Chapter 289

After getting a day off on the 4th, the Knicks came back strong and bagged another win at home on the 5th. But the rest didn't last long—they were back on the road soon after.

This time, they were heading west. A tough three-game stretch against the Mavericks, Clippers, and Lakers awaited them.

The 1996 season was shortened to just 50 games, so the schedule was tight. Most games were crammed within the conference. For example, the Knicks played nearly 70% of their games against Eastern teams, leaving only 30% for the West.

That made this road trip their only visit out west during the regular season—four Western Conference matchups in one swing. And truth be told, this stretch was gonna be even rougher than their last three-game win streak.

On the 7th, the Knicks squared off against the Houston Rockets.

This season, Houston had made headlines by trading for Scottie Pippen from the Suns. After Clyde Drexler hung it up, the team needed someone to keep the box office alive. The Suns, bold as ever, signed Pippen to a five-year, $73 million deal in a sign-and-trade, then flipped him to the Houston. Whether that gamble paid off in ticket sales or tanked financially was still anyone's guess.

Without Charles Barkley, Houston's firepower had taken a hit. They were now hovering at seventh in the West, barely clinging to playoff hopes.

Hakeem "The Dream" Olajuwon, though aging, was still putting in work. He hadn't missed a game all season, averaging 36 minutes, 19 points, 9.8 rebounds, 1.8 assists, 1.6 steals, and 2.5 blocks. He might've been past his peak, but he was still leagues better than the version of Barkley playing limited minutes off the Knicks' bench.

In this game, since Fordson was still out, Barkley got bumped into the starting lineup.

He was in decent shape this season, but his game had changed. He avoided the post now and mostly lived on jumpers. Not quite the Round Mound of Rebound anymore.

When both teams came out for warm-ups, the usual trash talk started flying.

"Yo, Pippen," Zhao Dong said as he approached, grin on his face. "Finally got that bag, huh? Congrats, man."

Pippen scowled. "Man, screw off, Zhao. Yeah, I like being second—so what? None of your business!"

Zhao just chuckled. "Hey, Hakeem."

Meanwhile, Barkley walked over to Olajuwon and gave him a hug. "Man, you still ballin'. But you know I'm saving up for the playoffs. I'm gonna be the main PF when it counts."

Olajuwon laughed. "If you say so, Charles."

Then Pippen jumped back in, throwing shade. "Knicks ain't got no future, man. That dude Zhao's supermax locked y'all up. Y'all paid $20 mil in luxury tax. Can't even trade for another star. Y'all already got smoked by the Bulls once—you're not going far again."

Barkley snapped, "You talkin' about contracts? Look at you, Pippen! You fleeced Houston with that deal. You averaging less than me and still getting eight figures a year. Should feel guilty."

Pippen puffed up. "You just mad I got that money. You ever touch tens of millions in one season?"

Barkley looked like he was gonna explode.

Truth was—yeah, he was jealous.

Back when he played for Houston, they only gave him $6.95 mil over two seasons. His career high was just $4.7 mil in a year. Meanwhile, Pippen was walking around like a maxed-out CEO.

Zhao Dong stepped in, calm as ever. "Ten mil's cool, I guess," he said, stretching like he just woke up. "I only made a little over a million in salary last year. With the playoff bonuses, it was maybe two mil."

He paused, then said casually, "But I can't remember how much I made in investments last year. Was it three billion? Or six?"

"..."

Pippen's mouth dropped open.

"Pffft!"

Barkley, Hu Weidong, and Ben Wallace busted out laughing.

"Man, shut up, Zhao!" Olajuwon waved it off. "We don't need your rich boy talk screwin' up the game!"

Zhao grinned. "Hakeem, you want in on the investments? I'll hook you up."

Olajuwon's face changed instantly. "Bet!"

Zhao smirked. "One condition."

"Name ten—I'll take 'em all!"

Zhao leaned in. "You know Duke's Yao Ming, right?"

"Of course I do!" Hakeem nodded. "If he enters the draft this year, he's a lock for No. 1. I been watching Duke's games. Kid's the real deal."

