At 5:30 p.m., the Bulls wrapped up team practice and headed straight into media interviews.
"Tomorrow night? I'm gonna show him what it's like to go at me," Patrick Ewing said, fire in his voice when reporters brought up Zhao Dong's earlier trash talk.
"He's a snake, straight up. A traitor," Ewing continued. "The Bulls cut him loose, and it was the Knicks who gave him a shot. But the moment he got here, dude tried to take my spot. I was beyond disappointed with the Knicks front office. They actually backed a Chinese player over me? That's wild to me."
"Patrick, so why did you choose to back down?" a reporter asked mid-interview.
Ewing let out a breath. "I was thinking big picture. I didn't want to wreck everything we worked for that season. But after we won the ring, he goes behind my back and forces the team to trade me. I didn't see that coming.
And the front office let me down again. I wanted to retire a Knick, man. But they listened to that damn Chinese kid, and they really traded me…"
The next day, Ewing's interview hit the front page of major outlets and lit up the media world.
"Yeah, Zhao Dong gave us that chip, but he shouldn't have forced the trade. Patrick gave his whole career to this city."
"Send that dude back to China."
"Chinese people be lying, I believe Ewing way more."
"Zhao really pushed for Ewing to be traded? That's messed up!"
"Zhao Dong already said he had nothing to do with the trade. Even the front office confirmed he never meddled in those decisions. I believe him."
"This is on the Knicks management, not Zhao. Let's be real here."
"Ewing only got his ring thanks to Zhao Dong. Now he's throwing shade? That's foul."
"I ain't trusting anything that traitor says. He's with the Bulls now and trying to bury us. He's just mad Zhao took his spot."
Even in New York, Ewing still had a strong fanbase. His name still meant something in the city, and some fans raised concerns. A few took it too far, mixing in some racist comments about Zhao Dong, but they were in the minority.
Most fans in NYC stood strong behind Zhao Dong.
After all, he brought them a championship, and his flashy game was miles ahead of Ewing's old-school post play. The fans knew what they were seeing.
On the afternoon of the 9th, Oakley was watching fan interviews on TV before taking his turn with the media.
"Look," Oakley said, "Patrick and I go way back—nine years together. That's family. But on this one? Zhao Dong didn't lie. He had nothing to do with Patrick's trade, and Patrick's blaming the wrong guy.
Back when they were battling for control of the team, it was because Zhao's touches and shots were getting jacked. At that time, he was the future of the team, and he had every right to fight for that spot. Patrick made the wrong call.
I get why Patrick was stressed. The new guy was rising fast, and he was scared to lose his spot. But he handled it wrong.
I feel for him after the trade, but hey—this is the league. Anybody can get moved. Zhao even said he could be traded someday, and he's already prepared for that.
What I don't get is why Patrick keeps throwing shots at Zhao. Man, Zhao didn't do a damn thing wrong. You did."
Oakley's words hit like a sledgehammer. A teammate, friend, and brother for almost a decade publicly backing Zhao Dong? That shifted the narrative fast.
Even though some die-hard Ewing fans still came after Zhao, most fans in New York weren't staying quiet anymore. They came out hard in support of Zhao Dong.
Zhao, on the other hand, didn't care much for the noise. He knew exactly how New York fans rolled. In his past life, once Ewing started to decline, those same fans booed him at home and called him washed.
New York fans and media are the same: when you're up, they crown you; when you're down, they stomp you out.
But Zhao brought home that ring. That alone made all the difference. No matter how loud Ewing got, it wasn't gonna change anything.
That evening, the Knicks arrived at the United Center, met by a chorus of boos and trash talk from Bulls fans.
"Zhao Dong, Ewing said he's gonna cook you in this game. Got anything to say about that?"
"Zhao, do you really think MJ's era is over and it's your time now?"
"Zhao Dong, what do you think of the Bulls' current record?"
Before heading into the locker room, reporters bombarded him with questions.
Zhao Dong picked one to answer.
"The Bulls' record speaks for itself. That's how strong they really are. Jordan? He's getting old. And honestly, Kidd is the one carrying that squad now.
