At this time, the timeout ended, and the game resumed with the Bulls on the attack.
Rodman set a screen for Pippen, who used the pick to cut to the rim.
Ewing dropped back to protect the paint, and Pippen caught the pass, driving straight in to challenge him.
Zhao Dong was trailing the play, but Rodman pulled a sneaky move, sticking out his foot just enough to trip him while fighting for position. Zhao Dong stumbled and lost his chance to contest.
Pippen took flight with the ball. He had every intention of posterizing Ewing again, just like old times.
But then he caught a glimpse of Oakley closing in and thought better of it. With a quick flick of the wrist, he floated the ball over Ewing's outstretched hands.
"Swish!"
The ball splashed through the net.
"Big-time bucket! The Bulls executed that pick-and-roll perfectly, Pippen slashing to the rim for two," Marv Albert called out.
"Zhao Dong got caught slipping on that screen—wasn't locked in defensively," Matt Goukas added with a chuckle.
102-108. Knicks ball.
Rodman completely ignored Oakley, focusing instead on disrupting the passing lane. The moment Charlie Ward looked to swing the ball to Zhao Dong, Rodman and Harper both lunged at him.
The Bulls had no choice but to go all-in on defense. Phil Jackson had drawn up an aggressive pre-emptive trap—essentially a disguised triple-team before Zhao Dong could even make a move.
If Pippen could just delay him for one second, the trap would fully form.
This wasn't just defense—it was a straight-up panic move. They were treating Zhao Dong like a one-man wrecking crew.
"Oh no, he lost it!" Zhang Heli shouted as Pippen swiped the pass.
Zhao Dong got caught in the trap and tried to dish it to Ewing down low, but Pippen read it perfectly and picked it off.
Harper sprinted ahead on the break, beating everyone down the floor for an easy bucket.
104-108. Bulls down 4. 89 seconds left.
On the next possession, Zhao Dong wasn't getting caught off guard again.
As soon as the triple-team formed, he immediately dumped it inside to Ewing before the defense could fully collapse.
Game over for that trap.
Nobody in the league could stop the elite bigs in a one-on-one situation—not even an aging Ewing.
Phil Jackson slumped back on the bench, exhaling in frustration. He had hoped Pippen could stall Zhao Dong for at least a second. Instead, the ball was already out before Rodman and Harper even got there.
"Great vision!" the arena commentator shouted.
Ewing caught the pass, spun baseline, and completely dusted Longley, gliding to the rim for an easy finish.
104-110. Knicks up 6. 73 seconds remaining.
The Bulls came back down, running the same action—Rodman setting a screen for Pippen.
But this time, Zhao Dong and Oakley made the switch cleanly. Oakley stayed with Pippen, while Zhao Dong ignored Rodman and slid into the paint.
With Pippen bottled up, Harper had to look elsewhere. He knew passing to Rodman was pointless, so he swung it to Jordan.
The moment Zhao Dong saw it, he sprinted toward the right wing, closing in fast.
Jordan caught the ball and his eyes lit up.
A rare opportunity.
He hadn't had many chances to go one-on-one with Zhao Dong tonight. But now, it was just the two of them.
"Bang, bang, bang..."
Jordan dribbled back a step, retreating behind the three-point line.
Alan Houston took a cautious step forward, but that's when Zhao Dong arrived, charging in hard from the right side.
"Squeak!"
The sound of sneakers scraping the hardwood cut through the air as Jordan suddenly exploded left, appearing to drive baseline.
Zhao Dong and Houston both reacted, shifting in that direction.
But it was a setup.
In a split second, Jordan planted his right foot, pulled it back, and rose for a deep three.
"Pull-up jumper!" the commentator yelled.
Jordan soared, tongue out, releasing the shot.
Before the ball even hit the rim, he turned around, forming an OK gesture with his fingers.
The crowd held its breath.
"Splash!"
The shot was pure.
Jordan clenched his fist and punched the air, his expression filled with fiery determination.
"Nobody can stop me! Nobody!"
All the frustration from being outplayed by Zhao Dong earlier—gone in an instant. His confidence was back.
"Ohhh! Jordan just gave Zhao Dong a taste of his own medicine! He hit that three and celebrated before it even dropped!" Matt Goukas shouted, hyped.
"63 points!" Marv Albert roared. "Jordan just tied his own playoff career-high! That's also the most points ever scored in a single playoff game!"
