At 7:00 PM, media reporters were finally allowed into the visiting team's locker room. Among them was Yang Yi from CCTV, holding a mic in one hand and a recording device in the other.
Most reporters naturally crowded around Michael Jordan. Yang Yi, however, walked over to the far end of the room, where his interview target sat quietly adjusting his gear.
"Dazhi, how you feelin'?" Yang asked with a gentle smile.
"Pretty good," Dazhi replied, his voice calm but a little nervous.
Yang nodded. "Did you ever imagine you'd be sharing the court with Zhao Dong?"
"Brother Dong?" Dazhi smiled, a bit shy. "He's got inside and outside skills. If I do get to play, maybe I'll match up with him during a switch."
"Talked to Jordan yet?" Yang's eyes flicked over to the media mob surrounding His Airness, admiration clear in his gaze.
"A little bit, not much though," Dazhi nodded.
"By the way, in the NBA, rookies usually gotta carry vets' shoes. Have you done that yet?" Yang asked with a chuckle.
"Yeah," Dazhi grinned and pointed toward Charles Oakley. "I mentioned it to Charles."
"What, not Jordan?"
"Nope. Charles told me if I said it to him, that's all that mattered," Dazhi said, still smiling.
Yang Yi leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Dazhi, I heard Ewing and Zhao Dong don't get along. Has he been giving you trouble?"
Dazhi just smiled again. "It's alright. Oakley looks out for me."
But Yang's heart sank a little. If Dazhi had to say "it's alright," it usually meant things weren't. The Bulls were sworn enemies of the Knicks. Jordan didn't vibe with Patrick Ewing, and Zhao Dong had history with both. Could a rookie like Dazhi really find his place here?
---
Meanwhile, in the Knicks' locker room, a translucent system screen suddenly popped up in front of Zhao Dong. His eyes immediately lit up.
The season had already kicked off, but the system had been quiet until now. No missions, no rewards—nothing. But finally, something had appeared.
Still, he figured missions this year would be rare, and the rewards likely limited. But anything was better than nothing, and Zhao Dong always welcomed a challenge.
Regular Season Mission:
Objective: Lead your team to the best record in the league.
Requirements:
Minimum of 44 wins
Win Regular Season MVP + Scoring Title
Score 50+ points in four consecutive games
Rewards:
30 Skill Points
1 Dominance Fragment
Championship Sniper Mission:
Objective: From this season onward, snipe all teams with championship ambitions.
Reward: Earn one Reinstallation System Fragment per sniper win.
"Reinstall the system?" Zhao Dong blinked, eyebrows furrowed. That sounded… off.
"System," he asked cautiously, "you good? What's this about reinstalling?"
System Response:
"This reward is part of the system's fixed chain. The activation condition is a successful title defense. Complete condition: Six consecutive championships. Reinstalling allows the host to reselect system perks."
"Six straight chips and I get a reroll, huh?" Zhao Dong nodded, absorbing the info. He didn't ask anything more—too much to unpack at once.
Instead, he scrolled back to the current season task and locked in on one line.
"Four straight 50+ point games?"
He had dropped two back-to-back 50s in last season's Finals, but four in a row? That wasn't just hard—it was elite.
Only Jordan and Shawn Kemp had managed three straight 50s. Above them was Wilt Chamberlain, sitting on an untouchable record of seven.
Then, the system screen blinked again.
New Mission: Season Opener
Objective: Start strong. Drop 50+ in the season opener.
Reward: 2 Skill Points
"Two points? Man, that's stingy." Zhao Dong muttered, but he wasn't really complaining. Points were points.
---
7:30 PM – Madison Square Garden
The starting lineups were announced:
Chicago Bulls:
PF – Charles Oakley
C – Rasheed Wallace
SF – Tracy McGrady
SG – Michael Jordan
PG – Jason Kidd
New York Knicks:
C – Ben Wallace
PF – Danny Fortson
SF – Zhao Dong
SG – Latrell Sprewell
PG – Chauncey Billups
The game was nationally televised by NBC and domestically in China by CCTV.