But we ain't just focused on Chicago. There's other squads coming up fast—Lakers, Spurs, Pacers are ballin' too. As for the Jazz and Bulls, they're just part of the hunt."
Then he walked into the locker room without another word.
"He really say that?" Jordan barked, eyes flaring when the reporters told him what Zhao Dong said.
"Yep," the reporter smirked. "He said Kidd is the true core of the Bulls, and you're just the support piece."
Kidd, standing right there, looked awkward as hell. He didn't want any part of this drama. Even if MJ had one leg, he still ran the Bulls.
"This dude… he's trying to mess with our chemistry," Jordan muttered.
He turned to Kidd. "Jason, don't let that snake get in your head."
"I got you, Mike," Kidd nodded fast.
"Mr. Ewing, got anything to say?" the reporters asked, turning to him.
"Nope." Ewing's voice was cold, his face darker than storm clouds.
Once the media cleared out, Ewing pulled Phil Jackson aside.
"Coach, I want more minutes tonight."
Phil took a second, then shook his head. "We already said—we're saving gas for the playoffs. You know your body, Patrick. If you go hard now, you won't last till the postseason.
I'll let you play more minutes, but you gotta pace yourself. Don't go all out. And if Zhao drives the lane—let him go. Don't risk getting hurt."
Ewing nodded, but his jaw was tight.
That knee injury had messed him up more than people realized. If he pushed too hard, it might be over for him—for real. He didn't know if his body could bounce back again.
But he didn't care. He wanted to bury Zhao Dong and the Knicks. If it cost him everything? So be it.
He couldn't forget that moment in the locker room when Zhao made him give up his alpha spot. That humiliation? It burned deep.
And truth be told, he never liked Chinese people anyway.
That just made it easier to hate Zhao Dong..
In the visiting team's locker room, Zhao Dong was lacing up his Silver Demon.
He was feelin' real good about these kicks.
Been rockin' 'em for over a month now and they still look fresh—no creases, no funky smell, just straight fire. No doubt, system-made. Certified god-tier.
Twenty minutes later, the starting lineups were announced.
Chicago Bulls: Ewing, Rodman, Jason Caffey, Jordan, Kidd
New York Knicks: Camby, Zhao Dong, Oakley, Allan Houston, Charlie Ward
This matchup was the biggest one of the night, getting live nationwide coverage from NBC, while CCTV also aired it back in China.
On NBC, the broadcast was run by Marv Albert and Matt Goukas.
Marv Albert kicked things off: "The Bulls have a worse record than the Knicks right now. But surprisingly, most of the media's calling this game 70-30 in favor of Chicago."
Matt Goukas raised an eyebrow. "Why's that, Marv? Bulls got the worse record."
Marv chuckled. "Because Zhao Dong poked the bear yesterday—called out Ewing. And if Pat goes off tonight? The Knicks' paint could be in trouble. That cost might be comin' due real soon."
He paused, then added, "We still don't know what Dong's angle was, but it clearly hit a nerve. If Ewing's pride kicks in, this could get nasty."
Matt chimed in with a smirk, "But let's not forget, Ewing's knees been cooked since his rookie year—missed 30 games that season and got hurt again right before the Finals last year. Dude's runnin' on borrowed time. Even if he snaps, it's gonna be limited."
Marv laughed, "So you think the Knicks got the edge?"
"Hell yeah," Matt grinned. "Everyone's talkin' about Ewing exploding—but no one's talkin' about Zhao Dong popping off. And trust me, when he goes off, it's nuclear. Ewing ain't ready for that. Man's got bad wheels."
"Wanna put ten bucks on it?" Marv asked.
"Bet. I got Knicks. Ten's good—Zhao Dong probably makes more than both of us combined. Dude would roast us if we bet more."
They both laughed.
The starters headed out, and both teams crossed paths in the tunnel.
"Yo, Patrick."
Oakley, always the OG, stepped up and greeted his former teammate.
Ewing's expression was ice-cold. "Charles… didn't think you'd go at me like that."
