Chapter 446: The Sneaker Empire, Falling in Love with Golf
"17 Game Winning Streak, Suns Set a Franchise Record."
"One Man Show, Christmas Day Turns Into Chen Yan's Personal Stage."
"Chen Yan Soars, Kobe Bryant Quietly Stews."
"Western Conference Finals Preview, Chen Yan Says the Goal Is to Defend the Title."
By the next morning, Chen Yan was everywhere.
Major outlets splashed his name across their front pages, and the reaction was even louder. Back home, fans were treating him like a basketball deity.
To be fair, the performance earned the noise. The top 3 single game scoring highs this season all belonged to Chen Yan. For most stars, 50 points was an event. For him, it was almost routine. He had already gone for 70 plus and 60 plus, so 51 did not shock anyone on its own.
What made it pop was the date.
It was Christmas Day again, and it was 51 again.
Two straight years, the same number, same holiday.
Even though he had only played in 2 Christmas Day games, some fans were already calling him the "Christmas King." Others went further, insisting he had already passed Kobe in the shooting guard debate and become the best 2 guard in the league.
That kind of talk spread fast, and it came with a price.
Within days, the number of people rooting against Chen Yan spiked hard.
Chen Yan saw it while scrolling online and could only shake his head. A lot of fans, once they get excited, say anything. Mindless praise turns into gasoline, and the resentment from other fanbases follows immediately. Half the time, people hate a star less for what he does and more for what his loudest fans claim.
Chen Yan even suspected some of the dumbest comments were not fans at all, just haters pretending to be diehards to stir chaos.
He knew the reality. He was still far behind Kobe in total accomplishments. Kobe had an MVP, multiple All NBA First Team selections, multiple All Defensive First Team selections, and a scoring title. Catching that kind of resume would take time.
But back home, the media machine always ran hot. That was their specialty, building someone up until the hype became a burden. If Yi Jianlian scored 20 in a game, the headlines could last a week. So what was Chen Yan supposed to expect after a Christmas Day 51?
Thinking of Yi Jianlian pulled Chen Yan's mood down a notch.
Yi's recent stretch in Chicago had been rough. The Bulls' other power forward, Tyrus Thomas, had been on a strong run the past 2 weeks, averaging 11.7 points and 7.1 rebounds in 25 minutes. Those were clean, blue collar numbers, and they were costing Yi playing time.
Yi was doing what he always did. Keeping his head down, training hard, saying little. But grinding in silence was not fixing the real problem.
It was personality.
He had no real friends on the roster, and his relationship with the coaching staff was only average. When things got tight, nobody in the building was going to speak up for him.
Because of Chen Yan, Yi talked a little more with Russell Westbrook, but it did not matter. Westbrook was a rookie too, and rookies did not get to shape rotation politics.
Yi Jianlian was the player Chen Yan cared about most in the NBA.
Yao Ming was already established. Even if Chen Yan wanted to help, Yao did not need saving, and he was not changing his place in the league because of anyone else.
Yi was different. Yi had the talent to be a real rotation player, even a starter on the right team. Chen Yan did not want to watch that talent rot.
After morning training, Chen Yan called him.
"Stay steady," he told him. "Don't set the target too high right now. Starter or bench, it doesn't matter. Playing time matters. A lot of stars began as sixth men. If you press too hard and your game gets unstable, or you get hurt, it's not worth it. Once you lose minutes, getting them back is the hardest part."
Yi agreed. On the phone, he admitted what had been eating at him.
In the CBA, he had felt like the best athlete on the floor, both in size and movement. In the NBA, even at his own position, he was not the best athlete on his team. Tyrus Thomas's physical tools were swallowing the matchup. Yi's jumping and quickness, things he once relied on, suddenly looked ordinary, even like disadvantages in direct comparison.
Chen Yan could not fully relate. His own speed and bounce were elite even among the league's best athletes.
But he understood the solution.
Play to strengths. Avoid weaknesses.
He told Yi to lean harder into shooting, especially from mid range and beyond the arc.
"Tyrus struggles finishing, and he doesn't have a real mid range shot," Chen Yan said. "If you build a stable mid to long range jumper, you'll have a clear advantage. And the way the league is going, stretch bigs are going to matter more and more. Be that guy."
Yi listened carefully, and when they hung up, his voice sounded lighter than it had in weeks.
…
Chen Yan barely set his phone down before another call came in.
Bill Duffy.
His agent sounded like he had just won the lottery.
"Chen," Bill said, almost laughing, "your 2nd generation shoes sold like crazy on day 1."
Chen Yan smiled. The better the shoes sold, the bigger the dividends he earned.
And honestly, he was not surprised.
The first generation had been a hit. He believed in the second.
Li-ning believed in it too. They were confident enough to ship 50,000 more pairs of the 2nd generation at launch than they had with AeroWing One.
The demand came from 2 places.
First, Chen Yan's on court performance. The man was a walking headline.
Second, the look of the shoe.
That was why Chen Yan obsessed over design. Young fans wanted style. They wanted flashy basketball, and they wanted shoes that looked cold even when you were just standing still. Chen Yan delivered both, so the sales were always going to move.
Still, plenty of fans admitted one thing.
The 2nd generation looked a little less iconic than the 1st.
Not because it was bad, but because AeroWing One had already turned into a classic. Once a shoe becomes a classic, it gets a filter. Like the AJ1, it stops competing with other shoes and starts competing with history.
AeroWing focusing on the Asian market was the smart play. Chen Yan's popularity in China was massive, and that market alone could feed the line.
The 2nd generation also sold well in North America, but the battlefield here was brutal. Kobe, Tracy McGrady, and Allen Iverson were all strong sellers.
Even combined, they were not touching the AJ machine.
The AJ line held 10.8% of the US shoe market, with sales nearly double Adidas. For every 4 basketball shoes sold in the US, 3 were AJs. And 86.5% of basketball shoes priced over $100 belonged to Jordan Brand.
Numbers like that were ridiculous.
For Chen Yan's shoe series to seriously shake that dominance in North America was close to impossible, at least not in the next few years.
But Chen Yan was not thinking small.
Jordan was a person. Chen Yan was a person too.
If Jordan could build an empire, Chen Yan believed he could build one as well.
He had been studying the Jordan Brand model closely, and he was already copying the part that mattered most.
Expansion.
Beyond equity and royalties, Chen Yan's independent studio had begun signing players.
The first signing was right in his own locker room.
Azubuike.
Chen Yan gave him a cash contract, 2 years for $1.45 million.
In the sneaker world, there were 3 main types of deals. Signature shoe. Cash. Merchandise.
Most role players only got merchandise deals, free shoes and gear, nothing more.
So when Azubuike saw real money, he acted like he had been drafted all over again.
To him, $1.45 million was life changing. A year ago, he could not even imagine a shoe studio offering him cash.
But Azubuike was only the start.
In the future, Chen Yan planned to sign more young talent.
He was not targeting established stars. The cost was insane, and half of them would not even care. His advantage was foresight. He could bet early on the next wave.
He still remembered how overlooked Stephen Curry was when he first entered the league.
If Chen Yan could bring someone like that under his own banner, it would be perfect.
…
By evening, the business talk was done.
Chen Yan and Taylor Swift went out to play golf.
Ever since his last time on a course, he had gotten hooked. There was something addictive about it, lining up the shot, sending the ball into that clean arc, and watching it cut through the sky. It had the same quiet satisfaction as a perfect 3, the kind that leaves your hand and already feels true.
Chen Yan looked down at the club in his hands, then over at Taylor beside him.
He had to admit, he liked games that involved putting it in the hole.
.....
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