"Man, this break's been way too long. Finally, we're back!" Zhang Weiping opened the broadcast with his signature enthusiasm.
"Yeah, and both lineups look totally different. Feels like half the rosters got replaced," added Xu Jicheng with a chuckle.
"I wonder if Dazhi will get any minutes tonight. This game's a battle of East Coast rivals," Zhang commented.
"The Bulls' frontcourt's still stacked. Oakley's 35 but can play 30+ minutes no problem. But with this much depth, his time might drop," Xu said.
"For sure. Don't forget, they also picked up Kurt Thomas," Zhang added.
"Ah, right! Wasn't he the 10th pick in '95? Only played five games before getting hurt, right?" Xu asked.
"Exactly. But guess what he did while injured?" Zhang grinned.
"What?"
"He served as an assistant coach for the Mavs the whole year."
"No way?"
"Yeah! Dude's a defensive anchor and has a reliable mid-range jumper. Bulls picked him up as a free agent—Phil Jackson liked his IQ and toughness."
"Damn… would've been nice if he ended up in New York," Xu sighed.
"Tell me about it," Zhang laughed. "The Knicks were planning to use their last first-round pick on Dazhi anyway."
At this moment, Patrick Ewing stepped onto the court—coming off the bench.
Returning to Madison Square Garden as a substitute was something he never imagined in his prime. After more than a decade of blood, sweat, and loyalty to the Knicks, Ewing was now greeted by a storm of boos mixed with sparse claps. It stung. Hard.
In the tunnel, the starting lineups of both teams crossed paths.
"Tracy, I heard MJ had you on that crazy extra grind for six straight months. Ain't that a little cruel?" Chauncey Billups smirked as he leaned in toward McGrady. "Look at me. I took the offseason off and lived it up."
McGrady rolled his eyes. "Chauncey, quit playin'. Don't gas me. The New York press already exposed you—said you've been in the gym all summer long."
Caught red-handed, Billups chuckled awkwardly and quickly switched topics. "So what'd you work on, man? Jumper?"
"Yeah, obviously. You?"
But T-Mac wasn't about to give up his real secrets. Instead, he flipped the question back—classic misdirection.
As the arena lights dimmed, the Knicks' starting five hit the hardwood.
First up for the Bulls was Charles Oakley. Despite being on the enemy side now, the Garden roared for him. The love from Knicks fans was real—total opposite of the cold welcome Ewing got earlier.
And then came the home squad.
The energy inside Madison Square Garden exploded—fans were going wild.
"Dynasty! Dynasty!"
A middle-aged man stood up in the stands, fists pumping in the air.
"Dynasty! Dynasty! Dynasty!"
The chant spread like wildfire. The entire arena echoed with thunderous voices. The sound waves rattled the rafters.
Standing near half-court, Michael Jordan took it all in. The flickering lights, the intensity—it transported him back to the old United Center during the Bulls' early-'90s glory days.
"Dream…"
He clenched his fists.
He wasn't here just to play.
He was here to crush dreams. The Knicks' dream of a dynasty. And Zhao Dong's.
Then—BOOM!
A deafening roar erupted across the arena.
"Zhao Dong! Zhao Dong! Zhao Dong!"
The crowd's energy peaked as the spotlight lit up the tunnel.
Zhao Dong stepped into the light.
His third NBA season was officially underway.
David Stern, seated courtside, smiled proudly. On his finger was last season's championship ring.
"Charles, clean, right?" Zhao Dong walked by and held up his left hand. He wore two rings—last year's on the index finger, this year's on the middle finger.
Charles Barkley stared, lips smacking. The envy was real.
"Zhao, let me hold 'em for a sec?" Barkley reached out.
"Nope," Zhao Dong grinned.
"Stingy."
Barkley pouted, pulling his hand back like a scolded kid.
