Forty minutes after the game, the Knicks' post-game press conference kicked off.
"Zhao Dong, do you think the so-called Zhao Dong Rule just ain't tough enough on you? Or are the Heat just not strong enough to enforce it?" a reporter asked.
"Both," Zhao Dong said with zero hesitation.
"Then why aren't the rules able to restrain you?" the reporter followed up.
"Unless you tie my hands behind my back, no rule's gonna hold me down," Zhao Dong shot back with a smirk.
He leaned in, voice sharp, "Look at every rule made to contain a superstar. Did it actually stop them?
Did the Jordan Rules stop MJ? Hell no—man built a whole damn dynasty. The rule was more like a crown than a shackle.
Did widening the paint stop George Mikan from dominating? Nah.
Did expanding the lane twice ever stop Wilt? Not even close. He still wrecked the league every night.
They couldn't be stopped. And I ain't stoppable either. Not by some so-called 'Zhao Dong Rule.'"
"Then why couldn't the Heat use the rules to lock you down tonight?" another reporter asked.
Zhao Dong scoffed. "Look, if the Heat could keep up with us on the boards while double-teaming me, maybe they'd be qualified to run that kind of defense. But they can't. Even when they don't double me, we still out-rebound them easy.
When they do send a double? I either bucket it or dish it. They ain't got the bodies to secure the glass after that. That right there—that's why they lost tonight.
And our interior defense? Clamped them up. We shut down their paint game and forced their guards to settle for jumpers. That hurt their whole rhythm and outside efficiency. Another big reason why they took the L."
"So basically, teams need a certain foundation to even think about using the Zhao Dong Rule on you?" another reporter asked.
Zhao Dong nodded, calm but cold. "We got a saying back in China—'Kill a thousand enemies, lose eight hundred of your own.' That's how you describe the Jordan Rules or the Zhao Dong Rule.
But tonight? The Heat couldn't even hold down their own boards. They ran that kind of strategy? Man, they ain't killin' nobody—they're just hurting themselves.
Tonight, they tried to kill 500 and lost 1,000 of their own."
"Kill five hundred and lose a thousand of your own?"
On the bus ride back to the hotel, Pat Riley muttered those words to himself.
One of the local Miami reporters had just told him what Zhao Dong said. And honestly? It made sense.
They had made the wrong call. Not every team is built to run the Jordan Rules.
Historically, only the Pistons had the personnel to run that kind of suffocating defense. No other squad could match it.
But tonight made it crystal clear—this Heat team just isn't on the Knicks' level.
First off, the Heat don't got a true superstar like Zhao Dong. Mourning's tough, no doubt—but he ain't that guy. Tonight, Zhao Dong single-handedly cooked them in the first half.
Second, the Heat's frontcourt just ain't strong enough. They couldn't keep up on the boards.
Mourning's a fighter, sure. But New York's got a frontline full of bullies—guys like Oakley, Ben Wallace, even undrafted cats who play like dogs.
Lastly, while the Heat had some solid guards, they couldn't penetrate the Knicks' interior D. That killed their efficiency, and whatever edge they had in the backcourt disappeared.
"Wanna take a gamble?"
That thought started swirling in Riley's mind.
Because the way things looked right now? The Heat weren't gonna win like this.
"Can't touch Zhao Dong. Dude's got backing and hands—just like Grant Hill. So, who can we get at?"
"Danny Fortson... yeah, he's the one. Hot head, short fuse. Easy to piss off."
He thought about the Knicks rookie who led their team in techs. Unstable. Way more volatile than Oakley or Larry Johnson. If they could set him off? They might just ignite the whole squad.
Knicks took Game 1 of Round 2 with a big W. But that wasn't what the media locked onto the next day.
Nah, the spotlight was all over Zhao Dong's first-half explosion—how he tore through the new anti-iso rules like they weren't even there.
April 6th, Indiana – Game 2: Bulls vs Pacers
Over at the team hotel, MJ walked into Phil Jackson's room. Patrick Ewing was already there.
They weren't talking about the Pacers—not really. Indiana had the East's best record this season, sure, but that was regular season talk.
Even then, the Bulls beat the Pacers 3-1, and that was with Ewing playing on cruise control.
They were locked in on something else—last night's Knicks vs. Heat game.
