NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

Beijing, October 22

Zhao Dong sat across from his older brother, Zhao Dacheng, in a private suite in the Huihuang Culture Media headquarters. The walls were lined with golden plaques, a testament to the company's recent meteoric rise.

"Brother," Zhao Dacheng said enthusiastically, leaning forward. "Since you invested that one billion RMB, Huihuang has taken off like a rocket. I've pulled in every major name from the big courtyards who works in film and TV—Hai Yan, Jiang Wen, Wang Su, Zheng Xiaolong, Cui Jian, Chen Hong, Ye Jing, Ye Daying, Zhao Baogang, Ge You, Chen Daoming… not a single one was left out."

Zhao Dong nodded slightly, waiting for the real pitch.

"With our family's backing and your money, bringing them in only took a few dinners. Easy. Then I moved on to the Beijing Circle—Feng Xiaogang, Xu Jinglei, Zhang Guoli, Da Wang, Xiao Wang, Huang Lei… even they couldn't say no. Now I've started bridging connections with the two major cultural factions in Beijing: the People's Art Theatre and Beijing Film Studio."

He leaned back triumphantly. "Brother, I've nearly unified Beijing's film and television industry. The next step is to absorb the Northwest School—Zhang Yimou's camp."

"Stop." Zhao Dong raised a hand calmly.

Zhao Dacheng blinked. "What's wrong?"

Zhao Dong studied his brother for a moment before replying, "You're talking about taking over the entire industry, but your company hasn't even released one quality film."

"That's not true!" Zhao Dacheng said defensively. "Xiao Feng's new movie is about to premiere."

"Xiao Feng?" Zhao Dong frowned.

"Feng Xiaogang!" Dacheng clarified.

Zhao Dong chuckled. "Brother, you've gathered all the stars but have no real achievements. That's becoming a serious problem."

Dacheng scratched his head sheepishly. "Well, I just didn't want to embarrass you. Everyone knows you're powerful now."

Zhao Dong shook his head and smiled. "Brother, I gave you the money so you could lead, not dominate. I don't want Huihuang to be a monopoly. Absolute monopoly leads to absolute decay. It kills innovation and ambition. You'll rot from the inside, and in a few years, you'll be steamrolled by Hollywood blockbusters."

"So… you want me to be the leader of the industry?" Zhao Dacheng asked, puzzled.

"Exactly. A leader guides and sets the standard—he doesn't swallow his peers whole."

Zhao Dong continued, "Make Huihuang strong enough to set the benchmark. Lead by example. Block foreign cultural invasions by being better—not by being the only one left. Let there be competition. It'll keep everyone sharp."

Zhao Dacheng nodded slowly.

"Oh, and stop relying solely on people from the big courtyards or the Beijing Circle," Zhao Dong added. "Loyalty matters. There are people in your circle who worship foreign things, who'd sell you out in a heartbeat."

"Eating from the inside out?" Dacheng asked.

Zhao Dong nodded. "Exactly. I won't name names. Just observe—watch how they speak and act."

"I get it now," Dacheng said solemnly. "You want me to lead the charge, not become the emperor."

"Correct," Zhao Dong said, getting up.

---

October 26 – New York City, USA

After arriving in New York on the negotiation team's special plane, Zhao Dong allowed himself a brief rest before diving back into business.

The next morning, he arrived at Madison Square Garden to meet with Knicks General Manager Ernie Grunfeld.

During the small talk, Grunfeld chuckled. "There's a wild one for the books. Francis, the guy the Raptors picked fifth? Refused to sign. Didn't want to play in Canada. They had to trade his rights to Houston—at a loss."

Zhao Dong smiled knowingly. "Historical inertia. Some things just repeat themselves."

"There's another one," Grunfeld added. "Kirilenko, picked 28th by the Spurs. Kid only wants to play for the Jazz. Said if it's not Utah, he's not joining the NBA."

"Kirilenko?" Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow. "Did the deal go through?"

Grunfeld shook his head. "Popovich held firm. Kirilenko stayed in Europe. Apparently, he's tight with Jerry Sloan. The Jazz were going to grab him in the second round if the Spurs didn't take him."

