The Chinese team pushed the ball into the frontcourt. Everyone spaced out, clearing the lane. Zhao Dong dribbled two steps beyond the top of the arc, calm, reading the defense.
The US team mirrored China, setting up a 2-1-2 zone defense. Vince Carter guarded the middle, with Ray Allen and Jason Kidd watching the perimeter.
Kidd's eyes locked on Zhao Dong. He was ready to pounce if Zhao got too close. Zhao knew it—he stayed just far enough outside to avoid an early double-team.
In the NBC booth, Hubie Brown started analyzing, "Be careful here. Zhao Dong's going to attack. This is the finals—he's not going to let up. The paint is going to be his main target—"
Before Hubie could finish, Zhao Dong moved.
Quiet as a whisper. Explosive as a thunderclap.
He jab-stepped, hesitated, then burst forward. One quick fake to the right shook Ray Allen, and Zhao cut sharply left, darting to the top of the arc.
Kidd reacted instantly, sliding over to cut him off. Vince Carter also stepped up from the middle, preparing to trap him. Ray Allen scrambled from behind, trying to recover.
Zhao slowed for a split second, rocking his shoulders left and right, forcing Kidd to shift his weight. Then, with a lightning-quick crossover, he exploded toward the left elbow.
Kidd was half a step late. Zhao's shoulder clipped him, sending Kidd stumbling to the hardwood. Carter and Allen got shaken off in the chaos—Zhao was free, barreling into the paint.
Garnett and Mourning rotated fast, both collapsing under the basket.
But Zhao Dong wasn't rushing to score.
He cut to the right with a sharp change of direction, gliding past both big men. Just as they turned to recover, Zhao flicked the ball backwards with a deceptive one-handed pass.
The ball zipped perfectly into the hands of Yao Ming, who was cutting in from the low post.
"Not good!" Mourning cursed, turning his head.
"Bang!"
Yao caught it in stride, took one step, and hammered down a one-handed dunk over Garnett.
"Beautiful! Zhao Dong completely sucked in the US defense. Yao Ming just had to finish it!" Sun Zhenping shouted in excitement from the CCTV booth.
The Americans didn't hesitate. Garnett took the ball, posting up Yao in the half-court. Spotting Ray Allen slipping to the left corner, Garnett kicked it out.
Allen caught it cleanly, rose, and nailed the three-pointer.
"That's how you counter," Hubie Brown said approvingly. "Move the ball. Don't force the paint—Zhao Dong's help defense collapses too quickly. Play through spacing."
But Hubie barely finished before Zhao Dong pushed the tempo again.
Off the made shot, Zhao Dong sprinted to the free-throw line, waving for the ball. Yao Ming inbounded quickly, launching a perfect long pass.
Ray Allen tried to intercept, but Zhao shielded him with his body, caught the pass, and accelerated. Everyone else trailed behind.
"Bang!"
He dribbled once across the free-throw line and rose for another violent slam, the rim shaking as Chinese fans erupted.
The Americans inbounded quickly. Vince Carter called for the ball on the right wing. Garnett set a pick-and-roll, screening Yao Ming.
Carter used the screen perfectly, cutting inside. Garnett rolled behind him.
But Zhao Dong anticipated the play. He slid down, planting himself right in Carter's path.
Carter stopped on a dime, forced to pull up and swing the ball back to Garnett.
The Big Ticket caught it in stride, took two steps to the rim, and went up for a right-handed dunk.
Zhao Dong spun, leaping to contest. His left arm stretched as far as possible, but Garnett's vertical was elite—too high, too long.
But Zhao Dong wasn't alone.
Da Zhi rotated from the weak side at the perfect moment.
"Bang!"
He swatted the ball cleanly, sending it ricocheting off the glass.
"Great defense!" Sun Zhenping roared.
Yao Ming scooped up the loose ball and kicked it forward immediately.
Zhao Dong caught the outlet pass near the basket and took off like a bullet train. Ray Allen tried to cut him off near the arc, but Zhao's first step was too explosive.
Vince Carter rushed over to form the second line of defense.
Zhao shook his shoulders left, then right, freezing Carter. Then—through the legs, switching hands mid-stride—he blew past Carter, crossing the center line.
"Wide open lane ahead!" Xu Jicheng shouted.
Hubie Brown groaned. "Vince Carter's defense just isn't enough against Zhao Dong. He can't stay in front of him."
"Bang!"
Zhao launched himself from just inside the free-throw line, switched the ball under his leg in mid-air, and finished with a left-handed dunk.
The entire arena exploded in cheers.
The US wasn't backing down. Ray Allen moved off-ball, curling around a Kidd pass for a clean mid-range jumper. Swish.
But Zhao Dong answered instantly, running the floor again.
Yao Ming, standing tall near the baseline, lobbed another perfect long pass over Garnett's outstretched hands.
Zhao caught it in full stride, but this time Kidd and Vince Carter hustled back, cutting him off at the top of the arc.
