"Guaranteed five rings?"
Old Buss felt a jolt run through his scalp, as if electricity had shot through his body. His excitement was impossible to hide.
"Jerry, get started right away. Do it your way."
"OK."
Jerry West could barely contain his grin. If this deal went through, the Lakers wouldn't just dominate—the 2000s would belong to them. No question. This would be the greatest move of his career as a general manager.
---
In Miami, the news hit Pat Riley like a hurricane. True or not, he didn't care—he immediately picked up the phone and called team owner Micky Arison.
"Micky, you don't want to miss this. We get Zhao Dong, build a strong lineup around him, and we're talking six straight championships—guaranteed."
He spoke in a low, persuasive tone, but he didn't need to convince Arison.
The Heat owner had long wanted to strengthen his ties with Zhao Dong and Lindsay. There was no way he'd let this chance slip away.
"Pat, I'll back you all the way. Forget the luxury tax—I'm giving you a blank check."
Pat Riley's voice jumped with excitement. "I'll call the Knicks right now."
---
In Portland, the Trail Blazers management was on a late-night conference call with owner Paul Allen.
For Paul Allen, there was no hesitation.
"I don't care what it costs—bring the god of efficiency to Portland."
This was the same Paul Allen who had spent $70 million to buy the Blazers in 1988—at a time when Michael Jordan's Bulls were sold for just $15 million. His love for sports was unmatched.
Cancer hadn't dulled that passion either. His only goal was simple and had never changed: a championship.
He'd invested heavily, making the Blazers the first NBA team with a private jet and, later, the first with a payroll exceeding $100 million. But after more than a decade, a title still felt distant.
Now, the opportunity of a lifetime was here.
"Gentlemen, don't let this slip away. We can't regret this for the next hundred years," Paul Allen said, his voice filled with determination.
"Boss, we'll contact the Knicks immediately," GM Bob Whitsitt replied.
"No—I'll talk to James Dolan myself."
The call ended abruptly. Paul Allen wasn't wasting a second.
---
Allen dialed Dolan directly.
"Hey Paul, great to hear from you," Dolan answered.
"James, let me be clear. I want Zhao Dong. Name your price."
"You? Sure, but you'll have to talk to Zhao Dong's agent," Dolan replied.
Allen immediately understood—Dolan wasn't in control. Zhao Dong was.
It made sense. Zhao wasn't just an NBA superstar; he was a billionaire, and his wife Lindsay's Storm Fund and Tianlong Investment Bank still carried massive weight on Wall Street.
Within minutes, Allen called Whitsitt back. "Get in touch with Zhao Dong's agent, RingobWells. Directly."
---
The news had the NBA in chaos.
Players, coaches, and analysts were swarmed by reporters, each eager for a soundbite on the Knicks' decision.
Charles Barkley, never one to hold back, exploded in an interview with New York Sports Daily:
"This is all James Dolan's doing, right? Crazy. Stupid. The Knicks could've won ten straight championships, but Dolan killed it. The man's a fool."
Michael Jordan echoed the sentiment in a more composed tone:
"This is unbelievable. Zhao Dong is the best player in the league—hell, the best in history. The god of efficiency. He just had one of the greatest Finals performances ever. Trading him? I don't get it."
On the morning of June 19, Zhao Dong woke up, turned on his phone, and was greeted by a flood of messages.
Jordan, Hakeem, Barkley, Ginobili, Oakley—every close friend wanted answers.
Too lazy to reply one by one, Zhao sent out a group text:
"I'm fine. The trade doesn't surprise me."
Minutes later, Jordan called.
"Zhao, come to Dallas. Let's team up. I'll even come out of retirement!"
Zhao Dong frowned. "Come on, you're the owner now. What, you gonna sell the Mavericks to do this?"
"I'd consider it! Even as an owner, I can still play with you!"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because Dallas still has a serious racism problem," Zhao said flatly.
There was silence, then Jordan cursed loudly. "Damn racism!"
The calls didn't stop there.
Paul Allen (Trail Blazers), Micky Arison (Heat), Jerry Buss (Lakers), and several other owners all called personally, promising to build championship-caliber rosters around him.
