NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

"A block, a steal, and a dunk—momentum is swinging hard for the Bulls!"

Marv Albert's voice boomed from the broadcast booth. "This next possession is critical. And with Jordan heating up, it's gonna be hard to stop that fire."

Back on the court, Zhao Dong stuck to the game plan, moving into position. Before he called for the ball, he flashed a quick hand signal to set up a play. He screened for McGrady, freed him up to take the ball, then charged into a hard-nosed isolation drive.

The Bulls read the setup and snapped into a double-team defense. McGrady kept up with Zhao Dong, Rasheed Wallace shifted over for help, Jordan slid down to cover Wang Zhizhi who was cutting to the rim, and Oakley ditched Barkley to join the double-team under the basket.

"Zhao Dong, swing the ball!"

Marv shouted through the mic as Barkley and Billups stood wide open.

But Zhao Dong wasn't passing this time. He saw Barkley free on the weak side—but ignored it.

He was going to finish this himself.

That gesture he made earlier? It called for a two-man action under the rim. Zhizhi would cut in, receive the interior pass, then dish it right back—textbook under-the-basket coordination.

Wang Zhizhi (Dazhi) made his move. Zhao Dong powered ahead, muscles flexing, and left Rasheed Wallace behind. As the ball bounced off the hardwood, he palmed it with his massive hand, fingers spread wide. A quick zip of a pass shot under Rasheed's arm and right to Zhizhi on the baseline side, away from Jordan's coverage.

Zhizhi shifted, caught the pass, and pulled defenders with him. Rasheed turned instantly to double, with Jordan closing in, and Oakley piling on.

Just as Rasheed lunged in—Zhizhi kicked the ball right back.

"Huh?!"

The three defenders were caught off guard, twisting around in a panic as Zhao Dong came roaring back like a freight train with the ball.

One step. Two steps. Takeoff.

He exploded upward, both hands gripping the rock, and slammed it down with authority right over Rasheed Wallace—who had barely turned around.

BANG!

The rim rattled as Rasheed's body crashed backward, slamming into Oakley and Jordan.

The three dropped like bowling pins.

"DING!"

The whistle blew.

"OH!!"

The United Center gasped in shock.

"YEAH!!"

The Knicks bench and a couple hundred visiting fans went wild.

And it still wasn't over.

Zhao Dong landed, took a big step forward—and stepped right over Rasheed Wallace's head.

"OOHHHH!!"

Gasps echoed around the stadium.

Then silence.

"Oh my God!" Matt Goukas burst out. "Zhao Dong just Pippen'd Rasheed Wallace! Stepped over him like he owned the place!"

Jordan, climbing back up, glared.

"Zhao Dong..."

Oakley just shook his head.

As for Rasheed?

Still down. His chest ached, he could barely breathe. Now Zhao Dong stepping over him? He was close to blacking out from rage. His cheeks puffed, teeth clenched, and blood nearly leaked from his gums.

The Bulls bench? Dead silent.

On the bench, Ewing sat frozen.

Years ago, Pippen humiliated him the exact same way.

Later, Zhao Dong avenged him by doing the same to Pippen.

But now...

Now he was on the other side.

"Maybe... I've been wrong all along."

He sighed.

"Maybe it's time to retire."

"Fifty million viewers, Matt!"

Marv called out from the production team.

"Second time this postseason we've crossed 50 million!"

Matt Goukas laughed, "Moments like this? You can't script them. But you gotta ask—why'd Zhao Dong go at Rasheed like that?"

Back on the court, the referee pointed at Rasheed Wallace—blocking foul. And-one.

Zhao Dong stepped up to the line. Rasheed, hands on knees, glared at him from the paint with bloodshot eyes.

Zhao Dong caught his gaze, smirked—but it wasn't a smile.

CLANG!

He bricked the free throw.

Oakley snagged the rebound. Bulls pushed up the floor.

Inside the paint? Empty. Only Zhao Dong remained near the free throw line. Kidd brought it up, then exploded forward with a burst of speed.

On the wings—McGrady burned past Billups and cut baseline.

Jordan escaped Sprewell on the right and drifted toward the lane.

Zhao Dong stepped up to cut off Kidd. Kidd read it and immediately zipped it to Jordan.

Zhao Dong shifted with him.

Jordan thought Zhao Dong was fully committing. Barkley was crashing in for help, so he redirected—passing to McGrady cutting in.

A beautiful sequence. But—

Zhao Dong hit the brakes suddenly.

Jordan's pass sailed toward McGrady—except Zhao Dong had pivoted back in time to contest.

Right as the ball touched McGrady's hands, Zhao Dong was already in front of him.

McGrady had no choice. He rose up for the dunk—wanted to posterize Zhao Dong.

But Zhao Dong jumped too.

Right hand slapped against the ball. Both men hung in the air—locked in an aerial dogfight.

"BANG!"

Bodies collided mid-air. Zhao Dong's grip was tighter. He crushed the ball between both hands, ripped it out as they dropped to the floor.

