The Heat came down the court, running a pick-and-roll with Mourning and Eddy Curry. Mourning got the pass and pulled up—bricked it.
Ewing snatched the board, and the Knicks pushed the pace.
Zhao Dong caught it on the left wing, but before he could rise up, Askins body-checked him mid-shot, knocking him to the floor.
"Fuck!"
Dude got flattened—between him and Askins, that was 200 kilos of impact.
"Yo, Zhao, you good?" Oakley rushed over.
"Don't do anything stupid!"
Zhao Dong shoved Askins off him and, seeing Oakley storming in, quickly barked, "Relax, we're already whooping their ass. Keep your head in the game!"
"Man, fuck that!" Oakley glared at Askins.
"Stay locked in!" Zhao Dong shouted as Oakley helped him up.
The refs blew the whistle—two shots.
Zhao Dong knocked down both, pushing the lead to 63-53.
---
The Heat responded with a bucket, but next possession, they got real dirty.
Zhao Dong drove into the paint, elevated for a jumper, and PJ Brown came flying in—straight tackled him out the air.
"BANG!"
Zhao Dong hit the hardwood hard—no cushion, no break, just straight concrete landing. And PJ Brown fell on top of him for extra disrespect.
His head bounced off the floor.
At that point, he knew they were trying to take him out. But for the sake of a championship, he bit his tongue—just like Jordan once did.
"Damn, that was a hard fall! I hope he's alright—WAIT, OAKLEY'S COMING!" Marv Albert shouted.
"BOOM!"
Before PJ Brown could even get up, Oakley rocked him in the face with a clean right hook, folding him.
"CHARLES, CHILL!"
Zhao Dong tried to intervene, grabbing PJ Brown, holding him down, while Oakley got in extra hits.
"BITCH!"
Mourning saw what was happening, rage in his eyes, and charged in full speed.
"CHARLES, BEHIND YOU!" Larry Johnson yelled from the bench, fists clenched.
Didn't even need the warning—Zhao Dong already called it out.
Oakley whipped around—him and Mourning locked in.
Zhao Dong stumbled up but accidentally stepped on PJ Brown's ankle, making him howl in pain.
"DON'T HIT ME, DON'T HIT ME!"
Zhao Dong ignored him and ran toward Oakley—not to stop the fight, but to block the Heat from jumping in.
"NONONO, HOLD UP!"
At his call, Knicks players formed a wall, cutting off Miami's reinforcements.
It was four Knicks vs. three Heat players. PJ Brown was already down, his ankle messed up from Zhao Dong's step, so Miami had no backup.
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!"
The refs blew the whistle like crazy, but no one gave a damn.
Oakley grabbed Mourning, flipped him, and started pounding his face in.
Mourning's nose busted open.
"CHARLES, LIGHTEN UP!" Zhao Dong yelled.
Oakley heard that and thought he wasn't hitting hard enough—so he hit HARDER.
"BREAK IT UP! BREAK IT UP!"
Van Gundy panicked on the sideline.
Meanwhile, Pat Riley was just straight-up confused.
"What the hell is this? This ain't the Knicks I know—where's the full-on brawl? Why's Oakley the only one throwing hands? This ain't like last time against Orlando!"
Matt Goukas deadpanned:
"Yeah… Mourning is definitely NOT built for this. Oakley? That dude fights better than he hoops."
Marv Albert sighed:
"And he's gonna get suspended—again."
Oakley finally let up, and Zhao Dong let the Heat players go.
He turned back to look at Mourning—dude was barely conscious.
"Damn, Charles. Why you always gotta hit dudes in the face?"
Mourning, bloodied and furious, stumbled to his feet—and charged Oakley AGAIN.
"OAKLEY, WATCH OUT!"
Zhao Dong grabbed Mourning from the side, locking up his arms.
Oakley, seeing the opening, stole two quick body shots, making Mourning wince in pain.
Nowhere to go.
No way to block.
"CHARLES, THAT'S ENOUGH!"
Ewing had enough. This was his young guy, and they were tight off the court. He quickly stepped in, blocking Oakley and pulling Zhao Dong back.
"Yo, I ain't done with you!"
Mourning suddenly shoved Zhao Dong off, realizing too late—he got played. This damn Zhao Dong wasn't stopping the fight—he was giving Oakley an opening.
Security finally rushed in, splitting everyone up. The refs made their calls—Oakley and Mourning both ejected. Somehow, PJ Brown and everyone else got off clean.
"Ref, he stepped on me ON PURPOSE!" PJ Brown whined from the floor. "Twice! He tried to break my leg! He held Mourning down so Oakley could hit him!"
The ref didn't even look at him.
"Didn't see it."