Zhao Dong stayed noncommittal. "I'll think about it," was all he said.
---
That afternoon, Zhao finally picked one media outlet to talk to—The New York Times.
"Zhao, is it true the Knicks are trading you?"
"Yes. I was informed already."
"Were you surprised?"
"No. Honestly, I was prepared for this last season."
"Why do you think they're trading you?"
"Because Dolan's business is in trouble. He can't invest in the team anymore. That's the only reason."
Zhao didn't bother to protect Dolan's reputation. He simply told the truth.
---
By evening, the news had reached China.
"Brother Dong, are you really leaving the Knicks?" Yao Ming was the first to call.
The young center was still resting at home in Shanghai, not yet back with the national team.
"Yeah. Dolan's trying to play Wall Street, and he's going broke. Trade me today, sell the team tomorrow," Zhao joked.
"Brother Dong, by the way, Zhang Mingji said some teams have been asking about me," Yao added.
"Really?" Zhao raised an eyebrow.
"Brother Zhang said they're influenced by the 'god-killer' lineup." Yao laughed.
Zhao's tone turned serious. "You've only played one year. You're on a 3+1 contract—at least three years before you can even think about leaving. Unless the Nets decide to trade you, don't ask for it yourself."
"I understand, Brother Dong."
"Good. What's the Nets' offseason plan? What's the management saying?"
"GM Bill Remingway talked to me after the playoffs. He said they're strengthening the roster—the goal is a championship."
"That's great. Stay close with Marbury, stick with the Nets for two more years, and stay healthy. In two years, you'll be the league's top center. Your time will come."
"I get it, Brother Dong."
Zhao smiled. "By then, except for Shaq, every other great center will be retired or washed. Even Shaq will be slowing down. The center position will be yours. Stay agile, don't bulk up too much, and use your height and skill."
"Understood, Brother Dong."
---
Even Liu Yumin, head of China's national basketball program, called. With the Olympics approaching, she was worried this trade drama might distract him.
"Director Liu, don't worry. This won't affect me. Our goal this year is simple—Olympic gold."
There was a pause. "Gold medal?"
Her hands trembled for a moment, but she quickly calmed. After all, Zhao had led them to gold at the 1998 World Championships—why not the Olympics too?
"Director Liu, I'll report in August and start training at the end of the month. Just letting you know in advance," Zhao Dong said with a smile.
"No problem, take a good rest," Liu Yumin replied, his tone casual but warm. Then he added, "I heard your wife is about to give birth. Congratulations!"
Zhao Dong laughed. "Yeah, soon. Before the Olympics. The due date is August 20th."
"Congratulations again!" Liu Yumin smiled brightly.
---
The very next morning, at 9 a.m. on June 20th, Zhao Dong's phone buzzed.
"Zhao, the Trail Blazers want to trade you," Ringo wells said immediately after Zhao picked up.
"I already know. Their boss contacted me. What's the situation on your end?" Zhao asked calmly.
"Paul Allen is ready to spend big on rebuilding the roster after trading you. It fits all your conditions," Wells said, his voice practically bubbling with excitement.
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Good. But we're not rushing. Talk to the Lakers and the Heat too. These three teams first."
"Got it!" Wells replied eagerly.
Truthfully, Wells was overjoyed. Wittest had already promised him a generous commission if the deal went through. But no amount of money would make him sacrifice Zhao Dong's interests—after all, Zhao was the reason he went from an ordinary NBA agent to the league's most sought-after representative in just four years.
The Trail Blazers' money was just extra income. His real fortune was tied to Zhao Dong's success.
In fact, Wells wanted Zhao to join the Lakers. Outside of New York, Los Angeles was the biggest basketball market, perfectly suited for someone of Zhao Dong's status as the number-one player in the league.
"By the way, Zhao, the New York Times published your interview yesterday. James Dolan is getting roasted by the media and fans," Wells added.
"Who cares?" Zhao smirked. "He's been milking the Knicks for years, bleeding them to fund his family's businesses. Now he's paying the price. That's on him."
---
Draft Day Chaos
June 26th, 2000—NBA Draft Day.
Zhao Dong didn't bother watching. According to his memory, this draft class was one of the weakest in history—no superstars, no All-Stars, just a handful of serviceable role players.