Pippen muttered under his breath, "Damn, Dream really sellin' his soul for cash now…"

Zhao said, "Teach him everything. Footwork, Dream Shake, all of it. Oh—and coach our rookie big. Do that, and I'll help you make crazy money. Barkley's already in Storm Fund. Ask him how it's goin'."

Olajuwon turned to Barkley. "Yo, Charles, how much you make?"

Barkley grinned. "Put in three mil six months ago—all I had at the time. Fund was scaling up, returns were insane. Doubled it. Now I'm over four mil and reinvested it all."

"Ohhh!"

Houston's starters all gasped.

Olajuwon nodded quickly. "Say less. I'm in."

That night, the Knicks knocked off the Rockets and immediately flew to Dallas for the second leg of their West Coast tour.

On the 9th, they faced the Mavericks on the road.

Dallas, led by Michael Finley, was still a mess despite frequent trades. They hadn't seen the playoffs in eight years, and this season wasn't shaping up any better.

But then came the blow.

In the third quarter, during a drive to the basket, Hu Weidong slipped and rolled his ankle hard.

The Knicks, thrown off rhythm, dropped the game—just their second loss of the season.

Thankfully, Hu's injury wasn't too serious. With a day's rest, he'd be ready to go again.

"The players are starting to get tired, so we've gotta expand the rotation."

Old Nelson had made up his mind. With the upcoming schedule jam-packed for the next two months, he didn't want to risk any widespread injuries.

The league had already been hit hard. Injury rates were up compared to previous seasons—shutdown effects were kicking in. Star players were dropping left and right.

After their loss to the Mavericks, the Knicks flew overnight to Los Angeles, where back-to-back games against the Clippers and Lakers awaited them on the 10th and 11th.

On the 10th, after a check-up from the team doctor, Hu Weidong was cleared to start again.

So far, in his starts, Hu was averaging 31.5 minutes, putting up 16.8 points, 3.6 rebounds, 2.5 assists, 1.3 steals, 0.8 blocks, 1.2 turnovers, and 2 fouls per game. His shooting? 42.5% from the field and 37% from deep. Not eye-popping numbers, but solid and dependable.

Before they left that afternoon, Zhao Dong pulled Hu aside.

"Bro, you're not shooting enough," Zhao said straight-up. "You're only taking, what, 13 shots a game? As a starting two-guard, you gotta be putting up at least 16. If you're feelin' it? Push it to 20. This is your chance, man."

Hu Weidong looked hesitant. "What about Coach?"

Zhao Dong chuckled. "Come on, you think I didn't talk to Old Nelson? He agrees. A starting shooting guard on the Knicks needs to be a scoring threat—twenty points minimum. Forget the passing stuff. You give it to Billups or anyone else, the efficiency drops. We don't need you to be John Stockton—we need you to be a bucket."

Hu nodded, "Got it."

At 6:30 PM, the Knicks arrived at the Clippers' home—Memorial Sports Arena, next to the University of Southern California. The Staples Center was still under construction and wasn't set to open until later in the year. When it did, both the Clippers and Lakers would share the new arena.

The Clippers were still bottom-tier. Despite being in LA, their games drew no attention. This one wasn't nationally televised, not even by CCTV back in China.

Determined to let Hu cook, Zhao Dong stripped Billups of most of his ball-handling duties, taking control himself. The result? A career-high 17 assists, breaking his personal record.

Hu responded big time. In 34 minutes, he went 9-of-19 from the field, 2-of-5 from deep, and a perfect 5-of-5 from the line, finishing with 25 points.

But that was probably Hu's limit. The physical toll of NBA-level defense was no joke. More shots meant lower efficiency—it was a fine balance.

The next evening, the Knicks pulled up at the Great Western Forum to face the Lakers.

As Zhao Dong came up from the parking lot, he crossed paths with Kurt Rambis, the Lakers' head coach. Out of courtesy, Zhao was about to greet him—but Rambis didn't even acknowledge him. Walked right past without a glance.

Zhao turned to Charles Barkley, eyebrows raised. "Yo Charles… Did that man just ignore me?"

