"You mean… I can go back to the NBA?!" Oden shot to his feet in excitement. He'd seemed calm sitting down, but when he stood, Chen Yilun had to crane his neck to meet his eyes.
"Uh… let's sit down and talk."
The two walked into the lounge of the rehab center and took their seats.
"How did you suddenly find me? I thought no one would come anymore." Oden gave a self-deprecating smile as he looked at Chen Yilun.
From 2008 to now—seven full seasons—Oden had played only 82 games. His short comeback with the Miami Heat last season was a statistical disaster, convincing almost everyone that he would never appear on an NBA roster again.
If nothing unexpected happened, Oden would soon sign with a CBA team, joining Jiangsu alongside MarShon Brooks, only to end his career in disappointment.
"Of course—if you're up for it, I'm willing to give you a chance," Chen Yilun said slowly, pouring himself a glass of water.
"But I have a few questions for you." He looked Oden straight in the eye.
"I watched your workout for a bit. How's the recovery going?"
Hearing this, a wave of bitterness welled up in Oden. "The recovery's been steady… but you know how it is. I've got too many injuries. It's hard to get back to what I was."
Chen Yilun frowned slightly. With the Restore Health Card, he could heal all of Oden's injuries—big and small—in an instant. But what worried him most was that years of injuries and ridicule had worn down Oden's confidence.
"Injuries are serious, but for me, that's not the most important thing. What I want to know is…" Chen Yilun paused deliberately, then enunciated each word: "Do you still want to return to the NBA? And what are you willing to give to get there?"
The words hit Oden hard. "I'm willing to give everything! I'll be a practice body, a ball boy, a benchwarmer—whatever it takes. Just give me a shot to come back!"
His fists clenched, his eyes burning as he spoke.
Hearing this, Chen Yilun made up his mind. "Alright. I hope you mean what you say, and I hope my decision today is the right one. I'll be in New York for another two days. Then you'll come back with me, and I'll give you a contract."
"Thank you! Thank you! I won't waste this chance." Oden sprang to his feet in excitement.
"Don't get too worked up. We'll see each other plenty. Once we're back in Sacramento, I'll set up a rehab program for you. Hopefully, I can see you on the court by December."
Chen Yilun stood as well, shook Oden's hand, and they exchanged contact information.
...
Soon after they parted, Chen Yilun's phone rang.
"Young man, want to grab dinner?" The voice on the other end was older, but strong. "This is Phil."
Buzz!
Chen Yilun's mind went blank.
The "Zen Master" Phil Jackson—once the league's most successful head coach, a godfather of basketball with eleven championship rings, and now president of the New York Knicks!
"Of course! Phil, it'd be an honor to have dinner with you."
Pleased with the answer, Phil chuckled. "Seven o'clock tonight. Sky Garden, New York."
After hanging up, Chen Yilun quickly ran through all the Knicks' information in his mind.
Last season, they finished ninth in the East, missing the playoffs. Their salary cap was locked up by massive contracts for Carmelo Anthony and Amar'e Stoudemire, and to make matters worse, they'd swallowed Andrea Bargnani's $20 million deal in a trade with the Raptors. The team was a mess.
The only real bright spots were J.R. Smith, fresh off winning Sixth Man of the Year, and Tim Hardaway Jr., drafted two years earlier. But neither was within reach at the moment.
Not knowing exactly why the legendary coach wanted to see him, Chen Yilun waited through the evening with some nervous anticipation.
...
The Sky Garden was one of New York's most famous restaurants, perched atop a skyscraper with huge floor-to-ceiling windows and lush greenery, making it look like a floating garden in the sky.
At a prime table sat Phil Jackson in a custom tailcoat, his gray beard covering much of his face, giving him the distinguished look of an old gentleman. Across from him, Chen Yilun sat a bit stiffly—he wasn't used to dining in places like this, in either his past or present life.
"You've given us some real surprises this season," Phil began once the appetizers arrived. "But maybe they're more shocks than surprises. Your presence has made a lot of GMs more alert."
Chen Yilun, fork poised over his salad, froze for a second before setting it down awkwardly. "Maybe I've just been lucky."
"Lucky?" Unlike Gregg Popovich, the Zen Master always seemed to wear a smile. Both were legendary coaches, but their styles couldn't be more different.
"I don't believe that picking perfectly in the draft and never missing in trades is all luck. So why are you in New York? Is this about Brooklyn?"
"I don't have a set target," Chen Yilun replied carefully. "Of course, if Anthony's available, we'd be happy to talk."
Phil laughed heartily at the joke. "I always thought Easterners were too serious and lacked a sense of humor. Seems that's just a myth."
"But seriously," Phil said, setting aside his smile and sipping his vegetable soup, "are you interested in making a trade with me?"
Here it comes. Chen Yilun kept a calm face. "Oh? Which of our players are you interested in? Everything's negotiable."
"I've heard you're looking to clear out some forwards, and that several rotation players are on the trading block?"
"There's some truth to that," Chen Yilun admitted, "but I'm not planning major changes. The team's in a good place right now—making drastic moves could backfire."
Phil nodded, then leaned forward. "I've got Bargnani. I think he'd be a great fit for your team."
Yeah, right. You want me to take on Bargnani's garbage contract? Keep dreaming.
Once the No. 1 pick in 2006 and hailed as the next Dirk Nowitzki, Bargnani was never cut out to be a star. Now, with $20 million left on his contract, taking him would be a huge waste.
Seeing Chen Yilun's face tighten, Phil quickly added, "Of course, I wouldn't let you lose out. You'd send Jason Thompson and a first-round pick."
Thompson was little more than a benchwarmer for the Kings with no real role. This was clearly Phil trying to dump Bargnani's salary and grab a pick on top.
Chen Yilun smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, Bargnani's not part of our plans. He's a talented player, but unfortunately, there's no place for him in our system."
"But… I do have a trade idea you might like."
"Oh?" Phil's disappointment gave way to curiosity.
"Not a player," Chen Yilun said, shaking his finger. "A draft pick."
Phil's brow furrowed. "This year's pick isn't for sale. The most I can offer is a protected first-rounder in 2017."
"2017?"
Chen Yilun thought for a moment. "If it's protected, top-three at most. Top-five is my limit."
If history stayed on course, the Knicks would still be bad in 2017, making it a high pick. "I can offer you Derrick Williams. That's my show of good faith."
Williams was an average rotation player, putting up 7.1 points per game in his third year, with room to improve. Trading him for a future first-rounder was reasonable.
"But I'm not that interested in a 2017 first-rounder," Chen Yilun said, spearing a cherry tomato and chewing slowly. "What we need now is short-term assets. Here's my suggestion—swap this year's first-round picks, throw in your 2018 first, and I'll give you Williams. You just add a small throw-in to balance the roster."
A pick swap? That got Phil's mind turning. It was doable. Sure, the Kings were first in the West now, but the season had just begun. He already saw the cracks—Cousins and Gay couldn't carry the team, and the rookies were inconsistent. In the second half, their performance would likely drop, and even with the swap, his pick wouldn't fall much. That meant getting Williams almost for free.
As for the 2018 first-rounder—three years away—trading a distant asset for immediate help was an easy call.
A sly smile crept onto Phil's face as the two leaned in, whispering over the details.