Right now, his mind was on only two things: his wife's pregnancy and his own trade situation.
The very next day, June 27th, despite a storm of criticism from fans, the New York Knicks officially put Zhao Dong on the trade block.
On that same day, another bombshell dropped—Tim Duncan's agent announced that Duncan would decline his player option and enter free agency.
---
"Boss, the Knicks didn't renew my contract. I'm a free agent now," Fordson called, frustration evident in his voice.
"It's fine," Zhao Dong reassured him with a grin. "Didn't you hear? I'm on the trade block too."
Fordson laughed, his mood instantly lifting. "Boss, I'll follow you anywhere. Big contract or small, doesn't matter. As long as I get to play."
Having made plenty of money investing alongside Zhao, Fordson wasn't chasing contracts anymore—he just wanted to enjoy the game for a few more years.
"Good. But listen carefully," Zhao said seriously. "Your knees aren't great, and your athleticism's dropped. You need to work on your rebounding this offseason. You've been resting for months, barely played in the playoffs, so now's the time. Hire a trainer. And strengthen your lower body—strong legs will take pressure off your knees."
"I get it, Boss," Fordson replied happily.
---
While Zhao Dong and Wells were maneuvering trades, down in San Antonio, Gregg Popovich was on the verge of tearing his hair out.
Tim Duncan, his franchise cornerstone, had officially declared for free agency. Despite Duncan's lingering injuries, Popovich still believed in his skill and basketball IQ. But convincing him to stay was proving impossible—especially with that damn agent, Charles Banks, whispering in his ear.
At noon, Popovich arrived at Duncan's house once again, determination written all over his face.
"Tim, I promise—we'll strengthen the roster this offseason," Popovich said earnestly, placing a contract on the table.
Duncan glanced at Banks, who picked up the contract and flipped to the numbers.
"Three years, $27 million?!" Banks raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with disbelief. "Pop, are you serious? Eight million a year for Tim? That's insulting."
Duncan himself looked disappointed as he took the contract. For a player of his caliber, contracts weren't just money—they were status.
"Tim, listen," Popovich pleaded. "We need to renew David Robinson too. Our priority is winning a championship. After three years, when David retires, we'll offer you a $100 million deal, I swear—"
"NO, NO, NO." Banks cut him off sharply, his tone almost mocking. "You're asking Tim to carry the team for pennies. That's unacceptable. Do you want to hear what other teams are offering?"
"The amount is negotiable," Popovich tried again, barely holding back his anger.
Banks smirked. "Negotiable? Please. The Lakers just offered Tim a five-year, $65 million contract—twice what you're offering. And they're not the only ones. The Magic, Nets, Bulls, Mavericks—they're all making serious offers. Yours? It's a joke."
Popovich froze at the mention of the Lakers. His mind raced. O'Neal and Duncan on the same frontline? That combination could very well dethrone Zhao Dong.
Banks, sensing his hesitation, went in for the kill. "Pop, let's be honest. Your contract isn't a championship plan—it's a cheap labor deal. You treat Tim like a hired gun, not a superstar. That's disrespectful."
With a dramatic gesture, Banks tossed the contract onto the table, making it clear the Spurs were no longer in serious contention.
Popovich's face turned purple with rage, but he had no choice. Without a word, he left.
---
As soon as Popovich left, Banks turned to Duncan, his tone softening. "Tim, the Magic just called. They're sending a private jet to bring you to Orlando. They even invited Tiger Woods to personally convince you. That's how serious they are. Given your injuries, you shouldn't ignore such sincerity."
Duncan nodded but remained calm. "Charles, I want to win a championship. And with Zhao Dong getting traded soon, I need to see where he ends up first. Freeze all negotiations until then."
Banks stared at him, stunned. He tried to argue, but Duncan was firm. In the end, the agent reluctantly agreed.
Still, Duncan didn't turn down Orlando's invitation.
A day later, when he arrived in Orlando, he asked the Magic management a personal question:
"Can my girlfriend ride the team's private jet with me?"
The management shook their heads.
Duncan didn't say anything, but his enthusiasm cooled noticeably after that.
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