Oakley sighed, disappointed. "C'mon, man. I ain't targeting you. Just keepin' it real."
Ewing ignored him and shifted his glare to Zhao Dong. "Watch yourself, rookie."
Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow. This wasn't the Ewing he knew. Dude used to be quiet and chill. All this over a trade?
Maybe it was something deeper. Could be the racial thing—Chinese players were at the bottom of the NBA food chain. Maybe Ewing felt salty getting replaced by a Chinese dude, which led to his trade. Maybe he's even lowkey racist.
Didn't matter. Zhao Dong wasn't gonna play nice.
"Bang!"
He stepped up, smacked Ewing's hand away, and shot back cold, "Yeah, I'll be careful—don't wanna snap those glass knees of yours. One backdown from me and you might fold."
Ewing's eyes lit up. "What the hell did you say?!"
Zhao Dong turned to Jordan. "Told you already—this trade was a bust. You still got time to fix it before the window closes."
"Shut the hell up!" Ewing barked.
"This ain't your convo," Jordan snapped.
Zhao Dong smirked, "I just hope y'all come harder than this. Right now? Looks like an easy night."
Both Ewing and Jordan were fuming. Ain't nobody ever talked to them like this. And this kid—undrafted, no pedigree—was talkin' spicy?
The lights dropped. Spotlights hit the tunnel. The announcer's voice echoed through the arena.
Zhao Dong just waved and strolled out with the squad.
The United Center erupted in boos—straight-up hostility. Middle fingers everywhere, and the Bulls fans let loose with a tidal wave of insults.
Zhang Heli on CCTV chimed in, "Man, this ain't just a regular season game. These two teams? Blood rivals. It's got the feel of a Finals matchup already!"
Twenty minutes later, the game tipped off.
Camby and Ewing lined up for the jump, and the Knicks secured first possession.
The in-house announcer hyped it up. "Last season, we struggled in the paint. But now? We stacked! Ewing and Rodman are gonna destroy the Knicks down low. Patrick Ewing's about to shut down Zhao Dong!"
But on the court, Zhao Dong was chillin' on the right block. Ewing was guarding from the side, not fronting.
See, Ewing's always played with finesse. Best shooter among the four elite bigs. But after multiple knee injuries, he'd trimmed down to 107 kg—8 kg lighter than Zhao Dong.
And for pro hoopers? 8 kg ain't just weight. That's power. Strength.
Ewing knew he couldn't take Zhao Dong head-on. Not anymore.
Ball came in. Zhao Dong caught it with his left, stiff-armed Ewing with his right, and didn't even bother dribbling.
He just charged the paint.
Ewing tried pulling him back, but Zhao Dong bulldozed him.
Could Ewing even keep up? Prime Ewing moved like a small forward, but Zhao Dong? His speed was straight-up elite guard level.
Step one. Step two. Zhao Dong took off.
Rodman rotated over, trying to challenge. But Zhao Dong was already airborne, momentum unstoppable.
"BOOM!"
The rim shook like thunder. Rodman, barely 100 kg, got launched like a rag doll and crashed to the floor.
"OOOHHH!"
The United Center let out a shocked gasp.
"OH DAMN!" Matt Goukas shouted. "Rodman just got BODIED!"
"Yo!" Marv yelled. "That might be the nastiest dunk I've seen all season!"
Matt laughed, "Told y'all! Zhao Dong ain't playin' around. Man turned into a beast against the Spurs—had Tim Duncan lookin' lost. Now he's doin' the same to Chicago!"
Marv was dying. "I said it before and I'll say it again—Zhao Dong goin' off is a bigger problem than Ewing ever could be."
Zhao Dong stared Jordan down. "Yo, Mr. Jordan—your bigs? Still soft. Still food."
Jordan gritted his teeth. "It's one bucket, rookie. Don't get cocky."
As Zhao Dong ran past, he gave Jordan a light elbow. "Move, clown."
"MF'er!"
Jordan was shook. Flashbacks hit him hard—last time someone disrespected him like that was during the Eastern Conference Finals. He nearly lost a tooth that night.
