zhelin’s arms.
During his recent preparation for the international scene, Wang Zhelin had chosen a simple, authoritative English name for himself: King.
It was a natural translation of his surname, Wang (王), and carried the exact bold presence he intended to project on the court.
“Do you have a mechanical fix for it, Bruce?” King asked, sitting up on the bench and wiping his face with a towel.
“You came to the right guy, King,” Bruce replied, his tone shifting into confident instructor mode.
“In China, a sudden spike in physical strength like yours is a rare coaching headache.
But in the States, high school and college trainers see secondary growth surges like this all the time.” Bruce wasn’t exaggerating.
The American basketball development pipeline was full of late-bloomers and secondary physical evolutions.
Hall of Famers like Michael Jordan, David Robinson, and Anthony Davis all experienced dramatic physical transformations late in their teenage years.
“For your specific combination—massive 11-inch hands, rapidly escalating upper-body strength, and a 213 cm frame—I strongly recommend transitioning your jumper to a straight-arm release,” Bruce explained.
“A straight-arm jumper?” King raised an eyebrow.
“Exactly.
A rigid, straight-arm mechanics protocol,” Bruce said, stepping into an open space to demonstrate.
“Instead of a traditional two-motion elbow bend where you flick the ball using forearm leverage, you elevate the ball with a high, nearly locked elbow and propel the shot using crisp wrist snapping at the apex of your jump.” Bruce quickly laid out the structural pros and cons: First, unmatched stability.
Because a straight-arm release relies almost entirely on wrist snap rather than forearm drive, it eliminates the variance caused by upper-body strength fluctuations.
This made it the perfect mechanical counter to King’s ongoing strength explosion.
Second, an unblockable release point.
At 213 cm barefoot with a 228 cm wingspan, elevating the ball directly above his head with extended arms created a release height that no single interior defender in the CBA—and very few in the NBA—could contest without fouling.
“Of course, there are trade-offs,” Bruce noted honestly.
“The launch trajectory is flatter, meaning it’s less ideal for deep three-point range.
You also don’t get as much elevation off the ground compared to a traditional jump shot.” King pondered the proposal for a moment before nodding firmly.
He didn’t need to become Stephen Curry.
As a physical interior center built in the mold of Shaquille O’Neal, his primary duty was to dominate the paint, anchor the defense, and punish double-teams.
A reliable, unblockable straight-arm mid-range jumper from 12 to 18 feet was more than enough to obliterate drop-coverage defenses and force opposing centers to step out of the key.
“I’ll do it,” King decided.
“When do we start setting the mechanics?” Bruce smiled sheepishly and raised his hands.
“Well…
I can coach you through the basic hand placement and structural alignment.
But for elite-level mastery of the straight-arm jumper, I’m actually not the best guy in this building.” King blinked.
“What do you mean?” “I mean there’s a living legend right here in Fujian who mastered this exact technique better than anyone in Asian basketball history,” Bruce said, leaning in.
“Your local fans call him the God of War—Liu Yudong.” “Uncle Liu?!” King’s eyes lit up.
Of course!
How could I forget Uncle Liu?
In the history of Chinese basketball, Liu Yudong was the undisputed grandmaster of the straight-arm jump shot.
Standing at just 198 cm as a power forward, Liu Yudong had used his signature, unblockable straight-arm jumper to completely dominate the CBA during the late 1990s and early 2000s, famously out-scoring prime Yao Ming in the 2002 CBA Finals.
Even on the international stage during the 1994 World Championships and 1996 Atlanta Olympics, Liu Yudong’s deadly mid-range pull-up was a primary scoring weapon that helped push the Men’s National Team into the global Top 8.
Given his father Wang Changhai’s close personal friendship with Liu Yudong, King didn’t hesitate for another second.
He grabbed his gym bag, bade farewell to Bruce and Coach Fan, and headed straight out the door to pay a visit to his Uncle Liu.