Zhao Dong landed, backpedaled with his right foot, and steadied himself.

But McGrady took two steps back after landing—and then suddenly collapsed onto the floor.

As the Bulls fans gasped in shock, the Knicks wasted no time and launched a fast break.

Zhao Dong took charge, pushing the ball down the middle with lightning speed.

"Somebody stop him! Stop him now—!"

The Bulls' home commentator screamed, panic in his voice.

Jason Kidd stepped up to pressure, but Zhao Dong quickly dished the rock to Billups, sliced past Kidd on a sprint, then took the ball right back just after crossing half-court.

"He blew by Kidd! Jordan's coming—"

The commentator's voice cracked under pressure.

Michael tried to cut Zhao Dong off at the arc, but Zhao hit him with a deadly combo—first, a quick hesitation à la CP3, then a slick front-body crossover inspired by Grant Hill.

Jordan couldn't react fast enough.

Zhao Dong was gone.

"Uh-oh... it's over!"

Jordan was in the rearview as Zhao Dong exploded past the top of the key.

Rasheed Wallace turned around just in time to see Zhao Dong launching from the free-throw line like a missile.

His breath caught.

Pure instinct made Wallace jump.

BANG!!

The rim shook violently as Zhao Dong threw down a monster dunk, bodying Wallace mid-air and sending him crashing to the baseline like a leaf in a hurricane.

BOOM!

The hardwood vibrated when Wallace hit the floor hard.

"YEAAHH!!"

Knicks fans in the away section went berserk.

Meanwhile, the United Center fell into dead silence—fans, commentators, even the Bulls bench.

The building's energy vanished.

Click! Click! Click!

Cameras behind the baseline fired off nonstop.

Zhao Dong didn't even glance at Rasheed, who was writhing in pain on the floor. He calmly turned and jogged back on defense, soon swarmed by Barkley and the rest of the squad.

Jordan rushed over to Wallace, who looked pale and clearly in agony.

"Doc! Get out here!" MJ barked at the bench, waving toward the training staff.

Over on NBC, Marv Albert shouted into the mic, "Ladies and gentlemen, when a 255-pound man charges with Iverson-like speed... even Shaq might get tossed! Rasheed Wallace just tested physics with his body—and physics won. He's not getting up."

(TL: Damn)

Matt Goukas let out a low whistle and grinned, "Zhao Dong's built like a damn tight end. Put that man in the NFL—offensive or defensive, take your pick. He's a human wrecking ball."

Back on CCTV, Zhang Heli laughed joyfully:

"Zhao Dong needs to watch his own health! That kind of impact goes both ways."

Sun Zhenping nodded. "The game is paused. Wallace is injured."

Zhang chuckled again. "This is a huge blow to Chicago's morale. If Wallace is done for the series, then this Game is basically in the bag for the Knicks."

The Bulls' medical staff arrived. After a quick check, the head trainer turned to Jordan and shook his head.

"Two ribs, maybe more—he's done tonight."

He signaled for the stretcher.

"Damn it..."

Jordan clenched his jaw and turned to glare at Zhao Dong, still standing calmly a few meters away.

You trying to kill him or what?

As Wallace got lifted onto the stretcher, McGrady looked on, face tense.

He muttered under his breath, Ain't no way I'm trying to block that man head-on again. 

He's a whole damn truck. One hit and I might land in the stands.

Phil Jackson subbed in Kurt Thomas immediately, but deep down, he knew the truth—this game might be slipping away.

If they dropped Game 3, what would that mean for the Eastern Conference Finals?

An hour and a half later, the buzzer sounded.

Final Score: Knicks 108 – Bulls 85.

A blowout win.

Zhao Dong clocked out by the third quarter:

12-of-15 from the field (80%), 7-of-8 from the line, and a filthy triple-double—31 points, 16 assists, 11 boards.

In just 32 minutes, his full stat line read:

10-of-14 FG, 5-of-6 FT, 25 points, leading the Knicks' charge.

Barkley chipped in with 14 points (6-of-10 FG, 2-of-4 FT).

Altogether, the Knicks' frontcourt trio racked up 70 points.

Jordan? He balled out—no doubt.

Phil pulled him with 6 minutes left, but not before MJ dropped 51 points on 21-of-32 shooting (65.6%), including 1-of-3 from deep and 8-of-8 from the line.

Still... it wasn't enough.

Matt summed it up post-game:

"The Knicks won this one with smart tactics, strong inside play, and ridiculous efficiency."

Marv Albert added, "Zhao Dong might've been off in Game 2, but tonight? He looked like a damn efficiency god. This was a statement win."

"Three-one," Goukas emphasized. "Knicks are up big. Game 5's headed back to New York—and the Eastern Conference title is right there for the taking."

On the Chinese broadcast, Zhang Heli analyzed:

"Even if Rasheed can't go in Game 5, the Bulls still have size. Kurt Thomas isn't a weak defender, but he doesn't have Wallace's scoring. Chicago's strength takes a hit. The Knicks? Their path is opening."

