Ten minutes later, the game finally tipped off.
Zhao Dong won the jump ball, and the Knicks got the first possession.
Zhao Dong crossed half-court, looking to set up the offense. Suddenly, he hit the gas, blew past Mashburn, and sprinted toward the left wing.
Miami wasted no time sending help. Lenard slid over to double, and Mourning stepped up from the low post, ready to shut down the drive.
Zhao Dong hit the brakes as three defenders collapsed on him.
Mashburn and Lenard lunged in for the trap—but just as they closed in, Zhao Dong exploded again. He powered through the gap, sent Mashburn flying, and stormed into the paint.
Mourning rotated over, but Zhao Dong hit him with a filthy behind-the-back dribble, shifting directions in one smooth motion. He slashed to the rim, where Isaac Austin had rotated over.
"BOOM!"
Zhao Dong threw it down hard. The impact sent Austin crashing to the floor, and the whole arena felt that one.
"YEAHHH!"
More than 3,000 Knicks fans in the crowd erupted.
"Man, that's tough! Number 46 just bulldozed through three layers of Miami's defense and baptized Isaac Austin at the rim! The Heat gotta punch back right now—Alonzo, Hardaway, it's on you!" the commentator hyped up the moment.
"Zhao Dong's slashing game is straight-up terrifying. Every game, it feels like he levels up another part of his bag!" Marv marveled.
"His rhythm control is crazy. The way he manipulates speed to shake defenders is unreal. Mashburn got dropped like a bad habit! We're talking about a dude that's 6'9", 250 pounds moving like a guard!" Matt Goukas added.
Miami took the ball upcourt, and Hardaway got to work. Austin set a screen, giving him a lane to attack.
Ewing held his ground under the rim, while Mourning cut backdoor from the left block.
Hardaway lobbed it over Ewing—perfect dime. Mourning caught it and took off, looking to posterize Ewing.
"It's over!"
Ewing barely turned around before Mourning was already airborne.
He'd been dunked on by Mourning plenty of times before—this wasn't new.
But outta nowhere—Zhao Dong launched himself from behind.
"BANG!"
Zhao Dong snatched the ball out of Mourning's hands mid-air and landed out of bounds.
"OH MY GOD!"
Mourning, off balance, slammed into the basket and crashed onto the floor hard. The whole crowd gasped.
"That might've been the hardest block of the season!" Matt Goukas yelled.
"Mourning ain't moving… Ewing got up, but Alonzo's still down!" Marv Albert added.
"Damn it!"
On the sidelines, Pat Riley was fuming. "Alonzo, you good to go?"
No sympathy. Just straight business.
"F*!"**
Mourning finally moved, catching his breath as he rolled over. His face was pale, but he wasn't about to sit out.
Ewing, knowing he just got saved from getting dunked on, wrapped an arm around Zhao Dong.
"You a real one, bro."
"That's what teammates do." Zhao Dong grinned.
The game resumed. Mourning, tough as hell, stayed in.
But Zhao Dong's block shattered the Heat's momentum. The Knicks, already the better team, took full control. By the end of the first quarter, they were up 25-17.
Zhao Dong played 11 minutes, shooting 4-of-5, knocking down 3-of-4 free throws for 11 points, 2 assists, 3 rebounds, 1 steal, 2 blocks, 1 turnover, and 1 foul.
Everything came from inside the paint.
In just one quarter, he drove nine times, drawing four fouls—but Miami wasn't letting him get easy and-ones. They were fouling hard, making him earn it at the line.
Twice, Zhao Dong got laid out—but he kept coming.
"Zhao Dong clearly studied what went wrong in Game 2. He's putting pressure on the rim nonstop, and his efficiency is off the charts. His slashing game is creeping into Jordan territory." Marv Albert analyzed during the break.
"Honestly? With his size and strength, his ability to slash might already be on Jordan's level. The difference is in finishing—Jordan's touch is still miles ahead." Matt Goukas added.
"C'mon, Matt. Zhao Dong's a power player, not Jordan. He'll never be a finesse pull-up shooter." Marv laughed.
"Fair point. A 6'9", 250-pound guy doing fadeaways? Nah, that'd break the league." Matt shook his head, laughing.
If Zhao Dong heard that convo, he'd probably say: "Why do I need a fadeaway? I just bulldoze through defenders and dunk on 'em. Problem solved."
On CCTV, Zhang Heli broke it down: "The Heat are playing just as physical as they did in Game 2, and the Knicks' shooting is shaky—only 3-of-10 from deep. Otherwise, the gap would be bigger."
"Alan Houston got knocked down once and stopped attacking. Zhao Dong's the only one fearless enough to keep going inside." Sun Zhenping added.
"Gotta be careful, though. Too many hits could wear him down." Zhang Heli warned.
Three minutes into the second quarter, both teams put their starters back in. Knicks led 29-23.
Miami's possession.
Mourning got it in the post but kicked it out to Lenard, who drained a three from the right wing.
"Down to 3! Knicks can't afford to get sloppy!" Zhang Heli warned.
Zhao Dong brought the ball up.
Miami adjusted their defense—instead of trapping him early, they sagged off, baiting him into the paint. They wanted to force him into traffic.
Mashburn backed up, expecting a drive.
Zhao Dong stopped on a dime—pulled up from deep—let it fly.
"SPLASH!"
Money.
"OH YEAH! That's how you counter! Miami wants to clog the paint? Fine, I'll torch you from three!" Zhang Heli shouted.