Phil Jackson spoke first, dead serious. "Zhao Dong was on one last night. Full-out assault mode at the rim. His impact? Might've topped peak Shawn Kemp.
The Heat didn't just get outplayed. They got demoralized. The rim collapsed, and so did their confidence. That's what really finished them."
Ewing sat stone-faced, silent.
Jordan glanced at him. Mourning and Luc Longley couldn't stop Zhao Dong—what made him think Ewing and Rodman could? He wasn't so sure.
Phil continued, "The Heat got killed on the boards. That made their double-teams on Zhao Dong look straight-up clownish. He could shoot or pass, easy. No pressure."
"Our rebounding's better than Miami's," Jordan said, brows furrowed. "But the Knicks got Zhao, Oak, Wallace, Fortson—all of 'em grabbing damn near 10 boards a night. We're still at a disadvantage."
Phil nodded. "Exactly. We're gonna see them in the East Finals. Rebounding's gotta be airtight."
He sighed, "This year's Knicks team? Not like last year. They're stronger on the boards, tougher on defense. They've got inside lockdowns, but they can still run small-ball and switch up their looks on a dime. They're hard to scout and even harder to guard."
Jordan rubbed his chin. "McGrady ain't ready to guard Zhao Dong yet."
Ever since T-Mac got traded in, MJ had been riding him hard—same way he used to push Pippen.
He saw the potential in the kid, but time wasn't on their side. They needed him now. Needed his perimeter D. Needed his jumper.
And to McGrady's credit, he'd been grinding—his shooting and defense both leveled up.
But still... Zhao Dong would eat him alive.
Phil nodded, "This time, you take the assignment. McGrady can help, but you're the primary. Use your vet smarts. Lean on the rulebook.
You know the Jordan Rules better than anyone. Use 'em. Clamp him before he even gets a step. Once he gets into the paint, it's over.
Our bigs—Ewing and Rodman—they're old, banged up. One wrong collision, we lose them."
Ewing's lips twitched, like he wanted to speak. But he stayed quiet.
Now wasn't the time to be proud. He knew his body. Even in his prime, he would've had a hard time tanking Zhao Dong's charges. Now? He didn't stand a chance.
Jordan turned to Phil. "So what's your actual game plan?"
Phil sat back, thinking hard.
He'd been prepping for this Knicks matchup all season, running simulations in his head. He had ideas.
But now, with MJ and Ewing staring at him, even he needed a moment to get it all sorted out.
A moment later, Phil Jackson said, "They don't really have a post game, so Zhao Dong's squad is gonna hammer us inside.
We're all vets in the paint, but we can't go toe-to-toe with Zhao Dong. He'll body us. The key to stopping him starts on the perimeter.
Michael, you and T-Mac gotta pressure him early—slow his momentum, don't let him get a head of steam.
Keep him in front of you, and once he drives, both of you plus our bigs need to collapse fast and trap him."
"Same way we guarded him last season?" Jordan asked.
Jackson nodded. "His efficiency is off the charts and his stamina's crazy. We can't just clamp down on his teammates—we need to shut him down."
Jordan had no choice but to nod back.
Jackson added, "His first step is lightning quick—same with that turnaround fade he's been using. That's new.
You and McGrady are the first line of defense.
With the way the refs lean these days, you won't get whistled much, so be physical. If you can stall his first step, T-Mac's help defense can recover.
I've watched the film—when double-teamed, his FG% drops to around 50%, still elite, but we can live with that.
Keep him on the perimeter, box out hard, and let our bigs clean up the boards."
Jordan thought it over and nodded. McGrady had length, and his D was decent. Even if they couldn't shut Zhao Dong down, they could definitely slow his drives.
That night, the Bulls took down the Pacers, grabbing their second straight road win.
Ewing saw more minutes, logging 28 with 19 points, 7 boards, and 2 blocks.
With Jordan and Kidd, they dropped 67 points combined and steamrolled Indy.
Meanwhile, the Lakers took an L against the Spurs—series tied.
The media was stunned.
"The Super Bulls finally woke up. The East's No. 1 seed got exposed—Reggie still can't hang with MJ." – The New York Times
"Tim Duncan hit superstar mode already—28 and 13. The Spurs Twin Towers combined for 59 and 25, tore apart the Lakers." – The New York Times
The next day, Game 2 between the Knicks and Heat tipped off.
