NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

Ten minutes later, the game tipped off under the bright lights of Staples Center.

Shaquille O'Neal easily won the jump ball, and the Lakers went on the attack. As the offense set up, Shaq lumbered into the paint like a freight train. At 320 pounds—over 145 kilograms—he was a mountain on the move. Yao Ming, at 125 kilograms, didn't try to fight the weight head-on. Instead, he adjusted quickly, sliding to the side to cut off the passing lane and deny Shaq a clean catch.

But the Diesel wasn't going to be denied that easily. He sealed Yao on his left shoulder, caught the entry pass with one massive hand, and immediately lowered his shoulder to bully his way in.

Yao backpedaled into the restricted zone, positioning himself rather than resisting brute force. As Shaq gathered for the monster slam, Yao exploded upward, both arms extended.

"BANG!"

The collision sent Yao stumbling back, rocked by Shaq's sheer power—but the shot bounced off the rim.

"OHHHH!" the crowd roared in collective shock.

"He missed it!"

"Dayao held his ground!" shouted Zhang Heli from the China broadcast booth. "That's great defensive discipline!"

In the stands, Yao's parents applauded proudly. They had flown in from New Jersey just to witness this moment.

Yao steadied himself, clenched his fists in excitement, and turned upcourt with long strides—surprisingly fast for a man his size. He outran even some wings as he sprinted to the offensive end.

The block wouldn't show in the stat sheet, but he got a fingertip on the ball. Mentally, it was already a win.

"What a play!" Su Qun shouted on commentary. "Yao Ming just challenged Shaq on his first defensive possession. That's courage, that's confidence!"

Marbury grabbed the rebound and pushed the ball up.

In transition, Yao trailed the play, then darted to set a high screen. Marbury took the cue and used the pick to burst past the Lakers' perimeter defenders into the lane. But when he saw both Shaq and Ben Wallace collapsing, he kicked it back out to the top.

Yao was there. Open.

Mid-post, free-throw line jumper.

Ben Wallace lunged but was a step late.

"Pull-up jumper—money!" Zhang Heli yelled. "Yao Ming hits his first career shot in the NBA!"

"Haha! With that height and release point, who's gonna block that?" Su Qun grinned.

Back on the other end, Shaq responded with fury. He bulldozed his way into the paint again, backed Yao under the rim, spun with his left shoulder, and hammered down a one-handed slam right over the top of the rookie.

"BOOM!"

"That's how you welcome a rookie!" the NBC American commentator howled. "Shaq just baptized the No. 1 pick!"

Shaq turned, sweat dripping, and smirked at Yao. "Kid, welcome to the NBA."

Yao exhaled, face neutral. The weight difference was just too much to contest that kind of dunk.

But instead of getting rattled, he replied calmly:

"Sorry, Shark… I don't understand English."

"…What?"

Shaq froze. Mouth agape. Didn't this kid just speak English?

The Nets came down again. This time, Yao was posted on the left block. Shaq guarded him, slightly sagging off.

Marbury passed it in.

Yao didn't dribble—no need to. He was a step outside the paint. With Shaq giving him room, he turned smoothly, leaned back, and fired a high-arcing fadeaway jumper.

Shaq just stood there, stunned.

"Swish!"

Yao grinned as he jogged back. Shaq blinked like he'd seen a ghost.

---

In New York, Zhao Dong burst out laughing as NBC's cameras caught Shaq's dumbfounded expression in slow motion.

"Big fella didn't even jump," Zhao chuckled to himself. "At this rate, he won't want to guard him at all."

He knew. Yao Ming in this life wasn't the same as the Yao from before. He had elite footwork, extended range, and top-tier mobility. His jumper was buttery even out to the three-point line. If O'Neal refused to leave the paint, Yao would eat them alive from mid-range.

It was a nightmare matchup for the Lakers.

They couldn't switch. Anyone smaller was barbecue chicken. Even Ben Wallace didn't have the height or length to contest those shots.

Worse, Yao's post game was just as polished. That turnaround? Practiced thousands of times.

Still, Zhao knew defending Shaq was no easy task either. There was only so much you could do when a 320-pound juggernaut came barreling at you.

---

Back at Staples, Lakers coach Phil Jackson stood stoically in front of the bench, arms crossed. He watched Yao nail another mid-range jumper—again with O'Neal too far to contest.

He frowned.

His mind flashed back to Chicago. To Zhao Dong crushing the Bulls. To Jordan's last run being cut short by the unstoppable force from China. He'd left the Bulls after that heartbreak.

Now, he was in L.A., armed with Shaq, Kobe, Big Ben, Glen Rice... a new dream team.

And yet—this Yao Ming, another Chinese phenom raised by Zhao Dong, was causing him déjà vu.

---

On the next possession, Yao stepped out again, beyond the free-throw line.