Kidd stayed glued to Zhao's hip, trying to slow him, while Carter got ahead, planting himself near the free-throw line.
Zhao Dong controlled the ball with his left hand, extending his right arm to shield off Jason Kidd, pressing against his stomach as he drove forward. Kidd stumbled back, and Zhao accelerated, charging straight toward Vince Carter.
Bang, bang, bang…
The ball danced between Zhao's hands, the rhythm sharp and deceptive. With rapid crossovers and tight directional changes, he executed a sequence that looked more like a guard's slick handles than a forward's power game.
Carter tried to stay in front of him, but each shuffle forced him backward. Step by step, Zhao pushed him deeper into the paint.
And once Carter moved back, he had already lost the defensive battle.
Zhao planted hard, taking a long step to Carter's left. He burst past, leaving Carter reaching helplessly as Zhao slammed the ball through the hoop.
Carter could only stare at the basket, exhaling with a frustrated smile.
In the NBC commentary booth, Hubie Brown sighed.
"It's impossible to defend this guy. Zhao Dong didn't even use his strength—this was pure technical mastery. If he used his body, Carter would've been on the floor."
Back on the court, Zhao pointed at Carter with a playful grin.
"Vince, don't get in my way again, or next time I'll fly right over you."
Carter smirked bitterly. "Boss, you might as well knock me down. At least then I can ask out of the game."
Zhao laughed, patting Carter's shoulder.
"Just shoot outside, man. Don't drive into me. That's suicide."
Carter, taking the advice, started calling for the ball more. But after bricking three straight shots, Tomjanovich had no choice but to sub him out.
Walking toward the bench, Carter shot Zhao a look that screamed you tricked me.
Allan Houston checked in. Zhao greeted him immediately.
"Allan! Same advice—shoot from outside. Don't try the paint."
Houston nodded quickly. "Okay, boss."
Mourning, already irritated from lack of touches, snapped.
"Houston, are you serious? You're listening to him? Whose side are you on?"
Houston wasn't intimidated. He fired back instantly.
"What does it matter to you? You're not my coach."
"Relax, Allan," Zhao said, wrapping an arm around Houston's shoulder. "If he wants to fight, we'll take him down together—just like old times."
"Got it, boss," Houston replied, smirking.
Mourning froze, glaring. Traitor. You're supposed to be with us, not buddying up with the enemy.
Hubie Brown shook his head from the booth.
"Looks like there's tension between Houston and Mourning. And Zhao Dong's fanning the flames, siding with Houston."
Cook, sitting beside him, muttered, "Please, let's not have a fight. No one on Team USA wants to throw hands with Zhao Dong."
Hubie shrugged. "Mourning's tough, but he's not stupid. No one's beating Zhao in a fight."
Cook chuckled. "What about Garnett? He's supposed to be our iron-blooded warrior."
Hubie gave him a strange look.
"Garnett? You mean the same rookie who ran from Zhao during his first season? Fighting while backpedaling isn't exactly iron-blooded."
Cook burst out laughing.
---
On the sideline, Tomjanovich threw his hands up, frustration all over his face. Internal conflict was the last thing he needed, but he had no answers against China's dominance.
The Chinese team switched offensive tactics. Instead of spacing to the corners, Da Zhi moved high to set screens for Zhao Dong.
With Yao Ming holding down the low post, Zhao had options:
Drive and score himself.
Feed Yao in the paint.
Kick back to Da Zhi for a jumper.
If the defense collapsed, Hu Weidong and Li Nan waited on the wings for open threes.
The US couldn't adjust. Zhao's penetration kept drawing double and triple-teams, and Yao dominated inside. The Chinese offense became a well-oiled machine, scoring at will.
Defensively, Zhao patrolled the middle like a hawk. Whenever the US tried to break through, they were met by Zhao, Yao, and Da Zhi collapsing the paint.
Once inside, the Americans had no vision to pass out—China's size and length swallowed every lane.
Forced to abandon drives, Team USA settled for mid-range pull-ups after wing penetrations. But efficiency-wise, they couldn't match Zhao's firepower.
The buzzer sounded.
China 27 – USA 14.
The crowd roared as Zhao slapped hands with Yao and his teammates.
"This quarter sums up the whole game," Sun Zhenping shouted. "China is crushing the USA on both ends!"
Hubie Brown admitted reluctantly, "The only offense Team USA has left is mid-range jumpers from the wings. They can't touch Zhao Dong and Yao Ming in the paint."
By halftime, Zhao had already piled up 23 points and 9 assists.
The scoreboard read: China 53 – USA 38.
The Chinese bench was all smiles, but Zhao stayed serious. "Don't let up. We finish this in the second half."
---
When play resumed, Zhao went full throttle. He attacked relentlessly, exploiting the US's weak perimeter defense.
Garnett and Mourning were helpless inside—either help on Zhao and leave Yao open, or stick to Yao and let Zhao slice through.
By the end of the third quarter: China 78 – USA 58.