After the game, Zhao Dong spoke to the media.

"Zhao Dong," asked Thomas, the team's beat reporter, "tonight, 50% of the Knicks' offense came from the paint. You guys shot 72% in there and scored 65% of the team's total points. Overall field goal percentage hit 61%. What flipped the switch from Game 3 to Game 4?"

"The role of tactics—it's everything," Zhao Dong grinned, still sweating from the game. "Through tactics, we've brought out the best in everyone on the squad. I gotta give props to the coaching staff. They've put in crazy hours, even pulling all-nighters just to study game plans and matchup strategies."

"Zhao Dong, do you think the Eastern Conference Finals will wrap up in Game 5?" a reporter asked.

Zhao Dong smirked, his confidence unshaken. "Ain't nobody stopping us from ending this in Game 5."

"Why's that?" the reporter pressed.

"Tactics," Zhao Dong said. "The offensive scheme we used tonight—Bulls don't got the personnel to counter it."

Before they could hit him with another question, Zhao Dong wrapped up the courtside interview and walked off.

An hour later, the postgame press conferences for both teams kicked off.

The mood inside the Bulls' media room was dead quiet. Tension hung heavy in the air.

Not only were they down in the series, but earlier, Patrick Ewing had made a shocking announcement: he was retiring after the playoffs.

"In the past few years, I've had some bad breaks. Serious injuries, one after another... My body just can't take it anymore," Ewing said, eyes moist with emotion. "So after this postseason, I'll be stepping away from the game I love."

"Patrick," a New York Times reporter asked, "Don't you want to return to the Knicks and retire there?"

Ewing paused, gave a pained smile, and said, "Of course I do. That's where I've always dreamed of ending it. But... I don't think I'll get that chance."

His announcement hit the Bulls locker room like a gut punch.

"Coach Jackson," one local reporter asked sharply, "The Bulls got outplayed tactically again tonight. What's your take on that?"

Jordan just stared straight ahead, silent.

Phil Jackson was quiet for a moment before he finally said, "Defensively, we're in a tough spot. No matter what scheme we run, we gotta be real—if we want to slow down Zhao Dong, and I'm talking just limit him, not shut him down—we need three guys on him. That's three out of five defenders. So who's left to cover the rest of the Knicks?"

He exhaled. "We can't triple him every play. That's just not sustainable. Physically, we'd be gassed by halftime."

"And if we only double him? Then it's still not enough. They'll torch us anyway."

"I'm not trying to dodge blame here. It's been three years—three Eastern Conference Finals since his rookie season—and we haven't found a real way to contain him. If someone's gotta take responsibility, then fine. I'll take it."

Jordan couldn't hold back anymore. He grabbed the mic and stood up.

"We really doing this? We pointing fingers now?" he said, his voice firm. "Alright then. If we don't make it past the Eastern Conference Finals, I'll take the heat. I'll retire."

"Ohhh!"

Gasps and murmurs filled the room.

"No," Phil Jackson interrupted. "It's me. If we lose again, I'll step down. I'll leave."

"Ohhh!"

Another wave of shock echoed through the press hall.

Meanwhile, before the Knicks press conference wrapped up, Zhao Dong got wind of what had just gone down with the Bulls.

"Zhao Dong, any thoughts on Ewing's retirement?" a reporter asked.

He paused, then nodded. "It's sudden. I hope he really takes some time to think it through."

"If he wants to return to the Knicks to retire, what's your take on that?"

"I got no opinion on that," Zhao Dong said. "That's management's call, not mine. I don't get involved in stuff like that. That what you're asking?"

"Zhao Dong, Jordan just said if he loses this series, he's retiring. Any comments?"

Zhao Dong smiled casually. "I already said before this season—I support him retiring after the Eastern Conference Finals."

"Ohhh!"

The reporters all gasped again.

"Why's that?" another asked.

"Even though me and him don't exactly get along, I still respect him. He's a beast," Zhao Dong said. "I don't wanna see him become just another name on a rookie's highlight reel when he gets older. I want him to go out while he's still droppin' 50 on dudes. Let the young cats still worship him like an icon."

He chuckled. "But really, it's simple—I want to be the one to end his run. I don't want him losing to just anybody."

"What about when you get old?" another asked.

"That's a long way off," Zhao Dong said, grinning. "Come ask me that in 20 years."

Back in the Knicks locker room, Oakley was also surprised. Reporters broke the news to him mid-interview.

"Charles, you think Ewing should retire now?" one asked.

"Nah, not like this. Not here. He doesn't belong in a Bulls jersey when he walks away," Oakley said, shaking his head. "He should go back to the Knicks. That's where he's supposed to retire. And Zhao Dong? He ain't the kind of guy to block that."

"You really believe Zhao Dong won't interfere?" the reporter asked.

"I guarantee you—Zhao Dong's probably not even gonna touch that situation. That's not his style."

Not long after, both pressers wrapped up around the same time. As Zhao Dong and the Knicks left their room, they crossed paths with Jordan and the Bulls.

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