Zhao Dong ran through the situation over and over again, piecing it all together to figure out how to play this game and bag the biggest rewards.
First off, he had to lock in on the team's sniper mission—that was the main focus. The task was simple and the easiest to complete.
Out of Jordan's challenges, the second and fourth tasks were the most doable, which meant he had to dominate the paint and own the area under the basket.
Looking at the other task options, the highest chances of completion also revolved around playing inside and finishing at the rim. That pretty much set the tone for his game plan—own the paint, attack efficiently, and shut things down defensively.
His strategy was to start off working in the low post and then make adjustments mid-game based on how things were going with the objectives.
On the night of the 20th, the Knicks hosted the Bullets.
New York had been knocked out by the Bulls four times in the last few seasons. The rivalry was real, and with Zhao Dong's beef with Jordan, MJ was guaranteed to come out guns blazing. That just made winning this game even harder.
Since it was a back-to-back, Van Gundy cut down the starters' minutes to keep them fresh for Chicago. Ewing and Zhao Dong played just over 20 minutes each, and the team took the L.
That made it two straight losses for the Knicks, dropping them to 30-9—still sitting second in the East, nearly halfway through the season.
By 3 AM on the 21st, the squad landed in Chicago. By the time they got settled in the hotel, it was already past 4 AM. When they finally got up, it was nearly noon.
A swarm of media was already waiting at the hotel. The Knicks had a media session set for 1 PM, right after lunch.
As soon as the reporters got access, they mobbed Zhao Dong—Ewing barely had any press around him.
That didn't sit well with Ewing, but he had to accept it. He understood Zhao Dong's impact on the team and, at the end of the day, he wanted that championship. So, he chose to back Zhao Dong.
On the flight, Van Gundy had talked to him about the shooting situation with Allan Houston. Ewing sided with Zhao Dong on that issue, too.
"Zhao Dong, Jordan has officially accepted your bet. It's a done deal. What's on your mind right now?"
Wells Tom fired off the question, hyped up.
"The bet lasts two seasons. I'm looking forward to the day I beat him." Zhao Dong kept his response cool and calm.
"You've been calling out Jordan nonstop, and now you've got this bet going. I gotta ask—what gives you the confidence to be this cocky?"
A reporter from the Chicago Sports Daily shot the question at him.
Zhao Dong gave him a cold stare and said just as coldly, "To me, whether it's talking my talk or making this bet, I don't need some fake-ass confidence. You all look up to him. I look at him straight in the eye. And soon, I'll be looking down at him. That's all there is to it."
"You Chinese are too arrogant!" The reporter's face turned red with anger.
"You can call it arrogance. I call it self-belief. Whether it's going against the heavens, the earth, people, or even gods, we Chinese don't back down from any challenge."
The reporter was stunned, completely at a loss for words. Zhao Dong's energy was just too strong.
At 6:30 PM, the Knicks pulled up to the United Center.
The arena was already packed with fans outside. As soon as the bus got close, the crowd swarmed in, completely surrounding them.
For the first time, Zhao Dong got a real taste of Michael Jordan's influence.
"You damn rookie! You got the nerve to challenge MJ?! Get the hell out of Chicago!"
"Dumbass Chinese! You got the guts to step out of that bus?"
"Clown! You were undrafted and tossed aside by the Bulls! You're nothing!"
"Zhao Dong, you're a joke! How dare you go at Michael?"
The fans went berserk, pounding on the bus, screaming all kinds of trash talk.
"Security! Get security here ASAP!" Knicks GM Ernie Grunfeld was sweating bullets, scrambling to get help. The bus was stuck, unable to move.
After hanging up, he turned to Zhao Dong and yelled, "Stay down! Don't show yourself! Don't make this worse!"
Zhao Dong wasn't stupid. He knew better than to step out and provoke the crowd. Instead, he pulled out his headphones, put them on, and vibed to some music.
A while back, Lin Min had given him some CDs with last year's hits. The songs were old news to him—he'd heard them a thousand times before. But weirdly enough, he loved them. They gave him this nostalgic feeling, like he'd stepped back into his past life.
His previous life wasn't good, and it had messed up his whole family. They lived in struggle. Then the car accident happened, and suddenly, he was here. But what about his family? Were they still suffering?
He didn't even know if this was a parallel world or if he had actually gone back in time. Either way, in another reality—or on the original timeline—his family was mourning his death. And that pain would never stop.
That thought weighed heavy on him. It was a sadness he couldn't share with anyone.
With security clearing the way, the bus finally rolled into the underground parking lot.
"It's been almost three months… or a whole lifetime. And I'm back here again."
Getting off the bus, Zhao Dong scanned the dimly lit parking lot and sighed.
Inside the visiting team's locker room, everyone finally relaxed, relieved to be away from the chaos outside.
But they all knew what was coming. The second they stepped onto the United Center floor, it would be nothing but deafening boos and ruthless insults.
"All this trouble… none of this should've happened," Allan Houston suddenly said.
Oakley frowned. "Allan, you know what you're saying? We're a team. You shouldn't be talking like that."
"I'm just being real," Houston said. "There was no need to piss off the fans here. It just adds unnecessary pressure. It's a back-to-back game—we've got no shot at beating the Bulls."
Zhao Dong didn't want to argue with Houston. Locker room unity mattered. But he couldn't hold back this time.
"We've been knocked out four straight years by the Bulls. We're sworn enemies. If their fans were friendly to us, it would be a slap in the face. That would mean we're weak. That we don't even deserve to be rivals. That they don't even care about us."
He paused before adding, "So what we need to do is beat them. Make their fans hate us. Make them fear us. That's the only way. Allan, if you've already given up in your mind, then you've already lost."
"Zhao Dong, you don't get to lecture me," Houston shot back, frustrated.
Zhao Dong stayed cold. "I don't care about teaching you anything. I'm just telling you facts. Every season, our goal is a championship. The Bulls and Jordan stand in the way. Beating them is our only mission. Killing the Bulls and dethroning Jordan is our destiny. We should be proud that their fans hate us."
"Hell yeah."
Oakley stood up. As the locker room leader, he had to make a stand—otherwise, this team would fall apart.
He backed Zhao Dong. They shared the same agent, and Zhao Dong had the right fire. After Ewing, he saw Zhao Dong as the next cornerstone of the team.
"We're here to take down Jordan and the Bulls. That's the mission. That's not on Zhao Dong. That's on all of us." He then turned to Houston and said, "If anyone's not on board, you can sit your ass on the bench."
Houston felt crushed. Oakley had just publicly sided with Zhao Dong. It was a slap to the face.
"Allan, where do you stand?"
Oakley put him on the spot.
"I… I'll give it everything I got." Houston had no choice but to back down.
Van Gundy and Thibodeau, watching from the side, let out a quiet sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was locker room drama.
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