Media swarmed the Knicks' locker room pregame, including China's CCTV.
Zhang Heli asked first, "Zhao Dong, the Bulls looked dominant. Ewing put up 19 and 7 in under 30 minutes. Are you ready for that kind of heat?"
"Of course," Zhao Dong replied. "I always figured he was saving himself for the playoffs. But it's whatever. Indy's got no bigs. That stat line ain't all that."
"Zhao Dong, with Ewing going off, the Bulls got two threats now. Are you gonna double him? You think your D can handle that?" a Knicks beat reporter asked.
"Double Ewing? Nah. He ain't earned that. We're only sending doubles at Jordan," Zhao Dong said confidently.
A New York Times reporter jumped in, "What's your take on Tim Duncan's breakout?"
"That's just standard. That's how he's supposed to play," Zhao Dong replied.
"You think the Spurs are a threat to the Knicks in the future?" they asked.
"They still need more pieces. Right now, they're not ready," he answered.
Another reporter chimed in, "Sharon Stone issued a public apology today. If she apologized to you, would you forgive her?"
"Huh?" Zhao Dong blinked.
"She did. Through the media," the reporter clarified.
"Oh. I didn't even see that. I'm not worried about her," Zhao Dong shrugged.
"Will you sue her?" the reporter asked again.
"Nah. Not worth my time or energy. Aight, let's move on. These questions are turning into tabloid trash," Zhao Dong said with a smirk.
An hour later, it was game time—same starting lineups as Game 1.
The Heat had first possession. Tim Hardaway showed why he was called The Bug—top five in the league when it came to breaking down defenses.
Even with Billups playing him physical, he sliced through and nailed a smooth pull-up to open the game.
Knicks came right back. Billups brought it up.
"Last game, the Heat kept switching up their D on Zhao Dong, but none of it worked. Dude went nuclear," Marv Albert said from the NBC booth.
"When you guard Zhao Dong on the wing, the first defender's gotta slow him down, then the help needs to trap him fast. But if that first guy gets beat, it's over," Matt Goukas added.
Zhao Dong made his way to the left wing.
Last game, he was living on the perimeter, mostly running at the 3.
"Wait—he's not staying out there… he's diving in!" Marv shouted.
Pat Riley frowned from the sideline. Something felt off. Zhao Dong was setting up in the low post?
All Riley's gameplans were built to stop him on the wing. He hadn't prepped for Zhao Dong operating down low.
And it wasn't just a one-off. All season long, and even in Game 1, Zhao Dong had been a perimeter threat.
Now this curveball had Riley scrambling.
But then he remembered—Article 138 of the Zhao Dong Rule was made to limit Zhao Dong's outside game.
If he's back in the low post, those restrictions are gone. That actually eased his mind.
Truth was, after they traded Ewing, the Knicks lost their interior scoring threat. Zhao Dong had planned to move back inside eventually.
During the regular season, though, they were focused on developing Big Ben and Fordson, so he stayed outside.
He never really cared about the Zhao Dong Rule limiting his perimeter game—he was still a beast inside, maybe even more efficient.
The switch-up today was something he and Coach Nelson had cooked up—shake things up, catch Miami sleepin'.
Now that he was down low, Article 2 and 138 of the Zhao Dong Law were irrelevant.
"Alonzo, front him," Pat Riley shouted.
The setup was classic. Big Ben and Luke Longley camped under the rim. Zhao Dong and Alonzo Mourning were on the left block.
Oakley slid just inside the left arc with Mashburn shadowing him. Billups and Curry hovered up top. Allan Houston and Leonard were roaming the right wing.
Mourning didn't play behind—he fronted Zhao Dong, trying to deny the entry pass.
Zhao Dong read the defense like a pro. He knew if he attacked the rim straight up, Luke Longley would be right there waiting in the paint, giving Mourning time to recover and contest.
"Zhao Dong gotta play like he did against Shaq," said Zhang Heli on CCTV's live broadcast. "Pull the big out first. If he doesn't follow—boom—jumper in your eye. If he does follow, ISO cook him, then blow by."
