"Zhao Dong, let's roll," Old Nelson called out.
"On it," Zhao Dong replied, already lacing up. "Oh, and let's hook the big fella up with a pair of kicks."
Before heading out, he turned around, opened the closet, and pulled out a massive pair of size 58s.
"Who the hell wears clown shoes like that?" Oakley raised a brow.
"Shaq. He hit me up before the game—wants a pair to collect," Zhao Dong smirked.
"Him? Man, if he shows that off to reporters, it's gonna get messy. Reebok might throw a fit," Oakley chuckled.
"Haha..." Zhao Dong laughed, not worried at all.
---
Next day, news broke: Camby's out. Sprained ankle. Two-week rehab.
The New York Times didn't waste a second: "Worst trade in Knicks history: We gave up a star center for a damn glass man."
Pressure was already building on Camby. Fresh in New York and now this?
With the starting center sidelined, Nelson made a bold move—threw rookie Danny Fortson into the fire.
And Fortson? Dude went beast mode. Three straight games with double-digit boards. Averaging 27 minutes a night.
Only problem? He was fouling like he was getting paid for it. Averaged 5.5 fouls per game and got ejected twice. Most of them were hustle fouls fighting for boards. If he could keep his hands to himself, he might be a Rodman-type rebounding freak.
---
November 14th, University of North Carolina.
Vince Carter just finished his morning drills and slid into a coffee spot outside campus.
Last night, he got a call from the GM of Zhao Dong's sneaker brand. They were offering him a deal for his own signature kicks—and an interview too.
He was declaring for the draft next year. Buzz around him was real. Puma had already hollered, offering a signature shoe deal.
Still, Vince had his eyes on the Silver Demon Gen-1s for a minute now. Loved the design. Too bad they were always sold out. If the contract with Zhao Dong's brand was right, he was all in.
---
November 15th, Knicks hosted the Kings and came out on top. Now they were 7–2, riding high.
The two Ls came from the Nuggets and the Kings—teams they should've smacked. But the Knicks played like trash those nights.
In those two losses, the squad shot 24% and 27% from three. Clanking everything. They got reckless with the long ball and paid for it.
Van Gundy used to crack down on wild threes, but Nelson? He gave 'em freedom.
And with the new three-point line pushed further back this season, it was brick city.
Zhao Dong's average dipped to 39.1 PPG, still No.1 in the league, still top of the MVP ladder.
Meanwhile, Hu Weidong was carving out a role for himself. 18 minutes per game, playing the two and the three, and dropping 10.2 points a night. That put him fifth in team scoring behind Zhao Dong, Allan Houston, Larry Johnson, and John Starks.
Dude was locked in as a bench spark and gaining real trust. His rise fired up Wang Zhizhi back in China—he was now itching to declare for the NBA draft.
Only problem? Politics. The Bayi team had issues with his status, and he was caught in red tape.
Thankfully, the Basketball Association, hyped by the success of Zhao Dong and Hu, was chill about it. Liu Yumin was actually backing Dazhi to make that leap.
Next game? November 18th, Knicks on the road against the Houston Mosaics.
On the 16th, Lindsay dropped a load of info on Zhao Dong:
"Zhao, almost 20,000 businesses in Japan went belly-up. Millions jobless. Banks folding left and right. Whole economy's in shambles."
She scrolled through her tablet.
"Also, Chen Jian set up a US branch. Gonna be operational soon."
"And our Storm Fund? We're solid. We already pulled in a chunk of capital from East Asia. Madam Dolores threw in $200 mil, I matched with $200 mil in distribution. You, big shot, tossed in a billion. Madam Dolores found a few more investors. That's another $100 mil—but yeah, we're fronting most of it."
She flipped to the next slide.
"We've got two arms—one's high-risk, the other conservative. The conservative one's investing in Apple, Google, all that good stuff. High-risk fund's already making moves on Nasdaq futures."