---
As Mourning stormed off, he yelled at Pat Riley, "Coach, they set us up! They played us!"
Riley just nodded. He already knew—this Knicks squad wasn't the same one he used to coach. They had a different mentality now.
And he also knew… he was about to lose this game.
Already down double digits, now two of his bigs were gone? It was over.
---
"Man, the Heat took a major L here," Marv Albert said. "Mourning's out, PJ Brown's down, and all they got in return was Oakley."
"Yeah, that trade ain't worth it," Matt Goukas agreed. "And Brown might be done for the series. Dude's still on the floor—looks like he messed up his ankle when he tackled Zhao Dong."
With the Heat's frontcourt gutted, the Knicks went to work.
Zhao Dong kept drawing double-teams, then fed Ewing inside, torching Miami's backup bigs.
By the end of the third, the lead had ballooned to 20. Garbage time.
Final score: 95-72, Knicks by 23. Game 1 secured.
---
Zhao Dong's stat line:
42 minutes
32 points (13-20 FG, 6-8 FT)
12 rebounds, 11 assists (triple-double!)
3 steals, 4 blocks
3 turnovers, 4 fouls
Another dominant playoff performance. The media and fans ate it up.
---
Postgame, Zhao Dong hit the mic for interviews.
Thomas asked first:
"Zhao, why didn't you throw hands tonight?"
Zhao Dong smirked.
"Because I know that's what they wanted. They're tryna bait us into mistakes, but we ain't dumb. We're locked in on one thing—the championship."
A Miami reporter, still pissed, jumped in.
"What do you think of Oakley's… 'fighting skills'?"
Zhao Dong grinned.
"Oh, he's a great defender. Solid rebounder, too."
"I asked about his FIGHTING skills," the reporter snapped.
Zhao Dong pretended to just realize and nodded.
"Ohhh, that? Man, he must've taken some damage from Mourning. His hands gotta be swollen by now."
"BULLSHIT!" The reporter lost it. "You literally held Mourning down so he couldn't fight back! You planned this!"
Zhao Dong went cold.
"Man, quit talkin' nonsense. I was breaking up the fight."
The reporter was shaking with anger. Why didn't he hold back Oakley instead?
---
Locker room vibes were lit.
Zhao Dong pulled up to Oakley:
"Yo, you good? Mourning do any damage?"
Oakley laughed it off.
"Please. Dude can hoop, but in a fight? I'll take him 2-on-1."
Larry Johnson shadowboxed in the corner.
"Man, if I was out there, I woulda put Mourning to sleep. Just gimme a second-quarter brawl next time!"
Ewing shook his head:
"Dirty-ass Heat, man. Zhao, you good? You hit the deck hard."
"Just a bump. I'm straight." Zhao Dong shrugged.
"You lucky, bro." Ewing got serious. "Falls like that mess up careers. Some All-Star—forgot his name—got his knee shattered from a body slam like that. Retired on the spot."
Zhao Dong nodded—he already knew.
Gotta be careful. Can't get too much air if they're gonna try that BS.
He remembered something else too—back in 2000 or 2001, Pat Riley had Bruce Bowen trip Allan Houston, nearly wrecking his career.
Gotta watch out for that dirty shit.
"Wait—Bowen's on Miami this season, right?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Yeah, but he ain't on the playoff roster."
"Good. Dude's a walking injury risk."
---
John Starks asked,
"Yo Zhao, think they're gonna keep playing dirty?"
"They kinda have to," Zhao Dong replied. "Pat Riley's smart—he knows our counter to it now. But if they play us straight up, they're toast. So yeah, they'll double down. We just gotta stay ready."
---
At the press conference, only Tim Hardaway showed up for the Heat—Mourning was a no-show.
A Miami reporter was heated.
"Zhao, you stepped on PJ Brown, and now he's in the hospital. Team doctors say you might've torn his ankle ligaments. You could've ended his career. Any comments?"
Zhao Dong stayed calm.
"Man, that was an accident. I was just trying to stop the fight. PJ was moving, I was moving—it was just bad luck. But let's be real, what's worse? Me stepping on his foot or him tackling me mid-air? I'm an angel compared to him."
The reporter's face turned red.
"You…"
"And what about when you held Brown down for Oakley to punch him? Then you did the same to Mourning. Coincidence?"
Zhao Dong looked at him deadpan.
"Man, I was stopping the fight. I grabbed whoever was closest. What, you want me to jog across the court first? Y'all should be thanking me—I put myself at risk standing in the middle of all that."
The Miami reporters were steaming.
Meanwhile, the New York media?
They couldn't stop laughing.
At the press conference, Van Gundy was pissed.
"We're filing for an investigation tomorrow. PJ Brown went way too far—straight-up tried to take out Zhao Dong. How is that even a defensive play? That was a damn wrestling move! What, he tryna score a pinfall on him?"