Zhao Dong, the real floor general, signaled a play. He suddenly stepped out toward the perimeter.
Mourning had no choice—he had to follow. If he sagged, he'd get torched.
Right then, Billups hit him with a perfect dime from the top of the arc. Zhao Dong, who had just pulled Mourning out, spun back inside, caught the rock, took one long step into the paint, then another, and took flight straight at Luke Longley who was posted in the restricted area.
Three explosive steps and he was flying with fury.
"BOOM!"
A thunderous slam echoed through the arena.
"BANG!"
Luke Longley tried to meet him up top, but Zhao Dong's sheer force crushed him. Big man got laid out, hitting the floor hard, back twitching as the pain set in.
"YEAH!" The crowd exploded.
"See that?" Zhang Heli cracked up. "I told y'all! Pullin' out then driving back in got more juice than a straight-up take. You shake the big and get the angle."
Pat Riley's brow tightened. Mourning couldn't front Zhao Dong like that. And Luke? He couldn't hold him on his own either.
Then he saw it—Mourning signaling for a sub. Pat's stomach dropped.
Under the basket, Luke Longley was done. Back spasms had him out cold. Truth is, ever since Game 1, Zhao Dong had been wrecking him at the rim. The injury was coming.
"With Luke out, can Mourning hold it down for Miami?" Marv Albert asked from the booth.
"By himself? Nah, no shot," Matt Goukas replied confidently.
"What happens if they can't stop the Tyrant?" Marv asked again.
"They get cooked, or…" Matt smirked. "They'll have to get creative."
"Heh…" Marv chuckled darkly.
Pat Riley called in his backup big. Game on.
With the Heat's anchor out, they softened up fast. The Knicks stayed in control all the way.
By the 9th minute of the first quarter, Coach Nelson made some rotations. Oakley came out for Danny Fortson. Larry Johnson swapped in for Big Ben, and Charlie Ward replaced Billups. Zhao Dong and Allan Houston stayed on the floor.
Pat Riley locked in, watching every sub. As soon as he saw the Knicks' changes, he waved for three of his toughest bench guys. He wasn't about to wait anymore. The Knicks still had starters and key subs out there—time to strike.
Now the Heat had only one starter on the floor—Curry. The rest? All enforcers. Mourning took a seat.
From the bench, Mourning watched closely. He knew from these moves—Coach Riley was about to get dirty. He hoped Zhao Dong would get dragged into it. If Zhao Dong got ejected, the Heat could take this one.
"Hey rookie, your boss ride you like that every day?"
"Damn scrub, you stay licking your captain's boots?"
From the opening play, Heat's backup big, Terry Mills, was in Fortson's ear non-stop with that foul-mouthed trash talk. Fortson clenched his jaw, biting back. He'd been trained for this.
If Zhao Dong hadn't drilled into him all season to control his temper, he'd have socked that punk ages ago.
"Danny, hold it down out there," Zhao Dong had told him before the game. "Heat ain't got our level. They'll play dirty. You're the fuse, bro. Don't let 'em light you up."
Zhao Dong was always lookin' out for him. Dude even sparred with him in practice. Man beat MJ and still ran drills with the rookies. That was respect. Fortson wasn't gonna let him down.
"Yo, rookie, your mama moanin' in someone's bed right now?"
That was it.
Fortson's eyes turned red. Breathing heavy, fists clenched so tight they were turning white.
But still—he held back. Didn't swing. Not yet.
"Is this about to blow up?" Marv shouted.
"Oh no! He's losin' it!" Zhang Heli added.
"Danny, F*** HIM UP!" Zhao Dong roared from across the floor.
If they were coming for him, might as well go first.
"BANG!"
That was the green light. Fortson exploded like a beast let off its leash. First punch landed square on Terry Mills' jaw. Second one dropped him cold.
Crowd lost their minds.
Right then, three more Heat bench players rushed the floor—straight for Zhao Dong.
Yeah. Three.
This was Riley's move. Zhao Dong was still out there? Then take him out. They didn't care how.
Riley was gambling that Zhao Dong would fight back. Just one punch, and he'd be out of the game.
The rest of the Heat? They dipped. They had no intention of throwing hands. This was a setup. Let the dogs run wild—and hope Zhao Dong took the bait.
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