He's the kind of dude who usually starts fights and hunts others down. Now a Chinese baller is doing it? Crazy.
Zhao Dong wasn't fazed at all. Worst case? A tech. Big whoop. Like that's gonna stop him.
The ref saw Zhao Dong's shove, moved his lips like he was gonna blow the whistle—but didn't.
The league ain't got no beef with this dude. He's the next big thing behind Jordan. Can't just whistle him for everything.
Rodman got up with some help from his squad, clutching his lower back and signaling to get subbed out.
"Oh man, the game just started and the damn Tyrant already taken Rodman out!" Marv Albert called out, clearly frustrated.
Phil Jackson shook his head, pointed at the bench, and waved in backup center Bill Wennington.
"Our bigs are just too old," he muttered.
Meanwhile, Ernie Grunfeld, sitting courtside, started thinking about the Ewing trade.
But after looking it over again, he figured he made the right call. Luc Longley still couldn't hold a candle to even a banged-up Ewing. The gamble paid off.
Despite the injury, Ewing could still give you solid minutes—especially when the playoffs came around.
Bulls possession.
Ewing posted up on the left block, calling for the rock.
He got it, gave a couple fakes left and right, then turned around for that signature hop fadeaway.
But Zhao Dong had him scouted. And Ewing just ain't that quick anymore post-injury. Before he even lifted off, Zhao Dong sent that shot packing.
Ewing lost his footing and hit the floor hard on his butt.
"…"
The broadcast went dead quiet.
"Oh man… Ewing. It might be over for him," Matt Goukas sighed.
As a former big, he felt the sting.
Fast break time.
Zhao Dong took off right after dishing the ball. The Bulls' bigs were too slow to keep up—again. Knicks got numbers on the break.
That left Jason Caffey to deal with Zhao Dong.
Caffey was a role guy, not even a regular starter. His mission? Get physical, foul if needed, stop Zhao Dong by any means.
On this break, he hustled in from the wing to the top of the arc and planted himself in Zhao Dong's path.
Zhao Dong, cool as ever, swung the ball to Oakley on the right wing.
Caffey was caught flat-footed and had to scramble back.
But just as he turned to rotate, Oakley zipped it right back.
He looked back and saw Zhao Dong already blowing past him, grabbing the ball mid-stride and cutting into the lane.
"BOOM!"
Zhao Dong threw down another monster dunk.
"Damn it!" Jordan, back under the rim, could only watch. Dude didn't even try to jump. He knew better than to catch a body under that rim.
"They've unleashed the Beast. If I'm the Bulls, I'm double-checkin' the bolts on that rim. Might need to replace it after this one," Matt Goukas said, half-joking.
Bulls come back.
Jordan took matters into his own hands, broke down his defender, and nailed a mid-range jumper.
4–2. Knicks ball.
As soon as the bucket dropped, Zhao Dong sprinted down the court again.
"Get back! Hustle!" Phil Jackson shouted from the sideline. "Caffey! Caffey!"
Phil still had a full head of hair and wasn't chill Zen mode yet. Dude was animated, throwing signals and waving like he was directing traffic.
Zhao Dong crossed halfcourt just as the ball came flying toward him, and Caffey stepped up to stop the break.
"Screech—" Zhao Dong hit the brakes, caught the ball with one hand, and faked a pass right. The motion was so slick it made Caffey hesitate.
That's all he needed.
Zhao Dong pulled it back, dribbled hard to the left, and blew right by him.
"Man, that was clean!" Zhang Heli shouted. "That's what big hands do for you—those fakes were butter. Bulls' No. 35 got completely frozen."
Zhao Dong was in the paint again.
Jordan slid over to help, tried to swipe the ball, but Zhao Dong changed direction, gliding right past him into the paint.
"BOOM!"
Another hammer dunk. The rim shook like it was about to snap off.
"It's just too easy against y'all."
On the way back, Zhao Dong tossed some trash Jordan's way.
"It's wild how every point y'all get is so dead inside—ain't no soul in them buckets. Shame."
Jordan's face turned red, eyes burning.