The game was essentially over.
In the fourth, Zhao showed no mercy. Every possession was another statement dunk, another crushing drive. The Americans' body language screamed defeat—heads down, slow rotations, and no more trash talk.
Zhao Dong fouled out Alonzo Mourning early in the second half, forcing him to collect six fouls in just half a quarter. By the end of the game, the scoreboard told the story: China 114 – USA 84.
The Chinese men's basketball team stunned the world, defeating the American "Dream Team" by 30 points to win the gold medal at the Sydney Olympics.
As the final buzzer echoed, Zhao Dong stood at midcourt, his eyes fixed on the five-star red flag being raised while the March of the Volunteers played. He clenched his fist, heart swelling with pride—his dream had come true.
On October 2, the Chinese men's basketball team returned home to a hero's welcome. Zhao Dong, however, slipped quietly back into family life.
At home, the man who had just dominated the world stage turned into a full-time nanny, taking care of his four newborn sons every day. Lindsay, on the other hand, was buried in work. With China's WTO accession entering its final stages, her schedule was ten times busier than Zhao Dong's.
---
On October 6, Zhao Dong received a call from Trail Blazers GM Witsitt.
"Zhao, big news," Witsitt said excitedly. "We just signed Eddie Jones from free agency, and we've traded for Shawn Kemp from the Cavaliers."
Zhao Dong's brows raised slightly. "Eddie Jones, huh? Good pickup."
Jones, 29, had averaged 20 points, 4.8 rebounds, and 4.2 assists last season. Still an All-Star-level player, he chose Portland after being promised the starting shooting guard position.
But the name Shawn Kemp—made Zhao pause.
Kemp had once signed a massive 7-year, $107 million deal with Cleveland, but the 1999 lockout and a cocaine addiction had sent his career spiraling.
The Knicks had considered trading for Kemp last season, but Zhao blocked it. Now, Portland had taken the gamble.
"How much is left on his deal?" Zhao asked.
"Five years, fifty-three million," Witsitt replied.
Zhao couldn't help but laugh bitterly. In his mind, he already knew how this story ended—Kemp would fade fast, Portland would end up buying out his contract, and Kemp's career would effectively be over.
Still, management was convinced they were getting the Kemp of old after his decent season last year. They didn't realize that had been Kemp's last flash of brilliance.
By October 22, Zhao Dong's four sons were two months old, already the size of normal babies. Their cries, like four tiny trumpets, echoed through Sanbulao Hutong every night.
But the NBA season was fast approaching.
On the morning of the 23rd, Zhao kissed Lindsay and his boys goodbye.
"Take care of them for me. I'll be back with a ring," he promised.
Lindsay smiled faintly. "Win that championship. When the WTO process wraps up, I'll bring the kids to the U.S."
---
Arrival in Portland
After landing in Los Angeles and spending a night adjusting to the time zone, Zhao flew to Portland, Oregon, the next day.
Lindsay had already arranged for a newly renovated villa for him.
At Portland International Airport, the entire Blazers' management team, coaching staff, and even owner Paul Allen were waiting.
"Zhao Dong, welcome to Portland!" Paul Allen greeted him warmly, pulling him into a hug.
"Mr. Allen, are you ready?" Zhao asked with a grin.
"For what?" Allen blinked.
"The championship," Zhao replied smoothly.
There was a brief pause before Allen laughed and shouted, "Yes! Yes! I've been waiting for this moment since the day I bought the Blazers!"
The Blazers had also brought in a new head coach: Larry Bird.
Walking up with his trademark stoic expression, Bird extended his hand. "Zhao, we didn't get the chance to work together in Indiana. Let's make this one count."
Zhao shook his hand firmly. "It's an honor, Larry. Let's get that ring."
The previous head coach, Mike Dunleavy, had led the team to the Western Conference Finals but was dismissed for Bird, who had long wanted to coach Zhao Dong.
---
The Press Conference
At the airport, Zhao faced a crowd of reporters in an impromptu press conference.
"Zhao, your goal this season is clearly to win a championship, right?" asked a reporter from the New York Times.
Zhao smiled. "Of course. That's the only goal."
The reporter pressed on. "Do you think the Blazers have the strength to beat the Lakers and the Nets?"
Zhao shook his head, then smirked. "You're asking the wrong question. What you should be asking is—with the Blazers' strength, do the Lakers and Nets even have a chance to beat us?"
Laughter and applause erupted. Paul Allen clapped the loudest.
Another reporter chimed in, "The Lakers have Shaquille O'Neal and David Robinson. The Nets have Tim Duncan and Yao Ming. What do the Blazers have inside?"
The question struck a nerve—Portland's frontcourt was clearly a tier below the two powerhouse teams. All eyes turned to Zhao, waiting for his answer.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Check my Pâtreon for (40) advanced chapters
Pâtreon .com/Fanficlord03
Change (â) to (a)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
https://discord.gg/MntqcdpRZ9