On the Knicks' bench, Van Gundy shook his head with a wry smile.
"Zhao Dong's gotta keep his cool and finish this game out," he said.
Back on the floor, Jordan turned to Zhao Dong, finally delivering the trash talk he had been waiting months to unleash.
"A shot without a defender is meaningless. Rookie, thanks for giving my three-pointer a meaning."
Zhao Dong barely flinched. Instead, he hit him with a cold smirk.
"Damn, MJ… that's my line. Ain't got your own trash talk?"
Alan Houston burst out laughing.
Even Jordan looked a little embarrassed. He had spent weeks crafting that comeback, only for Zhao Dong to flip it back on him.
Still, he refused to back down.
"I'm just returning it to you, rookie. The game ain't over. If you got the guts, return the favor."
It was bait.
Jordan wanted Zhao Dong to start jacking up threes. That way, he wouldn't pass, the Bulls could focus all their defense on him, and he'd be out of position for rebounds.
107-110. Knicks ball. 53 seconds left.
Zhao Dong took the inbound at the top of the arc.
He waved off the screen, isolating on the left wing.
"Oh, he's calling for it! Zhao Dong wants Jordan!" Marv Albert yelled.
"This is dangerous—he's playing right into Jordan's hands," Zhang Heli said nervously.
"One-on-one showdown?" Matt Goukas added excitedly.
Zhao Dong locked eyes with Jordan.
"Old man, watch how I send this one back."
Jordan grinned, showing those signature white teeth.
The entire arena fell silent.
Everyone cleared out, leaving the two of them alone at the top of the key.
Zhao Dong dribbled, eyeing his prey.
"A shot without a defender is meaningless."
He threw Jordan's own words right back at him.
Jordan's focus sharpened.
Then—Zhao Dong made his move.
"Oh no!" the commentator screamed.
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong drove left, putting his shoulder into Jordan just enough to create separation.
Jordan tried to recover, but the contact threw him off balance.
By the time he turned, Zhao Dong was already by him.
And he wasn't just slipping by—he was going straight through.
Using a move straight out of a guard's playbook, he leaned in just enough to knock Jordan off his defensive stance. It wasn't dirty—just a physical, veteran move.
Only difference?
Zhao Dong wasn't a guard. He was built like a tank.
Jordan, for once, had no answer.
The Bulls' defense scrambled to collapse, but Zhao Dong's first step was just as explosive as any elite point guard. The defense was stretched, and they had no time to recover.
Luc Longley and Rodman barely got back under the basket when Zhao Dong had already taken two strides from the right elbow into the paint. Then—he took off.
"BOOM!"
The rim rattled as the ball exploded through the net. Longley and Rodman both went up to contest, but the impact was like getting hit by a damn freight train. Both of them got sent flying to the hardwood.
"YEAHHH!"
Madison Square Garden erupted. Fans were losing their minds, screaming, pumping their fists, and shaking the arena.
"A MONSTER JAM! Zhao Dong just baptized two starters of the Bulls at the same damn time! That's New York basketball! You step in his way, you get run over—he's an unstoppable force tonight! THE KING OF NEW YORK!"
Marv Albert lost his voice as he shouted over the roaring crowd.
"An absolute beast in the air! Who needs Jordan's finesse when you can just throw down on everybody in sight? Zhao Dong is playing bully ball!"
Matt Goukas voice cracked with excitement.
"That kind of power, man... that kind of explosion from beyond the arc—once Zhao Dong gets downhill, it's a wrap. Nobody's stopping him."
Matt Goukas shook his head in amazement.
"Did y'all see that? Longley and Rodman ain't even moving. Either they're too banged up or too damn exhausted. They got rocked!"
Matt said, eyeing the two Bulls players still on the floor.
"Man, when you get body-slammed like that from mid-air, it's only a matter of time before fatigue starts messing with you."
Matt Goukas added.
Jordan stormed over, furious, jawing at Zhao Dong.
"You fake-ass tough guy! You were talking all that smack—where's your answer now, huh?"
Zhao Dong smirked, eyes full of disdain.
"Dumbass, ever heard of strategy? The art of war? Maybe crack open a book sometime, old man."
"Get the hell outta here!"
Jordan shoved Zhao Dong in frustration.
