Zhao Dong was locked in, laser-focused on the opportunities ahead. The 1997 Asian financial crisis had left a deep impression on him, and he knew exactly what was about to go down. In ten days, the currencies of the Philippines, Malaysia, and Indonesia would switch to a floating exchange rate system, and by year's end, their values would plummet by 40%.
Stock markets? Even worse. These countries' markets would crash 60-70%, and even Singapore would take a 40% hit. This financial storm would ripple through East Asia, hit Russia and South America, and even shake up the U.S. economy. The chaos wouldn't settle until the end of 1999.
For Zhao Dong, that meant two-plus years of prime money-making opportunities. The foreign exchange market was about to be a goldmine, especially in the next ten days. After that? Stock index futures.
He had the playbook memorized. Knowing exactly how far the stocks would fall, he mapped out his moves, gearing up for a massive payday in just a few months. In his mind, there was no real risk in forex trading—it was basically a guaranteed win.
He decided to pull $50 million from both accounts, funneling it through a Swiss bank to China to set up his own sporting goods empire. The remaining $200 million? Straight back into the forex market to rake in massive profits.
Swiss stock index futures had 50x leverage. That meant he could turn $200 million into a $10 billion bet against the crashing markets. As long as history stayed on track, the payday would be unreal. That's the advantage of knowing the future.
Meanwhile, this financial crisis would also spark a three-year bull market in the U.S., kicking off in March. The Nasdaq would shoot up from 1,194 points to 5,132 over the next three years before crashing into a brutal 30-month bear market in March 2000.
So the plan was simple: cash in on the Asian financial crisis, then pivot to the U.S. stock market, snagging high-quality stocks and going long on Nasdaq index futures for another big haul.
Lindsay and Lady Dolores were key players in this scheme. They provided top-tier financial security, shielding him from the sharks circling in deep waters. The three of them had become a tight-knit power trio, leveraging each other's expertise to maximize their profits.
After the celebration, he pulled Lindsay and Lady Dolores aside for a private conversation. He broke down the economic turmoil brewing in Southeast Asia, hinting that more countries were about to follow Thailand's lead.
This time, Lady Dolores didn't doubt him. She nodded and said she'd make the necessary arrangements immediately.
Being senior figures in a Swiss bank, Lady Dolores and her husband had eyes on the global flow of hot money. Their strategy would sync with Zhao Dong's predictions, allowing them to position themselves ahead of the big players.
But there was one thing they had to watch out for—big-name chess masters like Soros. The forex market was a ruthless zero-sum game. If a powerhouse like Soros caught wind of their plans, he wouldn't hesitate to crush them.
The major sharks had ridiculous amounts of capital. A single price surge from them could wipe out positions instantly, draining even massive reserves in an instant. That's why Lady Dolores was crucial—she ensured top-tier financial security, secret accounts, and access to insider intel.
By February 2nd, while the NBA was still buzzing with trades, Zhao Dong had checked out. He and Lindsay were already packing up, preparing to head back home.
Meanwhile, in Miami, Bulls GM Jerry Krause was working the phones. He called Pat Riley with a bold request.
"Pat, give me Jamal Mashburn. I owe you one," Krause said.
Riley burst out laughing. "Jerry, are you outta your damn mind? That's our starting small forward—one of the top ten wings in the league. You really think I'd just hand him over?"
"Pat, you flipped P.J. Brown for McGrady. Ain't that just to develop the kid? Mashburn ain't useful to you anymore. Do me a solid."
"Hell no."
Pat Riley wasn't stupid. The Bulls were still one of Miami's biggest rivals in the East. With Pippen gone, the Bulls' Iron Triangle was crumbling, and Riley had no intention of helping them out. Watching them self-destruct was entertainment in itself.
This offseason had already been a riot for him. The Bulls trading Pippen was hilarious, but the Knicks took the crown—trading Ewing had him howling.
Krause wasn't fazed by the rejection. He was just testing the waters.