Zhao Dong chuckled. "Looks like Sloan's rebuild is coming along nicely. With the right big man and time for those rookies to grow, they'll be back in the playoffs in no time."

Grunfeld handed him the finalized roster sheet.

Team Roster – 1999 Season

Frontcourt: Zhao Dong, Danny Fortson, Charles Barkley, Kevin Willis, Gary Trent

Backcourt: Latrell Sprewell, Jerry Stackhouse, Manu Ginobili, John Wallace

"Nine-man rotation, thirteen guaranteed contracts," Grunfeld noted. "We needed depth at the three, so I signed John Wallace on a veteran minimum."

Zhao Dong nodded. "Good move. He's a fellow '96er. Still has some gas in the tank."

Grunfeld leaned forward. "Coach Nelson and I agreed: You'll anchor the inside. But you'll still swing outside occasionally. Our three-spot is thin."

"No problem," Zhao Dong said.

"One more thing," Grunfeld added. "Nelson wants to experiment with a three-guard lineup this year—Sprewell, Stackhouse, Ginobili. Quick offense. Explosive perimeter game. You draw the double inside, then kick out for open looks."

Zhao Dong laughed. "That's Showtime, New York-style."

The lineup was fierce. Sprewell brought unrelenting energy and defensive grit. Stackhouse could score from anywhere. Ginobili's flair added unpredictability. The only weakness? Size at the three. But with Zhao Dong and Fortson controlling the paint, and the offense humming, that flaw could be masked.

With the defensive bite of Barkley, the veteran savvy of Willis, and the pure hustle of Gary Trent, the team's rotation was a brutal mix of power, speed, and experience.

Zhao Dong leaned back in his chair, scanning the updated tactical report Coach Nelson had sent through the night before. He didn't need to read every word to know what it meant—Nelson was doubling down on small-ball.

"Of course, this is just one tactical option," Zhao Dong murmured, setting the tablet down. "But I bet Nelson's leaning into small ball for real."

Later that morning, he met with General Manager Ernie Grunfeld again at Madison Square Garden.

Grunfeld nodded as Zhao Dong brought it up. "Yeah, Coach is thinking fast pace and floor spacing. He believes we can run most teams out of the building."

He continued, "The starting lineup is still elite, but the bench… we're not where we were last season. Especially on the perimeter. Rotation depth is weak."

Zhao Dong cracked a smile. "That's fine. John Wallace can handle some minutes at the three. I'll shift outside if needed. Barkley and Willis still got juice. Give them twenty minutes a night, and we're solid."

Grunfeld nodded. "A nine-man rotation should be enough. Most teams in the league don't even run ten deep these days. Seven or eight if they're pushing."

Then Grunfeld paused and leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly.

"Zhao… I've been considering trading for Shawn Kemp. Cleveland's looking to move him. But there's a problem. He's ballooned again—he's over 130 kilos."

Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow. "Shawn?"

Grunfeld nodded. "He played 42 games last season. Missed 8 due to injury. Still put up 20.5 points, 9.2 boards, 2.4 assists, 1.1 blocks, 1.1 steals per game—still All-Star numbers."

Zhao Dong scratched his chin. "He's still producing, but... let's be honest. Kemp's decline started after the '98 lockout. Dude hasn't controlled his weight since. He's playing on pure talent right now. Once that fades, he's going to be a liability."

"How many years left on his contract?" he asked.

"Three years. $34 million," Grunfeld answered.

Zhao Dong exhaled through his nose. "You might get short-term value, but the slope is steep. The heavier he gets, the worse his lateral movement becomes. Once he loses bounce, he's not getting boards, not defending—just eating space."

Grunfeld nodded slowly, but Zhao Dong wasn't finished.

"Also… I heard something else. Kemp's got separatist views. Not Malaysian. I'm not sure I want someone like that in our locker room."

Grunfeld blinked in surprise. "Seriously? That's… yeah, forget it. Not worth the trouble."