Nearby, Hu Weidong had also slipped on his championship ring. He was now the second Chinese player in history to wear one.
Oakley received his, too.
Zhao Dong pulled him in beside the Knicks players for a group photo. The flashbulbs went off like fireworks.
"Chuck, I gotta go warm up. Hold these for me. Don't lose 'em." Zhao Dong handed the rings to Barkley.
Lindsay didn't make the game. She was still buried in work at Nike HQ—grinding overtime.
"Don't worry. I got this," Barkley said, snatching the rings and slipping them onto his fingers.
"Yo, your fingers are fat. Don't get them stuck," Zhao Dong warned.
"He's probably praying they get stuck," Oakley joked.
"Man, no way I'm—wait… Yo, I think they are stuck!"
Everyone turned to Barkley.
Both rings were jammed tight on his fingers.
Laughter erupted from the team.
"Bro, look at your face!" Oakley howled.
"Pfft—hahahaha!"
Even Zhao Dong couldn't help but crack up.
---
After warmups, Zhao Dong strolled past the Bulls' bench and spotted Wang Zhizhi.
"Yo, Dazhi!"
"Brother Dong!"
"How's life with the Bulls?" Zhao Dong asked casually.
"All good, no complaints," Wang smiled.
Zhao Dong gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You gotta learn to adapt. Then change the environment through your skills. Don't ever convince yourself that you can't make it."
"I got you, Brother Dong," Wang nodded quickly.
Zhao didn't bring up defense—not yet. He wanted Wang to feel the pressure himself. To realize that in the NBA, if you don't defend, you don't last.
"Zhao!" Oakley called over.
"What's good, Charles? I bet if y'all lose this season, the Bulls are gonna fall apart again."
Oakley frowned. "Why you say that?"
Before Zhao Dong could answer, a familiar voice chimed in.
"Zhao, cut the crap."
Jordan walked over, irritated.
Zhao grinned. "Why not? You keep taking Ls. Lose again, and that'll be three straight against me. You really got enough gas in the tank to keep going? You're damn near 40."
"I'm 35!" Jordan barked.
"When's your birthday?" Zhao asked, grinning.
Jordan went silent. February 17th. He'd be 36 in a few months.
Zhao clapped his shoulder. "You training again for like, what, another eight months?"
Then he turned to Wang. "Dazhi, if there's one thing you should copy from MJ, it's his grind. He's almost 40, but still going harder than most of you. Take notes."
"Understood!" Wang nodded seriously.
"You think he can carry a team?" Jordan snorted. "He ain't you. Doesn't defend, soft in the paint. Best thing he can do is head back to China."
Wang's face turned stiff.
Zhao Dong just smirked.
He didn't argue.
He didn't need to.
In the NBC broadcast booth, Marv Albert chuckled, "Last season, the first guy to get hit with a tech was Rasheed Wallace, and the second was Danny Fortson. Now, one's with the Bulls and the other with the Knicks. Both are starters. I'm betting they'll both get a tech tonight."
Matt Goukas laughed and replied, "I'll take that bet. I don't think Fortson's getting T'd up tonight. He toned it down in the second half of last season. Word is, Zhao Dong chewed him out hard. His biggest problem's always been foul trouble and turnovers. If he cleans those up, he could be a serious force."
"Speaking of the Worm," Marv added, "he's with the Lakers now. Think Shaq can handle him? Even David Robinson couldn't."
Matt raised a brow. "Man, the Worm's a wild dude. When he was with the Spurs, he actually refused to double Dream with Robinson. Said since Robinson was a superstar, he had to guard Dream one-on-one—otherwise, how's he a superstar, right?"
He chuckled before explaining, "But honestly, it was 'cause Horry was red-hot that game. Couldn't leave him open, so no double on Dream."
Tip-off Time.
Ben Wallace lined up for the jump, while the Bulls sent out Rasheed Wallace. The two Wallaces stood together, eyeing each other like long-lost brothers.
"Bang!"