While Zhao Dong and Lindsay talked business, Ringo wells was already on the move—in Chicago, about to meet Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf.
Honestly, Wells didn't expect Reinsdorf to say yes to the meeting. He already told him over the phone he wanted to buy the Bulls. Was dude actually serious?
Wells knew Reinsdorf copped the Bulls for $16 mil back in '85. After riding the Jordan wave for over a decade, he had to be swimming in money. Maybe now that MJ was getting older, he figured it was time to cash out?
They agreed to meet at Bulls HQ, and Wells showed up right at 10 AM.
And who else did he bump into?
"Mr. Wells, what brings you here?" Michael Jordan stepped in, eyebrow raised.
Of course, MJ knew who Wells was. Everybody in the league knew by now—he was Zhao Dong's guy.
"Oh, Michael," Wells grinned. "Just came to chop it up with your boss about the Bulls—talking about buying in."
Jordan blinked. "Say what?"
"You know me. Always hunting for a big franchise for Miss Lindsay. Just wanted to see if Reinsdorf's down to sell. If he is, nobody's stopping Lindsay from becoming the owner—league and other owners won't block it."
"Man, hell no!"
Jordan's mood flipped. He spun around and stormed straight toward the owner's office.
Ain't no way he was gonna end his career working under Lindsay… and by extension, Zhao Dong. Retirement sounded better than that.
Reinsdorf, just getting ready to welcome Wells, suddenly heard a loud bang!—his office door slammed open, and Jordan came charging in hot.
"Jerry, you tryna sell the team or what?" Jordan called out, voice loud and real direct.
Reinsdorf wasn't too happy about the way MJ was acting—straight-up no filter, even with the boss in the room.
But he'd seen all kinds of dudes in his life. From his humble beginnings as an accountant and a lawyer to owning both the White Sox and the Bulls, Reinsdorf had dealt with bigger egos than this.
"Michael, have you seen Mr. Wells around? Where is he?" he asked calmly.
"My bad, Mr. Reinsdorf. I already spilled the beans to Mike," came Wells' voice from outside the door.
"Come on in, Mr. Wells," Reinsdorf's assistant called.
Wells stepped into the office.
"Jerry, I just wanna know—are you selling the team?" Jordan asked, clearly anxious.
Reinsdorf let out a helpless sigh. "Nah, man. I just wanted to talk with Mr. Wells. I've been thinking about selling off some shares of the White Sox."
"The Sox?" Jordan blinked, caught off guard.
He had retired a couple of years back and even spent a season playing for the White Sox—it was Reinsdorf's team after all. Bought it back in '81, way before the Bulls. But hearing it wasn't the Bulls on the line gave MJ some relief. At least he didn't have to think about another retirement.
"I took a hit in the Southeast Asia forex market. Lost a chunk of change. Need some quick cash, so..." Reinsdorf said with a wry smile.
Wells was a little shocked too.
He knew Zhao Dong and Lindsay had cashed out big in that same market. But hey, that's forex—some go long, some go short, some win, others bleed. Looks like Reinsdorf was in the red.
Still, a baseball team wasn't what Miss Lindsay wanted. She had more of a thing for football franchises.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Reinsdorf. I don't think I can help you on this," Wells said politely.
After Wells dipped out, MJ stayed and chopped it up with Reinsdorf.
"Zhao Dong and Miss Lindsay are engaged now, you know. Word is they're tying the knot soon. That whole team-buying thing? That's her wedding gift to him. All the rich folks already talking about it," Reinsdorf said.
"That dude's a damn gigolo," Jordan muttered, straight-up annoyed. "He really bagged a rich, hot girl like that? I bet she's bankrolling his sportswear company too."
Reinsdorf just laughed. "Haha… I wouldn't know about all that."
Then he switched the subject. "Michael, you feeling good about this season?"
Jordan frowned a little. "Ewing should be good to go for the regular season. Not quite where he was last year, but still solid."
Reinsdorf looked a little relieved. Ewing's contract was in the tens of millions—if anything went sideways, it'd be a brutal hit.