Barkley laughed, "Guess y'all got beef now."

Zhao Dong smirked. "Oh, it's like that? Cool. We settle things on the court. We're the New York Gentlemen's Team—China calls us that. But this beef's too big. We gotta return the favor."

Barkley cracked his knuckles. "Say less. Let's cook Shaq tonight."

All the Knicks around nodded like a brotherhood. Old Nelson and young Van Gundy exchanged glances—these guys really just make up reasons to go to war, huh?

This was a must-watch game. Two title contenders clashing, live on NBC, CCTV, and dozens of international broadcasters.

At 7:30 PM, the lineups dropped.

Starting Lineups:

Knicks:

Center – Ben Wallace

Power Forward – Charles Barkley

Small Forward – Zhao Dong

Shooting Guard – Hu Weidong

Point Guard – Chauncey Billups

Lakers:

Center – Shaquille O'Neal

Power Forward – Dennis Rodman

Small Forward – Glen Rice

Shooting Guard – Kobe Bryant (Rookie)

Point Guard – Derek Fisher

---

NBC Broadcast

Marv Albert: "We're almost halfway through the season—about 20 games into the 50-game sprint. The Knicks are rolling at 18–2, sitting atop the league."

Matt Goukas: "And the Lakers, finally free from the grip of the Jazz, are now 16–4—trailing only the Spurs in the West."

Marv: "For years, the Lakers couldn't break through with the Jazz in their way. Honestly, they should thank the Knicks. They broke that Karl Malone–John Stockton duo wide open."

Matt: "Facts. If the Knicks hadn't knocked the Jazz off the map, Shaq and the Lakers might still be stuck in purgatory."

Marv: "But it's not smooth sailing just yet. The Spurs and their Twin Towers are legit."

Matt: "Talk about bad luck. The Jazz collapse, but the Spurs rise. LA just can't catch a break."

Marv: "They tried to plug that power forward gap by bringing in Rodman, but man… The Worm's been all over the place."

Matt: "Yeah, missed practices, skipped games. Even young guys like Kobe and Fisher are getting fed up."

Marv: "Jordan had to drag the Worm out of Vegas to play. The Lakers don't have anyone with that kind of pull."

Matt: "I won't be surprised if the Lakers cut him."

Marv: "Could happen. But Rodman's suited up tonight. Maybe he wants revenge on Zhao Dong. Last year in the East Finals, he and Ewing got battered and left injured."

---

Inside the Lakers Locker Room

Shaq had his arms crossed, voice booming. "Kobe, feed me them lobs tonight. I'm dunkin' on that idiot Zhao Dong. Gonna break the damn rim on his head."

Kobe, all rookie swagger, grinned. "Say less, big fella. I got you."

---

Knicks Locker Room

Zhao Dong was on the toilet when his vision suddenly flashed—the System popped up for the first time in weeks.

> Sniper Mission Activated

His heart jumped. He hadn't seen the system since the season opener, when he bagged two skill points.

Finally—it was back.

Superstar Sniper Mission Activated!

Mission Brief:

Shaquille O'Neal wants to dunk on you—and even offered to switch rims just to posterize you.

Mission Requirements:

Visit the Lakers' home locker room

Dunk on O'Neal three times in tonight's game

Snag three rebounds off O'Neal

Lead the Knicks to a 20+ point blowout over the Lakers

Drop 50+ points tonight

Reward: Clear all objectives and receive a Talent Draw.

---

"Shit!"

Zhao Dong's eyes nearly popped out when he saw the mission pop up. The system really knew him too well—it actually read his mind.

Just as he was getting fired up about crushing the Lakers, the mission rolled in like a perfect alley-oop.

"Three dunks on Shaq, and I gotta crash his boards too? System, you tryna make me murder the big guy out there?" he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Then he scrolled to the reward—

"Shit!"

He cursed again, louder this time. "Yo, this is fire! System's really throwin' out the big prizes now!"

He started laughing maniacally in his head. "Shark, tonight's your unlucky day. I'm gonna throw you in the pot, boil you, and serve you up like stew!"