"Alright, then gimme the rookie. I gave you Luc Longley so you'd have a starting center. C'mon, Pat..."
"You're trippin'. I flipped T-Mac for P.J. Brown, and now you want me to hand him over? That's like trading Brown for Longley and losing a first-round pick on top. Jerry, don't insult me. You got nothing to offer for McGrady."
Pat Riley's tone was straight-up annoyed now.
Krause sighed. "But Mashburn's in his prime. What do you need McGrady for?"
"That's my business, Jerry. If you want a wing, go hit up the West. Nobody in the East is gonna help you out. Later." Riley hung up.
Of course, Riley couldn't tell Krause the real reason behind the McGrady trade. P.J. Brown had been unlucky—stepped on by Zhao Dong during a game, messing up his ankle. His form was shaky now. Brown was a defensive role player at best, so flipping him for a top-10 pick? Easy call.
Krause scratched his head as he put the phone down. He had no chips left to play.
He grabbed a notepad and jotted down a few names: Ewing, Rodman, Jordan, Kidd.
That was his projected starting lineup for next season. Not bad, considering he hadn't given up much to build it.
"Screw it. Gotta downgrade at the three-spot. If I can't get a star, I'll roll with a role player."
Since he couldn't land a big-time small forward, his strategy shifted—find a defensive guy to wear down Zhao Dong and rack up fouls against him.
Meanwhile, in New York, Knicks GM Ernie Grunfeld was sweating bullets. The Bulls had just snatched Jason Kidd, and now Coach Don Nelson was barking at him to find a better point guard—someone with elite passing and speed.
If Zhao Dong were here, maybe he could give some advice. Nash is still stuck on the Suns doing nothing, and he might even get traded for a second-round pick.
Nelson, sitting across from Ernie Grunfeld, said, "Ernie, the Bulls' lineup next season is scary. If Ewing bounces back strong, he's gonna dominate our bigs. And Kidd? He's running that offense like a damn maestro. We already know Jordan and Zhao Dong are gonna tear it up at the two and three. That's two positions we're taking a hit on.
Especially at point guard—it's crucial for our offensive flow. We can't afford to get outplayed there. We need someone better."
"What about moving Zhao Dong to the one?" Grunfeld asked cautiously.
"Magic 2.0?" Nelson raised an eyebrow. He knew Zhao Dong had mentioned in interviews that he might run point, so he said, "I get it, but if he's handling both scoring and playmaking, the ball's always in his hands. That means defenses will key in on him heavy. Not sure that's the best move.
And we need to push the pace next season. We gotta manage his stamina, not burn him out. The Bulls are stacked, and we have to think long-term."
"Then let's package John Wallace, McCarty, and Chris Charles, see if we can land a legit point guard," Grunfeld said, shaking his head.
Wallace and McCarty were the 18th and 19th picks last year—straight-up bad calls.
---
At 8 AM on the 3rd, Zhao Dong and Lindsay boarded a direct flight from New York to Beijing.
The media was on their tail the whole time, so the news spread fast. By the time they landed at Beijing Airport at 10 AM local time on the 4th, the place was packed with reporters and fans.
"Damn, fans were this wild back in the day?" Zhao Dong muttered, looking at the massive crowd—at least a few hundred people.
"Holy shit! It's Zhao Dong!"
"Zhao Dong!"
"Damn, his girl is fine as hell… Do I even stand a chance?"
Excited fans rushed in, surrounding them instantly.
"Yo, chill! Chill!" Zhao Dong shouted while shielding Lindsay. "My people, my brothers, my sisters, I ain't special—I'm made of flesh just like y'all. Don't stomp me out, man. If Zhao Dong turns into a dead man, where's the fun in that?"
"Hahaha!"
The crowd cracked up, easing the tension a bit.
With the help of airport staff, they managed to break free in about ten minutes.
Zhao Dong kept apologizing to the staff and passengers for the chaos.
"Son!"