Dude was calling out their defense—calling them soft, basically.
"MJ, you want a ring that bad? I got a suggestion—come to New York. I'll carry you to the title. You can be my No. 2."
Zhao Dong kept talkin'.
"Shut the hell up!" Jordan snapped.
He felt like he was about to lose it. Anger was pulsing through his veins, temples throbbing. But he had to hold it down. Couldn't start swinging. Had to settle it on the court.
"Yo, your trash talk game weak, man. You should go take lessons from Larry Bird or somethin'," Zhao Dong added.
"Get lost!" Jordan barked back.
Bulls ball.
Zhao Dong got behind Ewing on defense, jawing at him again.
"Ewing, you still got that jumper? Nah, I don't think so."
"Jason! Give me the damn ball!" Ewing yelled at the top.
Kidd glanced at Jordan, but he wasn't open yet, so he tossed it to Ewing.
Zhao Dong let him catch it, but the second he did, he smothered him—cut off all his space.
He knew exactly what Ewing would do: turn and jump shot. That was all he had left.
No way Ewing was trying to drive. Not with those knees.
Sure enough, Ewing spun and went for the hook.
But his footwork was slow, movements stiff. He couldn't even get lift. The hook had zero arc.
"SMACK!"
Zhao Dong exploded up, boosted by that Silver Demon bounce. Snatched that shot clean.
Ewing stared at him, straight-up shocked.
"How the hell you get that strong?"
Back when they were teammates, he never saw Zhao Dong clamp like this.
But that's 'cause Zhao Dong used to play outside more. He never had to defend the post like this before.
Knicks on the run again.
Camby and Wennington ran neck-and-neck, but Zhao Dong left Ewing in the dust.
Another frontcourt overload.
Zhao Dong took the pass and pushed up to the top of the arc. Caffey came charging in again, trying to stop the freight train.
Zhao Dong rose up like he was gonna pull, then zipped it over to Oakley wide open on the right.
Oakley took two slow steps inside the three-point line, caught it, and just stared at the rim.
Held it for a whole two seconds.
The Bulls froze—nobody rotated. Nobody closed out. Just watched him line it up.
"Yo, just shoot the damn ball already!" Caffey screamed inside his head.
"SWISH!"
Net.
Money mid-range from Oakley.
"Yo, congrats Charles, you hit a basic bucket!" Zhao Dong shouted as he jogged back on D.
"Yeah, that's a basic shot, but it still felt sweet!" Oakley barked back with a grin.
"Hmph!"
Jordan, ever the competitor, grunted, clearly ticked off.
Swish!
On the next play, MJ pulled up and drained a three.
"I told you you weren't getting touches, didn't I?"
Zhao Dong taunted Ewing. "You hangin' on Jordan's coattails, thinking you matter? You just a side character in this script, bro. Nobody feeding you the rock. Without the ball, how you gon' go at me?"
"Get lost!" Ewing snapped, eyes burning with frustration.
Next possession, Camby bricked a shot.
Score: 8–5, Bulls ball.
Phil Jackson called a timeout.
"Patrick," Phil said seriously, "you gotta move, man. Your teammates will set screens, but you can't just stand there. If you do, Zhao Dong's gonna eat you alive. You need to get open, and then Jason can hit you."
Phil was frustrated. Since Ewing joined, things felt… off. The big man was banged up and didn't move like he used to. His low-post, half-court game just didn't fit with Kidd's pass-first, run-and-gun style.
Kidd had laser vision—he could dime up anyone if they got separation. But standing still? That wasn't his game. Hell, Harper could've done that.
Still, asking Ewing to run more was asking a lot of a guy with two bad knees. But if he wanted to score and go at Zhao Dong, that's what it'd take—even if it cost him long-term.
Timeout over. Bulls ball.
Zhao Dong noticed right away—Ewing was moving more now.
Didn't faze him though. His lateral speed was way better. Ewing's bad wheels weren't getting him open.
"Pick and roll coming?"
He saw Bulls forward Caffey sliding over and got ready.
Yup—Caffey set a solid screen. Zhao Dong fought through it.
