Los Angeles.
The Lakers were still short of a power forward, and Jerry West was scrambling for options. After the trade with the Hornets collapsed, he tried to flip Eddie Jones for Danny Fortson. But what he didn't realize was that the Knicks had just finalized a deal for Sprewell — and they no longer needed a starting shooting guard. The trade was turned down.
"Wait… when we talked with the Hornets last time, weren't they open to swapping Glen Rice for Eddie Jones?" West suddenly recalled. He paused, then quickly picked the phone back up and dialed Charlotte's number again.
"Eddie Jones? Yeah, that works!" The Hornets agreed almost instantly. They'd been eyeing an All-Star shooting guard, and Jones fit the bill.
Just like that, the Lakers regretted the trade they had with the Nuggets. When it came to small forwards, Glen Rice was definitely a step above LaPhonso Ellis.
Still, the Lakers had a gaping hole at power forward.
"We really gonna have to do this?" West muttered. "Didn't Dennis Rodman leave the Bulls? Screw it, let's give him a shot. Dude can still average ten boards a night."
With no better candidates available, he reluctantly turned to Rodman — a player with a wild reputation. His stint with the Spurs was chaotic, and West was understandably nervous about bringing that drama to L.A.
But then again, Rodman had game. High-level rebounding. Tough inside defense. Maybe he was worth the gamble.
—
Back in Beijing, it was already October. Zhao Dong and Lindsay had just returned from their around-the-world honeymoon.
Normally, the NBA preseason would be underway by now. But with the lockout dragging on and labor talks collapsing left and right, there wasn't a single update about the new season starting.
The NFL preseason had wrapped. Its regular season had already kicked off for three weeks. If the NBA kept stalling, fans were gonna jump ship.
That day, Ringo Wells called Zhao Dong.
"Mike Tyson's application for a boxing license in New Jersey just got denied," he said.
"Huh?" Zhao Dong frowned. "What does that mean?"
"He can't fight," Wells chuckled. "He's already banned in a bunch of states, and now Jersey shut the door too."
"Man, what a damn waste of my time."
Zhao Dong cursed, "Even I can get a boxing license. What the hell did that guy do to get blacklisted like this?"
"He ran his mouth, pissed off the media, and tanked his own reputation. Dude's basically bankrupt now," Wells replied.
Zhao Dong laughed, but then got serious. "Yo Wells, if the NBA season keeps getting delayed and boxing's a no-go, I'm thinking of playing football for the Jets."
"For real?" Wells was surprised. "But Zhao active players can't hold team shares. That rule's in the NFL too. How you gonna get around that?"
"I'll talk to Lindsay," Zhao Dong said.
"Fair. Given your status and hers, there's always a workaround," Wells replied with a grin.
Lindsay was in the kitchen making dumplings with Zhao Dong's mom, Li Meizhu, when Zhao Dong came in and brought up the Jets idea.
She thought about it and said, "We can set up a new investment fund to hold shares on our behalf. That'll get around the ownership rules."
"You think the NFL will allow that?" Zhao Dong asked.
"In America, the rich make the rules. Laws are just tools for the wealthy to control the poor," Lindsay answered with a calm smile.
"Hmph. Rich people are all just damn vampires," Old Man Zhao Zhongguo muttered from the side.
"What nonsense are you talking about, old man?" Grandma snapped. "Who the hell did Dongdong and Lynlyn suck blood from?"
Everyone burst out laughing.
—
That evening, Zhao Zhenguo came home from work, looking serious.
"You two, come in here. I need to talk to you," he said to Zhao Dong and Lindsay.
"Oh boy, what now?" Li Meizhu rolled her eyes.
Inside the room, Zhao Dong asked, "What's going on, Dad?"
Zhao Zhenguo looked at Lindsay, then turned to Zhao Dong. "Tell me the truth. Did you do something shady in Hong Kong? People from multiple departments came today asking questions about you. I was grilled the whole damn day."
Zhao Dong and Lindsay exchanged a look.
"Dad, relax," Lindsay said gently. "We didn't do anything wrong."
"I believe you. They didn't accuse you of anything either. Just said something good happened, but they were being vague, and that's what got me worried."
"What did they ask?" Zhao Dong asked curiously.
"They were fixated on August 17, around 3:15 PM. They wouldn't say what happened, just kept asking if you did it."
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Oh, that? Yeah, that was us. Eve flew to Hong Kong on the 10th. She handled it."