Next possession, Lenard forced another contested three over Houston—bricked it.
Ewing snagged the board. Knicks ball.
Zhao Dong brought the ball up the court, signaled Charlie Ward to slide to the left wing, then slowed up near the top of the arc. He motioned for his teammates to drop to the low post, forcing the Heat's defense to collapse so he could cook from outside.
"Haha, Zhao Dong's tellin' 'em, 'Y'all watch the paint—I'm puttin' on a show,'" Marv laughed.
With smooth between-the-legs dribbles, Zhao Dong handled like a guard, shifting at the top of the arc. Mashburn backed off, hesitant to press up—he knew if he did, Zhao Dong would hit him with a nasty crossover and blow right past him.
As Zhao Dong neared the three-point line, the Heat's defense instinctively shrank inside. Then—boom—he faked a drive, snatched back for a jumper, and left Mashburn stumbling. Quick rise, pure release.
Swish!
Silky mid-range bucket.
"Another one! Zhao Dong just ran off five straight. Knicks down 34-26 now, only an eight-point gap," Walton called out.
The Heat came back down, and Lenard pulled up for a jumper.
On the next possession, Zhao Dong took control at the arc again.
This time, Pat Riley wasn't playin' around—he sent the double-team right away.
But Zhao Dong had other plans. The second the trap came, he hit the jets. With a powerful first step, he bulldozed straight through Mashburn and Lenard like they were traffic cones.
This wasn't some finesse dribble package—this was brute force, unstoppable momentum.
Down low, Ewing and Oakley cleared out, leaving the paint wide open.
Isaac Austin and Alonzo Mourning had to make a choice. Austin stayed under the rim; Mourning stuck to Ewing.
Zhao Dong blew past the free-throw line, took off a step early for the layup—
Bang!
Austin got fingertips on it, but the ball bounced off the rim.
Before he could react, Zhao Dong was already back in the air, skying over him. Caught it. Crushed it. Dunked it.
"Haha! Zhao Dong just bodied Austin! This is superstar vs. role player—explosive, relentless, dominant," Marv shouted.
"Seven straight points, 3-for-4 shooting," Matt Goukas added, "but the Knicks still trail by eight."
The Heat tried to answer. Lenard attacked the paint again, but Oakley was ready—hand in his face, smack! Shot swatted. Houston scooped it up, Knicks on the break, Charlie Ward finished the layup.
Heat ball again. Lenard drove but got shut down by Ewing and Oakley. He forced a bad shot—brick. Mourning snatched the board, went up strong—but Zhao Dong was already there!
Another block!
Ewing recovered, hit Zhao Dong on the outlet.
Pull-up three. Money.
"41-28! Knicks rolling! Heat call timeout!"
"Man, Zhao Dong is torchin' 'em," Sun Zhenping called. "Ten straight points, 4-for-5 shooting, 2-for-2 from deep—he's goin' crazy."
Zhang Heli analyzed, "Miami's bigs can't handle Ewing and Oakley. Their best bet is stretching the floor, using their outside shooting to pull the Knicks' bigs away from the paint."
Over on NBC, Marv was fired up. "Zhao Dong is just a nightmare matchup. He's too big for guards, too quick for forwards. The Heat's defense just ain't built for this."
"You think Riley goes full Jordan Rules?" Matt Goukas asked.
Marv hesitated. "It's early, but look—Zhao Dong is already beating double-teams, scoring at will, making the right passes. He's got that superstar presence, that takeover ability. I'm not sayin' he's MJ yet, but man… the impact? It's there."
Matt nodded. "Jordan earned the Jordan Rules by leading the league in scoring. Zhao Dong's gotta put up those numbers first."
At the Heat's bench, Pat Riley laid out adjustments.
"Austin, forget Oakley. Hardaway, leave Ward. Full pressure on Zhao Dong."
"Alonzo, if Zhao Dong beats the triple-team, you're the last line of defense. Ignore Ewing."
"On offense, spread out. Guards attack. Bigs stay outside."
The timeout ended, and the Heat executed immediately.
Mourning and Austin drifted out to the perimeter, dragging Ewing and Oakley with them.
With the paint cleared, Hardaway used an Austin screen to explode inside. Oakley switched but couldn't keep up. Zhao Dong rotated to contest, but Hardaway made the smart read—kick-out to Austin.
Mismatch. Austin stepped in and drained the mid-range.
Back on offense, Zhao Dong took the ball up.
This time, Mashburn was up in his jersey before he even reached the arc. Hardaway was lurking.
Triple-team incoming.
Mashburn crowding him. Hardaway collapsing. Austin charging in from the paint.
Zhao Dong couldn't shoot. Couldn't drive. Options closing fast.
"Here! Here!"
Oakley and Ward clapped for the ball, left wide open.
No panic. No rush.
The triple-team hadn't fully formed yet—Austin was still a step away. Zhao Dong saw the gap, stayed calm, and flicked a perfect lob over the defense.
"Pass?!" Zhang Heli yelled.
Yup.
Right over Austin's outstretched hand, right into Oakley's mitts.
Easy layup. Two points.
"Beautiful! Zhao Dong played that so smooth," Zhang Heli praised.
Pat Riley just shook his head. He had no answers. Double-teaming didn't work. Triple-teaming didn't work.
Unless he could find someone with Zhao Dong's size, strength, and skillset, he had nothing.
And players like that?
Yeah, they didn't exist.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Do you want to read Advanced Chapters?
Visit this link:
Påtreon.com/Fanficlord03
Change (å) to (a)