Oakley switched onto Ewing. Old teammates facing off.
Ewing had the size and length advantage and barely got open. Kidd zipped him the ball.
Zhao Dong didn't switch—he hustled around Caffey, but Kidd's pass was on time.
Ewing pulled up for a mid-range jumper—but Oakley got a hand up and blocked it. Brick.
Zhao Dong glanced back—knew the shot was off—and took off.
Swish!
"Push it!"
Knicks' assistant coach Van Gundy roared from the sideline.
Camby grabbed the board, backpedaled to the baseline, and launched an outlet pass.
Zhao Dong caught it just past halfcourt. Caffey and Ewing couldn't keep up. Even Jordan, sprinting from the wing, was a step too late.
Jordan tried to cut him off mid-lane, but the only shot he had was a risky challenge from the middle.
BANG-BANG.
Zhao Dong took two hard dribbles, hit the wing, then slashed toward the cup.
Jordan made a desperation lunge to contest—but his Nikes betrayed him.
SLIP.
BOOM!
The two collided hard. Zhao Dong went flying, tumbled three or four times before stopping.
"OH!"
The crowd gasped. Fans stood frozen, mouths wide open.
"Zhao Dong?"
"Yo, boss?"
"MJ?!"
Players finally realized what happened and rushed over.
"That was a crazy take by Jordan," Marv Albert gasped. "Way too aggressive, that could've ended careers."
"Flagrant for sure," Matt Goukas added. "Zhao Dong is the league's hottest young gun, and MJ's still the face of the NBA. We can't have either of them getting hurt."
"How do you defend like that?"
Zhang Heli ranted from the Chinese broadcast. "Jordan was in no position. That was reckless, borderline dirty! He better pray Zhao Dong's okay."
Meanwhile…
In New York, Lindsay froze, eyes glued to the TV.
Back in Beijing, Zhao Dong's family freaked—except for his old-school grandparents who stayed calm.
On the court, MJ popped up. He was fine—just knocked over.
But Zhao Dong didn't move at first—still face down, chest heaving.
"Number 68, you need medical?"
The ref knelt beside him.
"Nah."
Zhao Dong replied, slowly pushing himself up.
He had the wind knocked out of him, just needed a moment.
Back in New York and Beijing, sighs of relief echoed.
"Glad you're good, man,"
Old Coach Nelson said, finally exhaling.
"MJ, what the hell, man?!"
Oakley barked, heated. He used to be Jordan's bodyguard, but now? Dude was pissed.
"Charles, I swear—I couldn't stop! My footing gave out!" Jordan explained.
"Chill, Charles," Ewing stepped in, blocking Oakley. "Mike didn't mean it."
Oakley held back, but someone else didn't.
"BAM!"
Larry Johnson came flying off the bench and clocked Jordan from the side, dropping him instantly.
(TL: Larry: Here i come. Ahahahahah)
"WHOA!"
The United Center exploded. Bulls fans lost it—booing, screaming, trash raining down on Knicks players.
"SECURITY! SECURITY!"
Bulls GM Jerry Krause shouted.
"This is chaos!"
Zhang Heli yelled. "How's the league gonna handle this?"
Security rushed in, held Larry Johnson back, and stopped wild fans from rushing the floor.
Jordan sat on the hardwood, stunned. He'd never been punched like that since going pro.
Once he realized what happened, he lost it—furious, yelling.
"Larry Johnson, you're done! You hear me?! This ain't over!"
WHAM!
Zhao Dong walked over, cracked Jordan in the gut with a right hook.
MJ dropped to his knees, gagging.
"THUD!"
Zhao Dong booted him back down to the floor.
Jordan got rocked again.
The arena went nuclear.
Fans hurled everything from drinks to shoes.
Knicks players ducked for cover.
However, Zhao Dong barely threw a punch and a kick before security swarmed him.
"You think this is over? Nah, I'm telling you, Jordan—this ain't over! You better watch your back!"
Zhao Dong roared at Jordan like a madman, and even the big security guards were struggling to hold him down.