Zhao Dong didn't budge. His lower body strength was on a different level. Jordan might as well have pushed a brick wall. With a quick backhand slap, he sent Jordan crashing onto the floor.
"Whoa, whoa, break it up!"
Van Gundy yelled.
"Jordan's lost it! He's throwing hands with Zhao Dong? What's he thinking?"
Matt Goukas said in shock.
"These two been at each other's throats for a while now, but this game is at its breaking point. Longley and Rodman are still down. No way Jordan keeps his cool now."
Marv Albert analyzed.
Zhao Dong didn't press the issue. No point getting ejected over some ego battle. He had bigger things to focus on.
Pippen and the rest of the Bulls pulled Jordan up. He cursed Zhao Dong out but didn't step back up.
Meanwhile, Longley sat up—he looked fine. Rodman, on the other hand, was slow getting up.
"Dennis, you good?"
Jordan asked, still fuming.
Rodman shook his head.
"Landed on my back. Feels stiff as hell."
Zhang Heli, covering the game for CCTV, chimed in:
"That dunk right there? That was psychological warfare. After getting trucked like that, are Rodman and Longley even gonna try contesting next time? Probably not."
Score: 107-112, Knicks up. 33 seconds left. Bulls' ball.
The Bulls weren't done. They inbounded and immediately called timeout—not just to set up a play, but to let Longley and Rodman catch their breath.
Game resumed.
Jordan operated on the right wing, drawing attention, while Pippen lurked on the weak side, looking for a crack in the defense.
Zhao Dong played the passing lanes, cutting off Harper and Pippen's connection.
But Pippen stayed patient, backpedaled beyond the arc, and called for the ball.
Harper fed him. Zhao Dong rushed to close out—Pippen immediately dribbled back and swung the ball across the floor.
The Knicks' defense shifted left, leaving the right side open.
Pippen, now outside the three-point line, suddenly zipped a pass across to Jordan.
Jordan caught it, took two steps inside the arc, then pulled up fast.
Swish.
109-112. 15 seconds left.
"Pippen finally shook off Zhao Dong and delivered the perfect assist!"
Matt Goukas yelled.
"65 POINTS! Jordan just shattered his own playoff record! The man is a walking legend!"
Marv Albert screamed.
"Man, when you're dead tired and still this clutch... that's next-level greatness."
Sun Zhenping said, shaking his head.
"65! That's more points than some teams score in an entire playoff game!"
Zhang Heli added in shock.
The Knicks took their final timeout.
Jordan walked past Zhao Dong, smirking.
"Rookie, you still gonna duck the clutch moment?"
Zhao Dong laughed.
"Man, you take trash talk too seriously. You're a damn child."
Both benches were locked in.
"We ain't losing this damn game."
Zhao Dong muttered.
Jordan sat down, glaring.
"I don't lose."
Timeout over.
Knicks inbounded. Bulls immediately fouled, sending Charlie Ward to the line with 11.2 seconds left.
Charlie looked nervous as hell.
"Ward's gotta hit these. If he makes both, Knicks are in the driver's seat. But if he bricks 'em..."
Matt Goukas said.
Marv Albert chuckled.
"Remember the '93 playoffs? This man missed four straight free throws and cost the Knicks the game."
Zhao Dong walked up to Ward.
"Yo, Charlie. Doesn't matter if you miss—we're grabbing the damn board."
Ward looked at Zhao Dong, Ewing, and Oakley, all rebounding monsters. He exhaled.
Rodman, never missing a chance to mess with minds, started yapping.
"Yo, rookie. Bet your boy bricks this. And I bet your squad ain't grabbing that board."
Zhao Dong smirked.
"Three hundred grand says he hits at least one. And if there's a board, it's ours. You in?"
Rodman froze. That was a lot of money.
"Shit, hell nah."
Zhao Dong twisted his neck, then shouted across the court.
"Yo, Jordan! You tryna bet?"
Jordan's eyes twitched.
"Bet? You got a death wish, rookie?"
Zhao Dong grinned.
"What's the matter, big shot? Thought you were the 'God of Gamblers'?"
Jordan's face darkened.
"Alright, motherfer. Bet's on. Three hundred Gs. Let's see what happens."*
Rodman's jaw dropped.
"Damn, Mike, you crazy."
Zhao Dong smirked.
"See? That's the difference between a real boss and a sidekick. A boss got cash. You? You just a broke-ass lackey."
Rodman's face burned with rage.
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