Magic Johnson told the media, "The Jazz are tough, they made it to the Western Finals. But they had back-to-back Game 7s, and that eats at your stamina. I believe Shaq's got enough juice to take 'em out."
"So who you got in the East?" a reporter asked.
Magic thought for a moment, "On paper? The Bulls. Ewing didn't go all out in the regular season, but in the second round, he started logging more minutes—he's gearing up for this series. The Bulls will definitely look sharper than they did before.
But the Knicks with Zhao Dong? That squad ain't something you judge off paper. Their rebounding game is strong. If the Bulls can't raise their offensive efficiency, they're gonna be taking fewer shots—and that's a problem.
But to get better shots, you gotta get to the rim. The Knicks' interior D this season? Way better than last year. So how do the Bulls fix their scoring? That's a dead end unless they figure something out."
"Who's your Finals pick then?" the reporter followed up.
"Man, it's fifty-fifty. Anyone can take it. The Bulls got the better offensive tools—inside-outside balance is tight. But the Knicks? Unless Zhao Dong starts working the low post again, their perimeter offense might fall off. Still, if they lock in on boards and protect the paint, they can pull it off." Magic said cautiously.
May 19th, Noon – The Bulls land in New York.
Jordan hit up Barkley and they linked up at a restaurant.
"Charles, man, if you want that ring, why'd you roll with them instead of me? You really think the Knicks got more than the Bulls?" Jordan said, clearly pissed.
"You're gonna be a year older next season, Mike. I ain't betting on that," Barkley shot back.
"You clownin' me now? I swear I'll make sure you don't get jack," Jordan snapped.
Charles flinched a bit. Jordan's been bullying him for years, and the fire in his eyes still hit different. But Barkley held his ground.
"Rodman and Ewing gon' be even slower next year. I'm betting on Zhao Dong. That team's full of young guns and their core is solid. They ain't fading, they rising."
Bang! Jordan slammed his silverware on the table and lost his appetite.
He was heated. Barkley was from his own era, supposed to be riding with him—but picked the new generation. That stung.
Later that afternoon…
Mrs. Dolores brought in private security for Zhao Dong and Lindsay. Four teams, twelve total bodyguards. Not all were elite, but a third of them were top-tier, and the rest were still first-rate.
That night – Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals.
Under the Jazz's lockdown D, Shaq struggled—just 16 points and 8 boards. Lakers took an L in Salt Lake City.
"We're still making the Finals," Karl Malone said post-game, after dropping 29 and 10.
May 20th – New York. Tip-off for the East Finals.
"Zhao Dong, how confident are you for the Eastern Conference Finals?" NBC asked him that morning.
"We took three outta four from the Bulls in the regular season. Sure, I know they were saving something, but I believe we're taking this. I'm 100% confident," Zhao Dong said.
"Hundred percent? Man's talking crazy," Jordan said in an interview from the team hotel. "He's trying to play mind games, but that ain't phasing us. That kinda talk puts pressure on them, not us."
"So Mike, what's your confidence level?" the reporter asked.
"Hundred percent. Of course," Jordan answered flatly.
"…." The reporter was stunned.
Noon – Knicks' strategy session.
Zhao Dong stepped up with a defensive suggestion.
"Coach, Ewing's been chillin' all season. Barely showed up in the early rounds. Now that we're in the East Finals, he's gonna snap off. We can't double both him and Jordan—it's too much. I say we go one-on-one with help defense when needed," he said.
"Single coverage on Ewing and MJ? No double-team?" Coach Nelson blinked and turned to Van Gundy.
"Zhao, explain your angle," Van Gundy said.
Zhao nodded, "Ewing's gonna demand more touches, so Jordan won't get as many shots. If we double them both, we'll be scrambling and wasting energy. Better to guard them straight up, and collapse only when necessary."
Same day – Yao Ming landed in New York for summer break.
Zhao Dong had three front-row seats. Gave one to Barkley and one to Yao. The rest—twenty to thirty tickets—went to Seawolves and some players from the New York Jets.
Outside the arena…
A reporter from ABC asked Zhao Dong, "The Jazz are up 1-0. Who you got making the Finals, Jazz or Lakers?"
Zhao Dong said, "Jazz are gassed. If the Lakers can drag it to Game 6 or 7, they got a shot."
In Salt Lake City, Karl Malone saw that interview and fumed.
"This clown's just praying we lose," he said.
"Karl, don't mess with that man. He's rich and powerful. You ain't winning that fight," said his wife.
"I know," Malone muttered, frustrated.
To make it worse, Adidas covered 60% of the lawsuit payout… then turned around and forced him into a lifelong contract—basically unpaid.
Adi even said after retirement, they'll throw him in WWE just to work off the debt.
At Madison Square Garden, on CCTV's live stream, Zhang Heli was breaking down the matchup.
"The Knicks' biggest hole is the lack of a true low-post threat. Zhao Dong worked the low block hard against the Heat, and I think he's gonna do the same thing tonight against the Bulls."
Sun Zhenping chimed in, "Yeah, he's probably going at Ewing again."
"For sure," Zhang nodded.
Meanwhile, over on NBC, Matt Goukas was running color commentary with Marv Albert.
"I think Zhao Dong needs to keep his role versatile," Goukas said. "Let him float—inside, outside, wing to post, five to three—make the Bulls guess every possession."
