13:5, Jazz possession.
Greg Ostertag went to work in the post again, but this time, Zhao Dong threw an elbow to shake off Karl Malone, slid over for the weak-side help, and swatted the shot into the stands.
The Jazz reset, running a pick-and-roll up top. Jeff Hornacek came off the screen and pulled up for three—but it clanked off the rim. Zhao Dong was already in position, snagging the board with ease.
"Get back on defense!"
Jerry Sloan's voice rang from the sidelines, but Zhao Dong was already pushing the pace. Malone hustled back, but Zhao Dong stayed right on him, forcing him deep into the paint before stopping just inside the three-point line.
"Collapse on him! Squeeze him out!" Sloan yelled.
The Jazz defense shrank in, closing the gaps as Zhao Dong entered the paint. But just as the defense tightened, Zhao Dong suddenly leapt up and whipped a one-handed pass to the right wing—right into John Starks' shooting pocket.
"Jump pass! Wide open from three!" Matt Goukas shouted.
Starks took his time, lined it up, and let it fly. Hornacek was still stuck in the lane near Zhao Dong—too late to contest.
Splash!
The net barely moved as the three-pointer dropped.
16:5—Knicks up by 11 on the road. The Jazz looked completely out of it.
"This ain't just a beatdown, this is a whole collapse," Marv Albert said. "The Knicks came in and shattered the Jazz's morale. Stockton hasn't been the same since Zhao Dong embarrassed him in the opening minutes."
Jazz possession.
Stockton worked off a high screen and let it fly from deep, but John Starks closed in fast, forcing him to adjust mid-air. The shot bricked.
Zhao Dong cleaned up the board and took off.
"Russell, stop him!" Sloan barked.
Small forward Bryon Russell tried to cut off Zhao Dong's lane, slowing down the transition. The Knicks set up for a half-court set.
Zhao Dong held the ball a couple of steps beyond the arc, calling out the play. It was a cutting action—Larry Johnson pulled out of the paint to set a screen for Alan Houston, who took off on a backdoor cut.
Malone read it late and had to chase.
With Russell in front of him, Zhao Dong suddenly accelerated, blowing past him straight into the lane.
Houston reached the rim, saw Zhao Dong charging down the middle, and cleared out.
Malone finally caught up—just in time to see Zhao Dong soaring toward the basket.
Karl Malone went up for the contest.
BANG!
The entire Delta Center held its breath as the rim shook violently.
"Ohhh!"
Gasps echoed through the arena as Malone got bodied in mid-air and sent flying to the baseline. Fans covered their eyes, not wanting to witness the aftermath.
BOOM.
Malone hit the hardwood hard—so hard his eyes watered from the impact.
"Zhao Dong just put Karl Malone in a body bag! The sheer force—he obliterated the Mailman at the rim!" Marv Albert roared.
"This dude's built different!" Matt Goukas shouted. "Same size, same strength—but Malone still got blown away like a ragdoll!"
"This is unreal! This ain't like anything we see in domestic games back home," Zhang Heli yelled. "Zhao Dong's explosiveness is off the charts!"
"This is what I call must-see TV!" Sun Zhenping laughed.
"Mr. Sun, you're supposed to be calling the game, not just watching it!" the director reminded him.
"Oh! Right, right…" Sun Zhenping coughed awkwardly.
Zhang Heli chuckled. "I think it's a wrap. The Jazz are cooked. They got no answer for Zhao Dong tonight."
At NBC network HQ, executives were already talking.
"Mr. President, ratings just tanked after Zhao Dong got subbed out. The Jazz waved the white flag after three quarters, and the game's a blowout."
David Stern wasn't pleased.
"We shouldn't have let Utah make it this far," Stern muttered. "The Mavericks would've made this Finals more exciting."
"The Western Conference still isn't built to compete with the Bulls or Knicks. There's no true title contender out there."
"Hopefully, this year's draft changes that," Stern said, rubbing his chin.
"Tim Duncan looks promising, but the Spurs? Small market. Won't maximize his commercial value."
At least Shaquille O'Neal moving to the Lakers gave the West a chance at a real powerhouse. If they played it right, LA could be a real problem soon.
---
Final Score: Knicks 91 - Jazz 65.
A 26-point blowout on the road. The Knicks were now one win away from the championship.
Series: Knicks lead 3-1.
---
Zhao Dong's Stat Line (33 minutes):
31 points (13-18 FG, 5-6 FT)
10 rebounds
7 assists
3 steals
6 blocks
1 turnover
3 fouls
---
Back in the locker room…
Zhao Dong had barely sat down when his agent, Wells , called.
"Yo, you're hot right now! I got brands lining up to throw bags at you."
"How big we talking?" Zhao Dong asked, toweling off.
"Twenty million in one year. All yours."
Zhao Dong wasn't even surprised.
He knew that in his past life, after Vince Carter's death dunk in the Olympics, he bagged 30 million in endorsements in a year.
Zhao Dong didn't jump over a random seven-footer—he posterized Stockton, a certified legend.
It might not have been as flashy as Carter's dunk, but the impact? Oh, it was there.