O'Neal stayed rooted in the paint.

The pass came. Yao caught, rose, released.

"Splash!"

In just the first three minutes, Yao Ming was on fire—3-for-3 from the field, 6 points on perfect shooting. Smooth footwork. Confident release. It was the kind of debut that screamed: No. 1 pick.

From the Lakers' sideline, Phil Jackson quickly called timeout.

He turned to Shaquille O'Neal and said calmly but firmly, "Shaq, I need you to lock in on defense now. Stick with Yao. Only your size and length can slow him down. Leave the rim to Ben."

Shaq frowned.

He didn't come here to babysit a rookie or run around chasing jumpers. He came to dominate the paint—to crush every big man who dared challenge him.

Phil didn't let up. "You still want to beat Zhao Dong, right? He's playing center this season too. And his face-up game? Stronger than Yao's. If you let this kid torch you, what happens when Zhao stretches the floor even further?"

"…Alright." Shaq finally nodded, though his tone was reluctant.

With Shaq tightening up defensively, Yao's efficiency took a hit. The big man was now putting more effort into closing out, chasing Yao to the elbows, and using his mass to contest shots.

Still, Yao didn't fade away.

He pivoted, adjusted, and showcased his variety—hook shots, fadeaways, offensive rebounds into quick put-backs, even a spin-dunk after juking Shaq with a jab-step in the paint.

Marbury kept his word too, feeding Yao in every mismatch situation. The rookie went on to finish with a stellar debut: 10-of-15 from the field, 6-of-6 from the line, 26 points.

An efficient, dominant performance.

The shooting percentage—over 66%—spoke volumes. Yao even stepped out to the three-point line and knocked one down late in the game, exposing Shaq's hesitation to follow.

But the Nets still lost.

Shaquille O'Neal may not have locked up Yao, but he lit up the scoreboard. The Diesel went nuclear: 38 points, including three powerful dunks over Yao Ming. The rookie got his welcome.

Still, midway through the fourth, Yao returned the favor—timing a perfect block as Shaq attempted a thunderous finish.

---

At courtside, Cook glanced over with a grin.

"I won," Hubie Brown said smugly.

Cook laughed, conceding. "Yeah… Marbury played unselfishly tonight. Alright, your pick. Choose the best spot in L.A."

Post-game, Shaq stood under the bright lights of the NBC interview booth, towel around his neck, sweat still dripping.

"Shaq, congrats on the win. You handled this year's No. 1 pick," a reporter said.

"That was light work," Shaq grinned.

"What's your take on Yao?"

Shaq paused. His expression shifted.

"He's the real deal. Not some soft fake. Kid can ball."

"What left the biggest impression on you?"

Shaq hesitated.

"Was it the free throws?" the reporter teased.

Shaq's face twisted. "Man, you know what it was. Why even ask?"

Laughter broke out around the booth.

He went 3-of-11 from the line. Yao? A perfect 6-of-6.

---

In New York, Zhao Dong leaned back in his chair, nodding in satisfaction.

"This version of Yao… way better than his first time around," he muttered.

Back then, Yao didn't debut until age 23. But this time? He was 19—and already looking like a future All-Star.

The next day, headlines from across the U.S. piled in:

"China's Little Giant: Another Tim Duncan?" — The New York Times

"A New Super Center Has Arrived in New Jersey!" — New Jersey Journal

"Did Yao Peak on Night One? Or Is This Just the Beginning?" — Los Angeles Times

Even critics had to bite their tongues. No one could say a word about last night's performance—only that the real test would be whether Yao could keep it up over an 82-game season.

---

October 4 – Madison Square Garden

The Knicks hosted the Cleveland Cavaliers at home.

Shawn Kemp—was still the heart of the Cavs. But with age catching up, Cleveland had shifted into rebuild mode.

It didn't matter. The Knicks rolled to their second win of the season.

Don Nelson's three-guard offense was starting to click. The pace was relentless. Fast-breaks. Threes. Attacking mismatches. The small-ball movement began to define New York's identity.

They dropped 112 points, with their three-guard combo pouring in 54 points combined.

That night, the Knicks flew to Chicago for a back-to-back.

---

October 5 – Chicago

Zhao Dong woke up at noon in his hotel room, only to get a call from the team bus driver inviting him to lunch. Oakley was tagging along too.

Thirty minutes later, the driver pulled up in a beat-up Ford pickup outside the team hotel.

Zhao hopped in and greeted Oakley with a grin. "Hey Charles. Larry's out there blowing your retirement money. Why haven't you called it a career yet?"

Oakley smirked. "Man, Larry's got billionaire money. He's flying private with your sports endorsements. Me? I gotta finish this contract first before I spend my cash."

Zhao laughed, then turned to the driver. "How's the team treating you?"