Jordan added, "Phil's plan is to keep his minutes low in the regular season—save him for the playoffs. Push too hard now, and he might get hurt again."
Reinsdorf nodded slowly, not thrilled. "That's gonna hurt our regular season record, though."
"Yeah, but we need him at 100 in the playoffs. I get where Phil's coming from," Jordan replied, even though losing in the regular season didn't sit right with his hyper-competitive self.
"That's our best shot, I guess," Reinsdorf agreed.
Jordan's face tightened. "Also, Rodman ain't quite the same this year. Slipped a little."
He was paying attention. That new Knicks rookie, Danny Fortson, was a straight-up rebounding beast. Pair him with Oakley, Zhao Dong, and Camby? That frontcourt was vicious. Even with Ewing's return, the Knicks were still grabbing boards like crazy.
Yeah, the media kept hyping the "Super Bulls" and talking like the title was already theirs, but MJ knew better. This season was gonna be a dogfight.
On the 17th, the Knicks touched down in Houston.
"Boss, Vince Carter's contract is locked in. Six years, 50 mil," Chen Jian said on the line as soon as Zhao Dong stepped off the plane.
"Nice. Let's get to work on his signature kicks," Zhao Dong replied with a smirk.
"All set. Design's already in the works," Chen Jian said, chuckling.
As the Knicks rolled into Houston, the media swarmed in like flies on meat.
"This time, we're stomping the Knicks under our feet," Barkley told the reporters, chest puffed out.
"Big Mouth really is the perfect name for that guy," Zhao Dong scoffed to the media. "Tell him I said it's time he thinks about hanging it up. Or maybe he wants to jump ship and ride with the Knicks for one last playoff run?"
In Zhao Dong's head, it was already written. This Rockets squad? First-round exit this year, same as next. After that, they'd be stuck in the basement until Yao Ming showed up in '03 and brought them back to life. Barkley dreaming of beating the Knicks right now? Hilarious.
Barkley's numbers were dropping hard this season. Dude was definitely on the decline.
"What? He said that about me?" Barkley exploded when the media told him. "I'd never suck up to that dude. Over my dead body!"
But deep down, he knew. His game was slipping. Fast.
In the first eight games of the season, he only suited up for five. Started just two. Sat out three.
And Dream? Worse. Only played four games so far.
The team was 3-5, and their championship hopes were looking real shaky. Barkley was just barking to save face, and to keep the Knicks rattled.
Around 4 PM, Zhao Dong's phone buzzed.
"Yo, Zhao Dong. Dinner tonight?" Barkley asked on the other end.
"Damn, you treating me? Alright, I'm picking the most expensive spot," Zhao Dong joked.
"Don't rob me, man. I'm barely making 4 mil this season. You're the big money guy now," Barkley shot back, half-laughing, half-salty.
Their relationship was weird. Not really friends, not enemies either. They'd clashed before, but after sharing a few drinks last time, the tension eased a bit. Now they were the type to throw shade when they met but never take it all the way.
They met up at a high-end Western restaurant. Zhao Dong wasn't about to hold back on Barkley's dime—he ordered all the expensive stuff, even threw in a bottle of high-end Bordeaux red.
Barkley winced. "Man, this meal's gotta be worth two grand. You real generous today."
Zhao Dong laughed, "Come on now. How can I not be generous when you footin' the bill?"
Charles had no choice. Last time they went out drinking, Zhao Dong covered the tab—and that ran up over $20K. So yeah, it was only fair he returned the favor now.
"Charles, y'all ain't doing so hot this season. Look at the Bulls' owner—dude's shelling out to build a dynasty. What's Alexander doing for your squad?"
"What do you want me to do? Hang onto your leg? You think you're worth that?" Barkley snapped.
"Haha, then go join the Bulls and cling to MJ's leg. Now that's top tier."
"Hmph. If you think y'all defending the title this season, I got news for you—zero chance."