"Pick a few, don't take everything," Zhao Dong said.
He was cool with signing endorsements for now, but long-term? Nah. He knew money wouldn't be an issue down the line, so he might as well stack up some early capital while he had the chance.
"Got it!"
Ringo Wells practically yelled in excitement.
Nearby, Charles Oakley overheard and turned toward Zhao Dong. "Yo, how many deals you signing?"
"Ahem, not much. Wells says I can pull in twenty mil a year." Zhao Dong said casually.
"Ohhh!"
The entire locker room erupted.
---
The next day, when the Knicks landed in New York, the scene was wild. Fans packed the airport, chanting Zhao Dong's name, their voices echoing like a damn parade. The motorcade stretched from the airport all the way to the city, with cars honking and people waving signs.
Sitting on the team bus, Zhao Dong waved back at the crowd, setting off fresh waves of cheers.
Oakley smirked, nudging him. "Man, you straight-up took Patrick's spot as the face of New York."
Zhao Dong turned to his teammates, grinning. "You think I deserve it?"
"Boss, don't let the team trade me in the offseason! I wanna build a dynasty with you!" Larry Johnson suddenly shouted.
Zhao Dong blinked, then burst out laughing.
Larry Johnson, a former No. 1 pick, wasn't the All-Star he used to be, but hearing a guy like him call Zhao Dong "boss" in front of the team? Yeah, that felt real good.
"Boss, I don't wanna leave either!" Rookie John Wallace chimed in.
"Me too, boss!" Another rookie, Walter McCarty, shouted.
Just a few months ago, these two were fighting for minutes against Zhao Dong. Now? They were calling him "boss" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Boss, you really think we can build a dynasty?" Allan Houston asked, his eyes full of excitement.
Zhao Dong's grin widened. Houston was his biggest competition for touches earlier in the season, and now even he was on board?
Zhao Dong stood up, looking around the locker room. "If we all stay locked in, we're gonna be a problem. Even if the Bulls and other teams reload, we're not backing down. Next season? We're coming for that crown!"
Sitting in the front row, Ernie Grunfeld listened carefully, deep in thought.
Ewing was done. A serious knee injury at his age? No way he was bouncing back like before. His decline next season was inevitable—hell, it might be drastic.
Larry Johnson's back was also a ticking time bomb. Oakley wasn't getting any younger, and the two veteran Williamses were slowing down. If the Knicks didn't make moves in the offseason, there was no way they'd be as strong as they were right now.
Last summer, the front office rejected trading Ewing for Shaq. Even worse, they fired Nelson at Ewing's request.
This time? Hell no.
Grunfeld wasn't about to let loyalty hold the team back.
He even glanced at Jeff Van Gundy. The coach had just won Coach of the Year, but his playoff performances? Mid. If it weren't for Zhao Dong carrying, the Knicks would've been cooked a long time ago.
Then there was Larry Johnson. That ridiculous contract was holding them back. If the Knicks wanted to pay Zhao Dong big after his rookie deal, they had to clear the books now.
Crunching the numbers, Grunfeld realized their total payroll for next season was $55 million—a full $28 million over the cap.
Trading Ewing and Johnson? That might be the only way to rebuild on the fly. Move those contracts, get younger, and stack assets before Zhao Dong's next deal.
The owner had deep pockets, sure, but money wasn't the issue—it was the roster.
---
When they got back to the training facility, Zhao Dong wasted no time. He hopped in his car and headed straight to Lindsay's place.
No need to call ahead. He knew she'd be home. Lindsay never really socialized much, and ever since she left Madam Dolores, she barely went out at all.
"Zhao Dong?"
She peered through the peephole before opening the door, smiling.
"Tired from the game?" she asked as she let him in.
"Not really. Yo, how's the market been looking?"
He spotted her laptop on the sofa—foreign exchange charts on the screen.
"Not bad," Lindsay said. "Ms. Dolores plays it safe. Keeps most funds in reserve and runs 50x leverage. Nothing crazy, but the book profits are up 50%. We're just waiting on news from Tai's financial sector before making a heavy move."
"Not time yet," Zhao Dong nodded. "They're still holding on. When they can't anymore? That's when the real money moves."
Lindsay set a glass of water in front of him and sat down beside him, casually linking her arm through his.
Zhao Dong had noticed it for a while now—she used to be completely dependent on Ms. Dolores, but now? That dependency was shifting toward him.
When they were together, there were no secrets. They talked about everything.
Lindsay had even asked him to teach her Mandarin. She already had some basics, so she was picking it up quick.
"Did you really throw hands in Salt Lake City again?" she teased.
Zhao Dong smirked. "We had to check Karl Malone. Dude was out here playing dirty. If not for the refs screwing us, we'd have swept them for the title."
Lindsay frowned. "Is fighting too much gonna mess with your career?"
"Nah, I only went at Malone twice. Besides, Jordan's getting old. How much longer he got at his peak? Once he slows down, who else the league got? They're gonna need me to carry it."
Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Cocky much?"
"Nah, just facts." Zhao Dong grinned. "Anyway, let's hit the store. I'm cooking tonight."