As soon as he stepped out of the hall, he heard his mom, Li Meizhu, call out.
Looking up, he spotted her standing about 20 meters away with his dad, his brother, and a middle-aged woman.
"Mom!"
He hadn't seen her in three years—or rather, a lifetime. His eyes warmed up.
In his past life, things were rough. His mom had shed so many tears for him. After that car accident, maybe she was still grieving for him in another timeline. That thought would never sit right with him.
"Damn, you still hugging your mom at this age?" Zhao Zhenguo, his dad, joked, acting jealous.
"Pops."
Zhao Dong grinned and gave his father a hug.
"Bro!"
Zhao Dacheng stepped up and socked Zhao Dong in the shoulder. "Three years, man! You got bigger and taller! I'm damn near a head shorter now."
At 180 cm, he was about 25 cm shorter than Zhao Dong—basically a full head.
"Bro, how you been?"
Zhao Dong punched him back, making Dacheng stumble.
"I'm good."
Dacheng laughed.
Lindsay, watching them, felt a pang of envy. Seeing Zhao Dong's family reminded her of her mother in heaven, and her eyes turned red.
"Dongdong! You gonna introduce your girl or what?" Li Meizhu called out.
"Oh, oh… right!"
Zhao Dong had been so caught up that he forgot about Lindsay. He quickly pulled her forward.
"Hello, Auntie and Uncle, hello, Brother Dacheng," Lindsay said in Mandarin, her pronunciation about 70% accurate.
"Damn! Your Chinese is solid! And you got a Beijing accent too?" Li Meizhu was surprised. She had been worried about a language barrier.
"Didn't I tell you? Her mom's a Beijing native. She's practically half-Beijing girl herself," Zhao Dong explained.
While they chatted, the middle-aged woman next to them smiled.
"Oh, look at me—I forgot introductions!"
Li Meizhu slapped her forehead and pulled Zhao Dong closer. "Dongdong, this is Director Liu. She came to pick you up today."
"Oh, I see!" Zhao Dong quickly shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Director Liu. Sorry for the trouble."
"Are you kidding? Watching you ball out overseas is an honor for us Chinese. No trouble at all," Liu Yumin said, smiling.
"You're my senior—I'll be looking for guidance in the future," Zhao Dong said politely.
They exchanged greetings, but the fans and reporters still hadn't left, inching closer again.
"Alright, let's head home. Dumplings are ready to hit the pot, and Grandpa's got warm milk waiting for you!" Li Meizhu said excitedly.
"Damn slow driver!" she added. "By the time we got here, the place was packed with your fans. We couldn't even get through."
"Mom, relax, relax. No rush."
On the way to the parking lot, Li Meizhu kept talking nonstop.
They had two cars—Zhao Zhenguo's Santana and Zhao Dacheng's Jetta.
Zhao Dong spotted them and chuckled. "We're getting two more in a few days. The Audi 100 is killing it in China now, right? Citroen's not bad either."
"You're still buying? This is a brand-new car!" Li Meizhu frowned. "Dongdong, don't waste money!"
Zhao Zhenguo and Zhao Dacheng nodded. They knew Zhao Dong was grinding hard overseas—getting into fights, playing through pain. It wasn't easy. They didn't want him throwing money away.
"Nah, I been stackin' up some cash lately and plan to start a business in China. Need some high-end rides," Zhao Dong explained.
"Starting a business? That's solid. Do what you gotta do," Li Meizhu nodded. It was a big decision, so she had no objections.
"Director Liu, why don't you swing by our place for some dumplings?" Zhao Dong asked politely.
"Ah, no, no, I still got work at the office. Y'all go ahead and enjoy," Liu Yumin quickly declined.
Zhao Dong didn't push it—today wasn't the best time anyway. "Aight, Director Liu, I'll check in on you in a couple of days."
Liu Yumin didn't have a car, so Zhao Dong's big bro, Zhao Dacheng, offered to drop him off at the Sports Committee. Liu didn't turn him down.