"I'll dig around," Grunfeld added. "We've still got two open roster spots. I'll try to find reliable rotational guys—one for the perimeter, one for the paint."

---

That Evening – Home Office, Zhao Dong's Residence

Zhao Dong pulled out his personal phone and dialed an international number.

"Hakeem," he greeted.

"Zhao! How's New York?" came the warm voice of Hakeem Olajuwon on the other end.

"Good. Let's talk about our training project. How are Hakim, Yao, and Dazhi coming along?"

Olajuwon's tone shifted to professional. "Honestly? Hakim's progressing the best. His coordination's excellent, and the kid's got imagination. His low-post skills are going to shock people this season."

Zhao Dong nodded. He'd expected as much. Talent and feel—Hakim had both.

"Yao's doing well too," Dream continued. "His footwork is incredibly refined. You won't believe this—he's already developed a turnaround fadeaway. I nearly dropped my clipboard when I saw it. He's over seven feet tall, and he moves like a guard!"

Zhao Dong laughed. "That's Yao for you. He's not the most explosive, but no one works harder. His willpower is something else."

"Dazhi's… a different case," Dream sighed. "He's not grasping the pace. Struggles to adjust to post timing. To be blunt, his post game is sloppy."

Zhao Dong shook his head. He already knew that. In China, Dazhi could dominate, but here? The standards were different.

"I told him to focus on defense, rim protection. I've put him through extra low-post defense drills. He might not be a scorer, but he can still be a reliable role player," said Olajuwon.

"Good," Zhao Dong replied. "Now let's talk business."

Dream perked up instantly. "Oh? Finally!"

"You can start preparing your funds. I'll give you a cap—$5 million."

Olajuwon laughed like a man who had just hit the jackpot. "Zhao, the Golden Tyrant of Wall Street, my man! I'll raise $10 million. Hell, I'll find $15 million if you want!"

Zhao Dong chuckled. "Easy, Hakim. Markets have limits. I'll bump it to $8 million. That's the max."

"Beautiful!" Dream shouted, his joy uncontainable.

After all, the last time the U.S. stock market dipped, Lindsay led the Storm team through flawlessly—while other funds crashed, hers thrived. Now, elite investors were begging to join her team.

And here he was—getting the green light thanks to a few training sessions and a little dedication.

Hakim had already been planning to launch his own training camp post-retirement. A chance to combine coaching with consistent income? It was a dream setup—no pun intended.

---

Later That Night

Zhao Dong reached out to his young Chinese trainees—Yao Ming, Wang Zhizhi, Mengke Bateer, and Hu Weidong—sending words of encouragement to each. His message was clear: stay the course, keep improving, and know that China was watching.

October 28, Noon – Wall Street, New York

The Storm Fund headquarters buzzed with renewed life. Following Lindsay's summons, nearly a hundred Storm veterans returned to base. She herself had flown in on emergency leave.

The media caught wind of the movement instantly.

But that was no accident.

Lindsay had intentionally leaked the news. Her aim? To build pressure and elevate expectations ahead of the next round of high-stakes bilateral negotiations.

As Lindsay's black motorcade pulled up to Storm Fund's headquarters on Wall Street, a swarm of reporters surged forward. Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks in a summer sky. Microphones were shoved past towering security guards. Voices layered over each other like chaotic waves.

More than twenty bodyguards immediately formed a human wall, shielding Lindsay from the crowd. But the reporters, undeterred, shouted through the blockade.

"Mrs. Lindsay, what does the Storm's return signify for Wall Street?"

"Mrs. Lindsay, trading volume continues to rise at high levels. Do you foresee a continuation of the bull market—or is a bear market looming?"

"Mrs. Lindsay, why did you join the Chinese delegation for the WTO negotiations?"

"Mrs. Lindsay…"

Lindsay paused on the steps of the building, letting the noise settle slightly. Then she addressed the press, choosing her words with surgical precision.

"The reason I joined the Chinese delegation is simple—Tianlong Investment Bank has invested heavily in China. We support China's early entry into the WTO. It benefits us all. China needs the world, and the world needs China. Its accession is not just likely—it is inevitable."