"Wait— you cook?" Lindsay raised an eyebrow.
"I got skills," Zhao Dong smirked. "I'll make you some vegetarian dishes today."
"What's that?"
"Food monks eat. No meat, no strong flavors—no garlic, onions, or leeks."
"Huh. Sounds... different." Lindsay tilted her head. "Alright, gimme a sec. Lemme change first."
She hopped up and headed to her room, leaving Zhao Dong shaking his head with a chuckle.
After grinding all afternoon, Zhao Dong finally put together three dishes and a soup.
Lindsay was hyped. She couldn't stop praising him.
"Zhao Dong, this is the best! I want more!"
She pointed at an almost empty plate, just a little sauce left.
"That's called vegetarian chicken drumstick with Western sauce," Zhao Dong grinned. "Crispy, packed with flavor. I'll make it again next time."
For a chef, nothing beats hearing compliments from the people eating their food—and Zhao Dong was no exception.
"Uh-huh!" Lindsay nodded enthusiastically.
---
That same day, the media had basically locked in their championship prediction—the Knicks were about to take home their third NBA title.
Every sports network had the odds out, and it wasn't looking good for the Jazz. Their chances of winning? A pitiful 3%.
June 10th. Game 5 of the NBA Finals.
The Knicks had the championship on match point. If they won tonight, it was over.
By the afternoon, Madison Square Garden was already packed. Fans swarmed outside, turning the area into a full-blown festival.
The Knicks went all out decorating the arena, making it look like the basketball capital of the world. The energy? Electric.
As night fell, the stars came out. Madison Square Garden was flooded with celebrities, all dressed to impress.
The moment the Knicks' team bus rolled up, the crowd exploded.
"Zhao Dong! Zhao Dong!"
As Zhao Dong stepped up and waved, the cheers were deafening.
Inside the underground parking lot, he let his teammates head to the locker room first while he waited for Lindsay.
A few minutes later, she finally pulled in.
Traffic had been hell—she'd been stuck for nearly twenty minutes before making it inside.
Hopping out of her car, Lindsay twirled in front of him, lifting her skirt slightly.
"So? How do I look?" she asked, a hint of expectation in her voice.
She had picked this rose-red dress specifically, hoping it would bring good luck for the night.
"Beautiful. Real beautiful," Zhao Dong nodded, smiling.
"You like it?"
"Yeah."
Lindsay took his arm, smiling. "As long as you like it, that's all that matters."
Zhao Dong glanced at her. "If we win tonight, you wanna be my date for tomorrow's championship parade?"
Lindsay looked up at him, eyes soft. "Okay." She nodded.
The moment they stepped into Madison Square Garden, the fans erupted.
Every camera in the arena turned toward them, shutters clicking nonstop.
Walking along the front row, Zhao Dong casually greeted the celebrities in attendance.
Lindsay, meanwhile, moved with the grace of a princess. Even among Hollywood's biggest stars, she stood out effortlessly. She gave polite nods to those who greeted her, never losing her cool.
Finally, Zhao Dong stopped at a particular seat.
"Yo, my guy!" he greeted.
It was a front-row seat he had given away since it would've just gone to waste otherwise.
"Zhao Dong, thanks for the ticket!"
Zhao Dong laughed. "Just call me by my name, man. I ain't even twenty yet, I'm younger than you."
"Nah, bro, I gotta show respect. You're the boss of the Knicks. With your status, calling you by name just don't feel right."
Zhao Dong chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, man, do what you gotta do."
Right as he turned to leave, he ran into a group of NBA executives.
Leading them? David Stern himself.
The commissioner was walking with Knicks owner James Dolan and a few league officials.
"Mr. Stern," Zhao Dong greeted.
"Zhao Dong." Stern nodded.
The others moved ahead, but Stern stayed behind, clearly wanting a word.
"Let's talk about the physicality on the court," Stern got straight to the point.
"Yeah?" Zhao Dong tilted his head slightly.
"The league doesn't condone violence. We need superstars who represent humility, tolerance, and respect. You understand what I'm saying?"
Zhao Dong fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"Didn't you try to make Jordan into a saint already? Man, I ain't here to play nice—I'm here to dominate. My goal is to take down every superstar standing in my way."
Of course, he didn't say that out loud.
Instead, he smiled. "I hear you, Mr. Stern. I fully support the league cracking down on unnecessary violence."
Stern studied him carefully. "That's good to hear. The NBA needs players who uphold the spirit of the game. We don't want another Karl Malone situation."
Zhao Dong smirked. "Yeah, I'd rather get kicked out of the league than turn into a dirty player like Karl Malone."
Stern's eye twitched for a split second, but he quickly nodded.
"Well, I hope you can lead the Knicks to another championship and become a respected superstar in this league," he said.
Zhao Dong nodded politely. "Appreciate that, sir."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Behind him, Stern let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head.
This kid wasn't gonna be easy to control.
He could already tell—just like Jordan, Zhao Dong wasn't the type to blindly follow the league's rules.
And that?
That meant trouble.
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