The ball went up—Big Ben got the tip. Zhao Dong snagged the ball, pivoted, and handed it to Chauncey Billups. Knicks ball.
The Bulls set up a 2-3 zone defense.
Their zone looked tight, anchored around the paint. The center stayed planted under the rim to crash boards and wall up low-post drives. Two wings sat outside, guarding the elbow spots. But perimeter coverage? Kinda soft.
This zone was all about rotations. The key? The center's reaction time. If he couldn't get up fast enough to contest or help, the opposing guards could feast at the elbows and the free-throw line.
Right now, the Bulls had Charles Oakley holding down the middle, Rasheed Wallace on the left wing, and Tracy McGrady on the right. Outside, Michael Jordan manned the left elbow and Jason Kidd covered the right. They were ready to collapse on Billups at the top of the arc.
At the same time, if Zhao Dong caught it on the left wing, Rashid and Jordan were in perfect position to double him. Same story on the other side—if Latrell Sprewell touched the ball, McGrady and Kidd were ready to swarm.
Zone defense ain't man-to-man. You don't stick to one guy—you hold down your territory. You guard the ball, not the player. If someone steps into your zone, you pounce, and if he tries to pass through, you trap him with help.
If you mess up those rotations, if the defense is late or uncoordinated, it all falls apart.
"2-3 zone," Marv Albert observed. "Looks like the Bulls aren't planning to use the Zhao Dong Rule tonight."
"It's the regular season," Matt Goukas laughed. "No team's wasting the Zhao Dong Rule this early."
At the top, Billups threw up a quick hand signal.
On the right side, the Madman—Sprewell—cut hard toward the paint, slicing between McGrady and Kidd, just beneath the right elbow. Meanwhile, Zhao Dong drifted to the left corner.
In this Knicks lineup, the offense ran mostly through Zhao Dong and Sprewell. Billups was their third scoring option, Fortson fourth, and Big Ben last.
The Bulls' D barely flinched. They kept focus on the ball, with only minor shifts in positioning. Rasheed Wallace edged one step toward the left corner, ready to close out if Zhao Dong got it. Jordan mirrored him, sliding left to clog the passing lane between Zhao Dong and Billups, also staying in position to double.
Then, Billups zipped the ball to Zhao Dong in the corner.
Rashid was already stepping up. Jordan came flying over too, setting the trap.
But just then, Sprewell darted through the paint, popped out to the left wing, and signaled for the ball behind Jordan.
Zhao Dong whipped it to him. Wide open. Mid-range. Cash.
"Nice!" Marv Albert called out. "Zhao Dong drew the double and set up Sprewell for a clean shot."
"This kind of action saves Zhao Dong's energy too," Matt analyzed. "Instead of making him isolate and attack all night, they let Billups create and use Zhao Dong as a decoy to draw doubles. Keeps him fresh while still making defenses pay."
Back in the booth, Marv continued their earlier convo. "Remember the Jordan Rules? The Pistons' Bad Boys used 'em to perfection. Other teams? Couldn't touch that kind of defense. That's why the Bulls ran through the rest of the league but kept getting smacked by Detroit. Three straight years, the Pistons knocked 'em out."
He shook his head. "Now the league brought back the anti-iso rule and even made the Zhao Dong Rule. But without a team like the Bad Boys, I don't see anyone really executing it well enough to stop Zhao Dong."
Matt nodded. "Man, the way the Bad Boys defended Jordan was brutal—straight-up assault. Boxing, elbows, trips, eye pokes, takedowns, stomped feet, body blows... you name it."
He chuckled. "Find me a squad today willing to do that. Even Pat Riley's Heat don't go that far. And the Bulls? Forget about it."
"If they want to use the Zhao Dong Rule, they better study some Detroit tape. If they can't bring that kind of grit, they won't stop the Golden Tyrant."
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Pâtreon for (40) advanced chapters
Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03
Change (â) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Discord Link Here:
https://discord.gg/VvcakSux