---

Meanwhile, inside the Lakers' home locker room—

"Ah-choo! Ah-choo! Ah-choo!"

Shaquille O'Neal sneezed three times in a row, shaking the whole damn room. His massive frame looked confused, like his back had just gotten hit with a cold gust.

Jerry West frowned from the other side of the room. He glanced over at Dennis Rodman—aka the Worm—whose smug expression made him sigh in frustration.

He regretted signing Rodman. The guy didn't train, didn't lead, and definitely didn't fit the team's culture. Worse, his bad habits were rubbing off on Shaq. The team vibe was way off compared to last season.

And lately? Rodman had practically disappeared. Skipped games, gave random excuses, and spent more time with Hollywood starlets than on the court. LA's glitz had blinded him.

"Why's he even showin' up today?" Kobe whispered to Derek Fisher.

"Maybe he's feelin' guilty?" Fisher replied.

Rodman didn't say anything—but two minutes later, he stood up and started packing his locker.

"Dennis, what are you doing?" Head Coach Kurt Rambis stepped in immediately.

"Can't play tonight. My right elbow's messed up," Rodman replied, tossing gear into his bag like he couldn't care less.

The locker room froze.

Dead silence.

Only the soft rustle of Rodman's clothes being stuffed into his bag could be heard.

Kobe stood up, staring at Rodman like he couldn't believe it. With his relentless work ethic and obsession with winning, he couldn't even wrap his head around Rodman's casual attitude.

"No way, Rodman. You're a pro. Game's about to start and you're just bailing?" Kobe said, his voice rising.

Jerry West's face turned red with fury. "This is unacceptable!"

Rodman looked unbothered. "Old injury flared up. I'm out." He turned and walked toward the door.

Kobe glanced back at Shaq—his co-leader—hoping he'd say something. But Shaq remained silent, which made Kobe feel even more disappointed.

"If this was Zhao Dong, man... he'd probably beat Rodman's ass. Then again, Rodman wouldn't dare pull this kind of shit around him," Kobe thought bitterly.

Just as Rodman reached the door to leave—

It swung open.

Standing in the doorway was Zhao Dong.

"Yo, Worm, where you headed?" Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow at the bag in Rodman's hand.

"Zhao Dong?" Jerry West stepped forward from behind Rodman.

"Mr. West, I'm just stoppin' by. Thought I'd check out the Lakers' locker room. That cool with you?" Zhao Dong smiled calmly.

"Of course, of course. Come in," West replied with forced politeness.

Zhao Dong looked at Rodman again. "What's up with him?"

"He said he's not playin' tonight," West said with a grimace.

Zhao Dong squinted at Rodman. Then it hit him—Rodman's infamous Lakers era. In his past life, he knew this story well.

"You should've signed Oakley," Zhao Dong said bluntly. "He ain't got the rebounding numbers Rodman's got, but he defends tougher, scores more, and shows up. Total pro."

Bang!

West slapped his thigh in regret. "Damn it... I should've done that. But we were tryna save cash on luxury tax. Now look where we're at."

Zhao Dong nodded, then smirked.

"Well, starting tonight, I'll be playin' the four. You're gonna regret not fixing that position." He looked around the room confidently. "We'll smoke y'all tonight—no suspense."

The Lakers locker room went silent again—but this time out of shock.

Nobody could believe what he just said.

Zhao Dong playing the four?!

They couldn't even stop Karl Malone. Now they were supposed to deal with Zhao, who destroyed the Mailman?

"You cocky as hell, Zhao! You should be matchin' up with me! I'm gonna bust you tonight!" Shaq bellowed from across the room.

"Oh, so you got beef with me now, Shark?" Zhao Dong smirked.

"Hell yeah! You the reason they added that double-team without the ball rule! Man, that rule screws me over! You out here stealin' all the shine. And what I got? Nothin' but calluses and frustration!" Shaq fired off, arms flailing.

Zhao Dong cracked up. "You funny as hell, Shaq."

"Damn right I am—but I'm comin' for your neck tonight!" Shaq barked.

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