Riding in his dad's car, Zhao Dong took in the view of Beijing—familiar but somehow different.
In this era, the city still had a bunch of tube-shaped buildings, commercial housing was just picking up, and private cars and cell phones were still luxury items. Taxis were switching from minibuses to Xiali cars, the subway only had Line 1 and Line 2, Fengtai was still way out in the burbs, and Zhongguancun hadn't blown up with the internet boom yet. Titanic posters were everywhere.
Back then, housing prices were wild—Tongzhou District was only 1,800 yuan per square meter, Chaoyang was 3,800, Haidian was 4,000, and the four inner districts were just 4,300. Beijing didn't even have a Fourth Ring Road yet, Sanlitun was just starting to get a few bars, and Shichahai was packed with alleyways.
And speaking of Shichahai, that's where Zhao Dong's home was—Sanbulao Hutong, right inside the Second Ring Road.
Word was, Courtyard No. 6 in this alley used to be Zheng He's old crib. The alley's name came from a homophone of 'Sanbao.' After liberation, some literary folks moved in, including xiangsheng master Hou Baolin, giving the place a cultured vibe. But now? It was all about hoops. Every kid in the alley was obsessed with basketball, talking about it nonstop.
"He's back! He made it!"
As soon as the neighborhood kids saw the Zhao family cars rolling in, they started yelling.
Hearing the noise, the whole alley turned out, flooding into the street.
"Grandpa, Grandma, look! Your grandson's home!"
"Hey hey!"
Standing at the front of the Zhao family courtyard were two elderly figures, watching the scene unfold with bright eyes.
Zhao Dong's grandparents, both dressed in old military uniforms, stood tall. His grandfather, Zhao Zhongguo, was 75, missing one arm—the other was left behind on the battlefield near Seoul. He still had over a dozen pieces of shrapnel in his body. His hair was snow-white, but his posture was straight as ever.
His grandmother, Tan Ling, was 71, a former medical worker who had also served in the war. Though her hair had turned gray, her grace was still evident.
"Dad, I'll hop out first and say hey to the neighbors," Zhao Dong said, seeing the bottleneck at the alley entrance.
"Good call," Li Meizhu chimed in from the back.
Zhao Dong stepped out, and the alley exploded with chatter.
After catching up with everyone, he finally reached his grandparents. They were staring at him, eyes shining, mouths open in disbelief as they waved excitedly.
"Grandpa, Grandma, I'm home!"
He hadn't been back in three years. Dropping to his knees, he kowtowed several times.
"Boy, get up! What are you doing?" Zhao Zhongguo barked.
"Dongdong, up! Get up now!" Tan Ling rushed over, pulling him to his feet.
"Grandma, how's Grandpa's health?"
"He's fine, nothing serious."
After chatting with them for a few minutes, he spotted his childhood friends—some even childhood sweethearts. But after all these years, they seemed distant, barely talking to him.
"Yo, what's up with y'all? Don't recognize me? Actin' all weird," he joked.
"C'mon, Dongzi. You're a big-time superstar now, ballin' in the U.S., even went to college overseas. We're just regular nobodies…"
A dude in his early twenties with a buzz cut, Qiangzi, scratched his head awkwardly.
"Man, cut that nonsense. Qiangzi, we used to scrap outside and patch each other up after. I'm still the same Dongzi!"
"Aight then, Dongzi, welcome back!"
Qiangzi grinned and gave Zhao Dong a friendly punch on the arm.
"Mom, let's hit up a restaurant tonight and treat the neighbors!" Zhao Dong called as their car pulled closer.
"Sounds good! Tell your brother to book a big one right away!" Li Meizhu shouted back from the car, sitting next to Lindsay.
"Alright, everyone, show's over! Time to head home!" Zhao Zhongguo commanded.
Bit by bit, the crowd dispersed, and Zhao Dong's family finally made their way back inside their courtyard.
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