Zhao Dong nodded, playing it up.
"Man, I hit the floor headfirst. Landed upside down. At that moment, I really thought he was tryna kill me."
A New York Times reporter turned to Pat Riley.
"Coach Riley, did you tell Brown to do that?"
Riley kept his cool and smiled. He knew how much the New York media hated him—had to choose his words carefully.
"Of course not."
And truth be told, he didn't. That wasn't his style.
The Knicks team he built back in the day? Physical as hell, but not dirty. He played tough—not reckless.
After a pause, he added,
"Brown just wants to win. He's not tryna hurt Zhao Dong. He's a good dude."
"Oh yeah? 'Good' enough to kill someone?" The reporter sneered.
Riley chuckled, shaking his head.
"I'm telling you, he was just playing defense—same way Zhao Dong stepping on him was an accident."
The press conference turned into a warzone, but with the media mic in Knicks' hands, the Heat took most of the heat. Riley got grilled, left speechless more than once.
---
The next morning, the New York media were all over Zhao Dong's third triple-double.
"Magic had five triple-doubles in 16 playoff games as a rookie. Now, Zhao Dong has three in just four games. This is a new era." — New York Sports Daily
Zhao Dong saw the article and shook his head.
Triple-doubles? Half luck. If his teammates miss shots, he ain't getting assists. It don't mean he'll keep this up.
Besides, let's be real—the Magic and Heat weren't real threats. The Knicks ran through them even in the original timeline. Now with him? They stood zero chance.
---
Meanwhile, in Chicago, the Bulls were breaking down tape.
Pippen leaned over to Jordan:
"Mike, Oakley dropped Mourning. Why was he the only one swinging?"
Jordan shrugged.
"Not our problem. We don't play dirty like that. But you saw it—the Knicks set that up. They're getting smarter."
"You worried?" Pippen asked.
Jordan's eyes flashed—that legendary fire.
"Hell no. We lost three in the regular season. That ain't happening in the playoffs. That kid? He's about to find out what kind of Michael Jordan he's dealing with."
Deep down, though, there was something he wasn't saying.
Nobody was stopping him from becoming the GOAT.
---
Pippen, still studying film, muttered:
"That kid got way stronger. And his passing? Bro, it's scary now."
Jordan's expression hardened. He knew. Zhao Dong wasn't some kid anymore.
If he could pass like this, the Bulls couldn't double-team him like they did before.
One-on-one? Jordan turned to Pippen.
Could he stop the rookie?
Inside, the Bulls were weaker than the Knicks.
Rodman used to hold it down, but now? That kid was out-rebounding everybody.
And speaking of Rodman…
Jordan sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Man, Worm's in Vegas AGAIN. Didn't even show up for the damn meeting."
At this stage of the playoffs?
Rodman was old, still banged up, and wasting energy.
Jordan's mind drifted to the future.
"What if… What if we don't win this year?"
An idea hit him hard—trading for an All-Star center in the offseason.
Jordan shook his head, forcing it away.
"Nah. No way. We're winning this. No question."
Still… when did he start thinking of Zhao Dong as a real threat?
Maybe he hadn't noticed—but deep down, he knew.
---
That night, the Bulls handled business, taking down the Hawks in Game 1.
Jordan? 40+ points. Another day at the office.
---
The next morning, the league dropped the suspensions for the Knicks-Heat brawl.
Oakley & Mourning—suspended for Game 2.
One-game suspension? Fine. But for Miami? That was a disaster.
No Mourning meant:
No interior defense
No second scoring option
They were already outmatched—now? It was looking like a sweep.
---
Miami's media lost it.
"The league is favoring the Knicks. This is BULLSHIT."
— Miami Sports Daily
They wrote:
"PJ Brown played tough D, sure. But Zhao Dong? He stomped on him TWICE! The league just let that slide. Brown might be DONE for his career—and they don't care?
When you ignore evil, you stand with it. The NBA just sided with the villains."
The league clapped back immediately:
"Upon review, Zhao Dong's footwork was unintentional. There was no intent to injure."
---
In his hospital bed, PJ Brown nearly threw his remote at the wall.
"Bullshit! That damn villain is laughing right now!"
Mourning, who had come to check on him, just sighed.
"This is the business, man. Knicks' ticket sales? Way bigger than ours. Nobody wants to see us win. They wanna cash in on New York."
Brown gritted his teeth.
"So what? We just roll over?"
Mourning's eyes went cold.
"Hell no. We wait for them at home."
He thought for a moment. Then smirked.
"The league wants us to stretch this series—watch. We'll get those home whistles in Miami. We just gotta take advantage."
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