"It wasn't anything illegal, right?" Zhao Zhenguo still looked unsure.
"No, it was a good thing. Beneficial to both the people and the country," Zhao Dong grinned.
"Okay, okay. I was just worried you were going down the wrong path," Zhao Zhenguo sighed in relief. "At least tell me what happened so I'm not left in the dark."
"Eve and I set up Storm Investment Fund in the States," Zhao Dong explained. "We moved some money into Hong Kong through it."
"How much?" his dad asked.
"About 20 billion yuan," Zhao Dong replied casually.
Cough cough! Zhao Zhenguo choked hard on his saliva.
"It's the fund's money, not ours," Zhao Dong quickly clarified, patting his dad's back.
"You—are you crazy? Why not invest it here instead?" Zhao Zhenguo snapped after catching his breath.
"I've got the Julong Investment Fund too, remember? When we've got more flexibility, I'll pull funds into industrial investments here," Zhao Dong replied.
"Oh yeah… I forgot," his dad muttered.
—
Meanwhile, the news about Tyson's license rejection reached across the ocean to the UK.
Frank Warren, a second-gen from a wealthy sports family — his dad and uncle ran sports betting businesses — had been working as a boxing promoter. But without top-tier talent, especially heavyweights, he'd been stuck in the third-tier of boxing agents. His career had plateaued, and it looked like he might have to give up and go back to the family biz.
But when he saw the headlines about Tyson's ban in the U.S., something clicked.
"This is it… this is my shot."
Tyson still had massive fame in Europe — as big as top footballers — and boxing was still crazy popular across the continent.
Then Warren remembered the long-rumored cross-sport fight between Tyson and Zhao Dong. That had been floating around for almost a year now.
"Let's make it happen," he whispered to himself, then booked the next flight to the U.S.
—
Two days later, Zhao Dong got another call from Wells.
"Yo, Tyson's got a new agent. British guy. Frank Warren — third-rate promoter, but rich and well-connected."
"And?"
"He reached out. Wants to promote that cross-sport fight between you and Tyson."
Zhao Dong nodded. He already knew where this was headed. In his past life, this exact deal brought Tyson back into the spotlight and pushed Warren into the big leagues. The man eventually became one of the top boxing promoters in the world.
"Let's go for it," Zhao Dong said.
"You serious?" Wells asked.
"Dead serious. Don't sleep on Warren. He's got money, pull, and solid connections."
"Cool. I'll put together a team and start negotiations."
"Go for it."
—
On October 20th, Zhao Zhenguo returned home, beaming with pride.
He'd been promoted to Director of the Municipal Public Security Bureau — a full department-level position — and also appointed to the Municipal Standing Committee.
This was the capital, the heart of China. If Zhao Dong had the right connections and credentials, he might even snag a deputy minister position someday.
By late October, the NFL was buzzing, but the NBA? Dead silent. The lockout dragged on with no end in sight, and any hopes for the new season were buried deep. Meanwhile, college hoops were heating up—the NCAA men's tournament was about to kick off, with the regular season starting on the 31st.
Funny enough, NCAA ball was now more hyped than the NBA. With the league suspended, fans tuned out of the NBA entirely. Interview after interview, you heard the same thing—"I ain't watching the NBA anymore." It stung.
And the players? They were stressing.
No league meant no paychecks. Unlike the rich owners, investors, and execs, the players were straight-up helpless during the lockout.
"Brother Dong..." Yao Ming's voice came through the phone.
"Yao, focus this season, man. Get that ring—it'll help big time in your draft stock later on," Zhao Dong advised.
"Yeah, we're all in. The whole squad's grinding for that championship. After this season, guys like Battier are headed to the draft. We might not get another shot next year," Yao replied.
"Then go get it," Zhao Dong said, smiling.
...
BANG!
Inside his private training hall, Zhao Dong drilled a vicious straight right into the heavy bag.
It landed with 526 pounds of raw force—a monster punch, more explosive than Tyson's signature shots. Explosiveness wasn't just strength; it was speed, flexibility, coordination, reaction—all the key pieces. And Zhao Dong? He had the physical tools.
But time wasn't on his side. His boxing had improved, sure, but his accuracy was nowhere near elite. He couldn't touch guys like Tyson when it came to striking precision. Hell, he wasn't even matching up to mid-tier pros.
Missing shots left openings. And Tyson? That man could dodge like nobody else.