The "Big Bus" smiled. "Not bad."

Chicago had played two games so far. Big Bus averaged just 8.7 minutes per game—2.3 points and 2.1 rebounds. Minimal offensive touches.

Zhao Dong believed Bus had potential. Not on the level of Dazhi or Dayao, but still serviceable. He just hadn't had his shot yet.

The Bulls weren't weak either. Oakley was still solid, playing nearly 30 minutes per game. Rasheed Wallace had leveled up, entering his peak. And the backcourt? Jason Kidd, Tracy McGrady, and Cuttino Mobley.

That trio was beginning to look scary.

The Chicago Bulls still had enough firepower to compete for a championship.

But they weren't quite there yet.

McGrady and Mobley were budding stars—undeniably talented—but still raw. By the time they fully developed, veterans like Oakley would be past their prime, and the Bulls' frontcourt would have a hole to fill.

That was for another day.

Right now, the Knicks were in town.

At lunch, Zhao Dong sat across from Oakley in a quiet Chicago steakhouse. The air smelled of charred sirloin and aged wine.

"It's only been two games," Oakley said, cutting into his steak. "Bart'll get more chances soon."

Zhao nodded. "I heard your coach isn't exactly clicking with the team."

Oakley shrugged. "College guy. Different game. NBA's a whole other beast."

After a glass of red and another round of small talk, Zhao returned to the hotel around 3 p.m. He opened his notebook, eyes scanning the U.S. stock market charts.

Red everywhere.

The slide continued. In four trading days, the market had dropped 13.5%, evaporating $2 trillion in value.

The U.S. remained aggressive in negotiations, while China held firm—especially on financial sovereignty. Wall Street was uneasy. At 4:30 p.m., the market closed with the Nasdaq falling another 2.7%, down to 4,575.

Then at 5 p.m., a rumor swept through the financial world—Tianlong Investment Bank was preparing for a second fundraising round in the U.S., though the amount was unclear.

"Monday's gonna open with a bloodbath," Zhao muttered. "I'm running before the stampede starts."

Wall Street buzzed with gossip—half of it spin, half of it truth. But one thing was clear: confidence was cracking.

---

8:00 PM – United Center, Chicago

Starting Lineups:

Knicks – Zhao Dong, Fortson, Sprewell, Stackhouse, Ginobili

Bulls – Oakley, Rasheed Wallace, McGrady, Mobley, Kidd

Tip-off: Fortson rose above Rasheed Wallace and tapped it back. Knicks ball.

Stackhouse brought the ball up and immediately looked left. Zhao Dong slid into the low post on the wing. That's where every Knicks offensive set began—Zhao in the post. Whether he passed or scored, everything flowed through him.

Triangle-esque, but tailored to his dominance.

Stackhouse walked the ball to the left wing and dumped it in.

Zhao caught it, turned his back, and jabbed once.

Then he made a deceptive shoulder fake and tossed the ball with one hand—an apparent pass back to Stackhouse, who was cutting hard.

Oakley bit.

He turned his head toward Stack.

Wrong move.

In that split second, Zhao pivoted, blew past Oakley, and attacked the rim with purpose. Rasheed Wallace stepped over late—he remembered the bruises from last season—and thought better of contesting.

"BOOM!"

A vicious slam echoed through the United Center.

The crowd still erupted. Even on the road, Zhao Dong got love. Like Jordan before him, his game transcended jerseys.

---

Back on defense, the Bulls set up. McGrady took the ball on the right wing.

Stackhouse locked in.

T-Mac was Chicago's new alpha. Not just in status—but swagger. He carried himself like the heir to MJ, and to the front office, that's exactly what he was supposed to be.

Problem was—Rasheed Wallace wasn't buying it.

He had seniority, more experience, and just as much game. Back in Portland, he was the man. Coming to Chicago was Jordan's idea. With MJ gone, he expected to reclaim his throne.

Tension simmered under the surface.

McGrady went into his move. Quick step back—pull-up three.

Clank.

Missed.

The ball bounced high. Both Stackhouse and McGrady lunged for it.

Stackhouse had good position—but McGrady's size and bounce were unreal. He grabbed the board mid-air, reset his feet, and kicked it back out to Kidd at the top.

"Kidd resets," said Matt Goukas on the NBC broadcast.

Mobley sliced through the paint, pulling a help defender with him. Kidd pump-faked, then whipped it to McGrady again on the right wing.

This time, no hesitation.

"Swish!"

Three-ball. Smooth and effortless.

"McGrady's shot is so fast," said Bill Walton from the booth. "With that 7'2" wingspan and 6'10" frame, his release is hard to contest. Huge hands. Catch-and-shoot with one palm."

"He's listed at 6'10" in shoes. That's a tough cover for the Knicks' three-guard lineup," Matt added.

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