"I didn't mean it, man! I swear I couldn't stop!" Jordan backed up, hands raised, looking kinda shook.
"Two years ago, Reggie Miller fouled you dirty. What did you do then? You chased him down like a mad dog!" Zhao Dong yelled. "Now you hit me like that? I could've snapped my neck or broke my legs! And you expect me not to go off on you?!"
"I... I really didn't mean to..." Jordan muttered, looking all guilty.
"Zhao Dong, yo, chill, chill. Give me some face, man. Michael probably didn't do it on purpose. You know he ain't that type of dude..." Oakley stepped in, trying to cool things down.
"Charles, you lucky you my boy."
Zhao Dong snorted and took a step back. He respected Oakley a lot. Oak had his back when he was fighting Ewing for that core spot on the team—he owed him.
"Damn it!"
Jordan let out a breath, cursed in his head. He really hadn't meant to go that hard, but he just caught a beatdown in his own house. Not even the Mississippi River could wash away that humiliation.
"Let go!"
Larry Johnson was still locked down by security. Zhao Dong stormed over, barking, and yanked him free.
Seeing the fire in Zhao Dong's eyes, the security guards backed off. They knew better.
"Good job, Larry. Roll with me and you'll get paid," Zhao Dong said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Boss, what you just say?" Larry laughed, hyped up.
"You heard me." Zhao Dong grinned.
Then the ref finally showed up, way late. First thing he did was eject Larry Johnson and send him back to the locker room.
Next, he slapped Jordan with a regular defensive foul. No flagrant, no tech—just basic.
Then he turned to Zhao Dong, raised both hands into a "T."
Technical foul. One free throw. Add in Larry Johnson's two free throws, that's three total.
The ref thought he was going easy on Zhao Dong. In his mind, giving just a tech instead of ejecting him was a mercy move.
But Zhao Dong wasn't feeling that. His eyes turned ice cold. He didn't even glance at the ref. He looked straight at Jordan and said in a low, deadly voice:
"Mr. Jordan, next time I'm guarding you just like that. Just an ordinary foul, right? I still got six of 'em. Better get ready for early retirement."
"Yeah, I still got six fouls too," Oakley chimed in, just as cold.
He couldn't defend Jordan this time. That play was dangerous as hell. Zhao Dong could've been crippled. Larry Johnson? He came off the bench—that ejection was fair. But Jordan only getting a soft foul? That wasn't right.
"I've got six too."
Alan Houston and the rest of the squad joined in, backing Zhao Dong and Oakley up.
Jordan's face darkened. The ref's face turned tight. Everyone around the court felt the tension.
"No. 68, you trying to get tossed?" the ref barked at Zhao Dong.
"You can try. Send us all out—go ahead. That's your call. But just know this: the whole damn world's watching you right now. Hundred million eyes on you. You sure you wanna be that guy?"
Zhao Dong wasn't usually the type to pop off at the refs, but tonight? He was heated. He pointed straight at Jordan.
"I guarantee, as long as there's one Knick left on the floor... he's gonna feel exactly what I just felt!"
"I promise!"
Buck Williams shouted from the bench. The dude was a former union chairman—had major respect across the league. His words hit hard, and the ref felt it.
"I promise too!"
Big Ben stood up, roaring. Watching Jordan get a slap on the wrist after nearly wrecking Zhao Dong had him fired up.
"And me!"
Danny Fortson shouted, clenching his fist.
"Me too!"
"I got his back!"
"I'm in!"
All the Knicks' bench mob stood up, shouting support—even Hu Weidong jumped in.
"This is getting serious now!"
"The Knicks ain't no joke. The league makes bank off 'em. You really think they'll let the refs hand everything to the Bulls? The New York media will tear the league apart!"
"Jordan's move was wild. Only Zhao Dong could eat that and still stand. Anyone else might've been carried off!"
Reporters courtside started whispering, some already firing off notes to editors.
The ref stood there, frozen. He knew he had the power to toss Zhao Dong, no questions asked. But the fallout?
If the Knicks really snapped and someone laid Jordan out for real, David Stern and the owners might come down so hard he'd be toast
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