"As for the U.S. stock market," she continued, voice clear and firm, "my stance hasn't changed. We are already in a bear market. Both I and the majority of Wall Street's mainstream funds have made our moves. The rising trading volume you're seeing is not a bullish signal—it's a red flag. All investors should begin preparing for risk mitigation."

She narrowed her gaze toward the sea of cameras.

"Storm is regrouping not because the market is safe—but because we remain bearish. It's time to accelerate withdrawal from U.S. equities and prepare for the bear's full descent. To minimize losses, we will also open short positions on the futures index—hedged with proper stop-loss measures."

The moment those words hit the newswire, tremors rippled across Wall Street.

---

2:00 PM – Wall Street, Storm Fund Headquarters

Storm released an official fund-raising directive.

The announcement: Storm would launch five quantum investment funds, each with a target of $20 billion USD.

Phones exploded across the trading floors. Storm's brokers couldn't keep up with the calls—requests from institutional investors, sovereign wealth funds, and private capital poured in like a flood.

In reality, Lindsay had already secured $30 billion—$10 billion in personal capital from her and Zhao Dong, and $20 billion in state-backed foreign reserves from China.

The new round aimed to raise another $70 billion.

But Storm's brand power was unmatched. Within an hour, $230 billion in capital was pledged—more than three times the target. If Lindsay merely nodded, those funds would land in Storm's accounts, no questions asked.

At the same time, the U.S. stock market, which had started plunging at noon, abruptly reversed. A wave of new capital pulled it upward. By market close, it had risen 0.35%, and the day's trading volume set a one-month high.

From the outside, it looked like a strong rebound.

To the naive, it signaled confidence.

To Lindsay, it was camouflage.

She reviewed the numbers and shook her head.

"The market's climbing… but that's the illusion. This is just mainstream capital trying to offload quietly while the volume's still there."

Her team began filtering through the excess applications. From the $200–300 billion on the table, Lindsay handpicked a strategic pool and finalized the funding plan.

---

Later That Night – New York Chinese Consulate General

Lindsay arrived for a closed-door meeting.

General Zhu, one of China's top economic commanders, was waiting with a cup of tea and a heavy gaze.

"Liu Wei," he said, addressing Lindsay by her Chinese name, "this time it's all on you. I've committed our national treasury to this play."

Of the $30 billion she was already moving, $10 billion belonged to her and Zhao Dong. The other $20 billion—foreign reserves personally authorized by President Zhu.

Last time, Lindsay had earned billions for the nation. But Zhu didn't care about the profits now. His goal wasn't simply returns—it was trust.

He wanted Lindsay to feel China's full faith in her.

"We know your relationship with Zhao Dong is solid," Zhu said, "but love isn't enough. A nation shows trust through action. Sincerity. Honor. That's how we use people."

Still, there was hesitation behind his eyes.

This much money. This much risk. All on speculation?

He didn't even have to say it—Lindsay already knew.

"Please rest assured, Mr. Zhu," she said confidently. "There will be no problem."

Her certainty wasn't arrogance. Yes, Zhao Dong had given her future insights. But Lindsay was also a financial weapon in her own right—sharp, calculating, with an almost supernatural instinct for the pulse of markets.

---

Zhu set down his cup and leaned forward.

"Tell me about the financial industry, Liu Wei. The U.S. is so far ahead. You and Zhao Dong both believe they'll turn fully to finance and offshore manufacturing?"

Lindsay nodded, organizing her thoughts.

"Yes. Financial dominance means control without factories. But true economic development only needs basic financial infrastructure. Derivatives—while innovative—create enormous systemic risks."

Zhu raised an eyebrow. "But isn't that the trend now? Derivatives everywhere?"

Lindsay smiled gently. "True. And I work in that world. I've designed several derivatives myself."

Zhu sat up. "Wait… you created them?"

Lindsay laughed. "Of course. The Federal Reserve is private. Wall Street's tools are private. Derivatives? No exception."

Zhu blinked—then burst into laughter.

"Ha! I completely overlooked that part. Haha!"

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