"Zhao Dong, your power's insane," one trainer said, staring at the numbers. "If you get your technique to a first-rate level and push that punch past 600 pounds, you might actually one-shot Tyson."
Another coach laughed. "Not kill him, though. There's gloves involved. And Tyson's got a chin, man. But yeah, you land a clean one, it's gonna hurt."
On November 1st at 2 PM, Zhao Dong and Lindsay landed in New York.
Ringo Wells had already lined up a top-tier boxing agent for him—Bob Arum, one of the best in the world. Arum was now in talks with Frank Warren, another big name in the fight game.
Zhao Dong's private boxing gym in New York was elite—world-class trainers, sparring partners, the works. He was diving headfirst into serious training.
News of his return exploded. Media outlets caught wind, and within hours, NBA general managers were scrambling.
"Three grand for the tip? Deal. What airport? JFK? Got it!"
"What time's he landing?"
Every GM in the league was trying to confirm Zhao Dong's arrival, pulling favors, bribing reporters—whatever it took. They swarmed JFK International, ready to make their pitch.
"These clowns think they can steal our guy? Keep dreaming," Ernie Grunfeld muttered, scoping out the other 28 GMs.
"Yo Ernie, what you starin' at?" Pat Riley asked with a smirk.
"He's checking who's missing," Larry Bird chimed in with a grin.
Grunfeld's face twitched. Shameless. And Larry Bird wasn't even a GM—why was a head coach even here?
Turning to Ringo Wells, Grunfeld said, "Get moving, man. Don't let anyone poach Zhao Dong."
Wells chuckled, but he understood. There was no official deal between Zhao Dong and the Knicks—only a handshake agreement. Grunfeld was on edge, and for good reason.
Waiting at the airport, alongside the GMs and their entourages, were Zhao Dong's people from Zhao Dong Sports New York, led by Hughes Wallace, plus a massive mob of reporters.
"There he is!"
At 2:30 PM, Zhao Dong and Lindsay appeared flanked by a dozen bodyguards. The crowd surged.
"Damn, these GMs are wilder than us," a reporter mumbled, stuck in the back.
"Zhao Dong! I'm Donnie Nelson, GM of the Mavericks! Our owner's ready to give you Jordan-level treatment if you sign with us!" Donnie yelled.
"Zhao Dong, Larry Bird here. Pacers want you, and I'm personally inviting you as head coach."
"Zhao, it's Pat Riley. Come on, man, we're friends!"
They crowded around, voices overlapping.
Zhao Dong raised his voice, looking annoyed. "Gentlemen, chill. I already said—no comeback talk right now."
"Come to Miami! The whole beach is yours—thousands of bikini girls waiting!" Riley teased.
Wrong move.
Lindsay was right beside Zhao Dong, and her glare could freeze lava. "Mr. Riley, if that's what the Heat are offering, trust me—I'll make sure Zhao Dong never signs with you."
Pat Riley shut up real quick. He knew better than to cross Lindsay. Even though she'd been out of the country for a while, her name was all over Wall Street. The Storm Fund she ran was blowing up. She had power, money, and serious clout.
Reporters laughed.
Zhao Dong repeated himself, brushing off the offers. He wasn't considering a comeback. Not now.
Once the GMs backed off, the reporters swarmed in.
"Zhao Dong, you retired from the NBA. What's next? A career change? Back to basketball eventually?"
"Would you try the NFL?"
"What's the deal with the Tyson fight? When and where is it going down?"
Zhao Dong picked a few questions and replied, "I'll return once the lockout ends. Right now, I'm preparing for the fight with Tyson, but nothing's finalized. We're still negotiating, so there's no date yet."
"But Tyson doesn't have a U.S. boxing license. Where's the fight happening?"
"What kind of appearance fee are you expecting?"
"Think you can last a few rounds with him?"
"You gonna get KO'd?"
Zhao Dong ignored the rest, waved off the questions, and left the airport with his team.
"Now that you're back, we're announcing the Tyson fight with Arum tomorrow," Wells said in the car.
"Before anything's locked in?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Best kind of publicity. Free and effective," Wells grinned.
"Alright, you handle it. But I'm not showing up for that," Zhao Dong said.
"Got it," Wells nodded.
Back at his villa, everything felt the same. Peaceful.
"Zhao Dong, maybe drop by the headquarters? Morale's shaky. The team needs to see you," Grunfeld suggested.
"Yeah, alright. Let's go," Zhao Dong said, cracking a small smile.
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