"That's cap. You think I'm you? I'm more efficient, more versatile."
"I got that post game locked down better than you."
"That's just 'cause your butt's twice the size of mine. That power came from your momma, not from grind."
"Yours ain't small either."
"Yeah, but mine don't take up two zip codes."
"Yours don't bounce like mine."
"Yours don't got that baby-smooth glow like mine."
"Man, you talkin' some nonsense now!"
"Ha ha…"
They roasted each other until they were both cracking up.
That night, Zhao Dong got hit with a system task.
There haven't been many this season. So far, only the matchups against the Jazz and Lakers triggered quests. This one was number three.
Superstar Sniper Mission: Go head-to-head with Hakeem Olajuwon and take down the Rockets.
Mission Requirements:
Drop 30+ on Dream
Snag 13+ boards
Shoot over 70%
Block Olajuwon 3 times
Steal from him 3 times
Lead your squad to the dub
Mission Reward: If you hit every objective, you get 2 quality points and 2 skill points.
"Man… these rewards are weak!"
Nothing like last season.
This year, Dream—just like Barkley—been slipping. He missed 5 of the first 8 games. Injuries hit him harder than Barkley. Still, he's Hakeem. Completing this ain't gonna be easy.
Game Day: November 18
Knicks Starters:
Zhao Dong, Danny Fortson, Oakley, Allan Houston, Charlie Ward
Rockets:
Olajuwon, Barkley, Clyde Drexler, Mario Elie, Matt Maloney
Zhao Dong was not welcome here. He'd clowned Barkley in Houston before. Even dunked on Dream once. The moment he stepped on court, the crowd let him have it—boos raining down from every corner.
"All this booing? Y'all better chill. Don't provoke me today, or I'll blow up your home court and leave y'all lookin' real sad."
He barked at Barkley and Dream.
"Don't listen to this fool," Barkley said, holding back an annoyed Dream.
"Charles, you soft. That's why you stayed quiet when MJ called you out," Zhao Dong said, smirking.
"Man, Jordan's the face of the league. You think I'm dumb like you?" Barkley shot back.
"You slick, I'll give you that. But that's why you'll never beat him. You ain't got that killer instinct."
Barkley was heated but had nothing to say. He'd been dominating for years, and even the four top centers couldn't shut him down—but Jordan? He never got past him.
Tip-off. Game on.
Zhao Dong won the jump and the Knicks got the first possession.
They didn't wait for instructions—everyone spaced the floor. Danny Fortson moved mid-range, Oakley shifted to the wing, and Zhao Dong slid up to the high post, guarded by Drexler.
He then cut to the short corner on the left. Dream followed him.
Charlie Ward attacked from the top, used Fortson's pick to dive into the paint. Just before the double came, he dragged the defense to the right and zipped a pass to Zhao Dong, who slashed inside.
Drexler rotated late.
Zhao Dong caught the ball and banged it home with a left-handed dunk. BOOM. The rim shook. He used his right arm to shield off Drexler's block attempt.
Rockets' possession.
Barkley took it up top, then backed Oakley down on the right wing.
The Knicks didn't double. It's a regular season matchup with a Western team—not worth burning energy.
Bang!
Barkleys big body drove Oakley deep into the post—dude's privates took a beating, and he wasn't happy. Barkley turned and shot. Oakley stepped up hard, swatted but missed and caught Barkley instead, sending him crashing to the hardwood.
Missed the shot. Two free throws coming.
"Damn Oakley, chill. You foulin' like this, nobody's gonna wanna be your friend," Barkley growled.
Oakley and Barkley had beef. They scrapped in preseason last year and both got suspended. Now Barkley was on the floor again, yelling.
"I got just as many friends as you do. You better worry if you'll ever rock a ring," Oakley clapped back.
"Snort."
That hit a nerve. Barkley knew it too.
He stepped up for free throws—average at best, barely over 70%—and knocked down 1 of 2. Knicks ball again.
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