"But he's killin' in the post, though," Marv replied. "Why not just keep him down there?"
Goukas explained, "That low block's easy to trap. You saw last night—Shaq dominated down there, but the Jazz locked him up, and he went 6-for-16. If you stick Zhao Dong in the post all game, they'll clamp him.
Now, he ain't Shaq, but he's got that jumper, and he can space the floor. You can't double him that easy. Still, that paint gets real crowded real quick.
And with the league dropping Article 138 of the 'Zhao Dong Rule'—you know they tryna limit his mismatch game out on the wing—he can't just give that up."
In the Bulls' locker room, Phil Jackson was laying out the game plan.
Rookie Tracy McGrady sat to the side, quietly wiping off sweat while half-listening to him. Ever since getting traded to Chicago, life had been hell. Jordan was on his neck every practice. One missed rotation, one lazy cut—and MJ was in his face, barking like a drill sergeant.
Now they were in the Eastern Conference Finals, and the vibe was even more intense. Just Jordan's stare was enough to have him trippin'.
Honestly, T-Mac was low-key wishing he could dip. Too much pressure.
A few seats down, Patrick Ewing was dead silent, but the fire in his chest was burning. He'd played over a decade in this arena—but never in the visitor's locker room. It felt all wrong.
He wasn't here to reminisce. He came for revenge.
Meanwhile, in the Knicks' locker room, Chauncey Billups was wiping his face with a towel, the same anxious energy written all over him.
Just like McGrady, he was under mad pressure. That "bust" label still hung around his neck from his Boston days. And now that he was in New York, the boss man—Zhao Dong—barely paid him any mind.
He was scared he'd get dumped again. Who's gonna trust a dude who's been tossed by multiple squads?
But things were starting to shift. Since the playoffs started, every time he checked in, Zhao Dong would bark out commands and keep him involved. It wasn't exactly love, but it helped him feel like he belonged.
Ten minutes later, subs were warming up and the starting fives were locked in.
Starting Lineups:
Bulls: Ewing, Rodman, McGrady, Jordan, Kidd
Knicks: Ben Wallace, Zhao Dong, Oakley, Allan Houston, Billups
"Yo, Phil Jackson is really rolling the dice starting rookie Tracy McGrady at the three in the East Finals," Marv said during the NBC broadcast.
"Well, the Bulls beefed up at the point and the five this season, and kinda let the three-spot slide. So giving McGrady the nod makes sense," Goukas replied. "His job ain't complicated. Spot up, knock down shots, and play solid D."
"He's been grinding on his shooting and that perimeter D ever since he landed in Chicago," Marv added. "They ain't askin' him to drop 20. Just contain Zhao Dong and hit them open looks."
The teams lined up in the dark tunnel, the echo of sneakers on concrete mixing with the hum of the crowd outside.
Suddenly, the squads crossed paths.
"Yo, Patrick," Oakley called out.
"Charles," Ewing answered coldly, "Your contract's up. Might be time to bounce. Don't wanna end up like the rest of us that got tossed aside."
Oakley glanced at Zhao Dong and sighed, "Maybe. How many cats actually stay with one squad forever? No need to hold all that hate, Pat."
Ewing scoffed, his eyes burning holes into Zhao Dong. "I just don't respect him."
Zhao Dong smirked. "Hey, don't come at me off the court, man. I'm just here to hoop. But if you do wanna take it outside basketball, I don't think you ready for that smoke."
Ewing's face twitched. The memory of what happened with Karl Malone popped in his head—and he clammed up.
Jordan stepped up, calm but firm. "Zhao, no one here's tryna go off-script. We're here for the chip. Pure basketball."
Zhao Dong raised his hands. "That's what I'm saying. Ain't nobody wanna beef outside the game. Let's get buckets, make our money, keep it clean. NBA is a business—let's all eat."
Then he looked Jordan's way and added, "Real talk, I don't like you... but I respect you. Back in the day, them Bad Boy Pistons used to play hella dirty, but you never flinched. You let your game talk. I ain't got that kind of patience."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "You throwin' shade or givin' props?"
"I'm dead serious," Zhao Dong grinned. "I like you."
MJ cracked a half-smile.
Across the tunnel, the two rookies ducked the tension.
"Yo, Chauncey."
"Yo, Tracy."
While the vets exchanged smoke, the young bloods huddled up in the shadows.
"How you holdin' up in Chi-Town?" Billups asked.
"Man, thank God I'm still breathin'," McGrady chuckled nervously.
"Damn. That bad?" Billups raised a brow. "Our boss barely looks my way."
"That's exactly what I want!" McGrady blurted.
Billups laughed. "Wanna trade spots?"
"For real?" T-Mac's eyes lit up like Christmas.
"Tracy, what are you talking about?!"
Jordan's voice exploded down the hall. McGrady froze.
Zhao Dong shot a glance at Billups, then looked away.
Man, he wasn't feelin' either of those rookies.
They both needed the ball in their hands too much, and T-Mac was already demanding enough touches. If he wanted to develop 'em, he'd have to give up shots and control, and that just didn't sit right.
Honestly, if Chris Childs and Charlie Ward could score better, they'd fit his game more than Billups ever could.
The visiting squad stepped onto the court, Ewing leading the way.
"Boooooo!"
Madison Square Garden erupted in boos.
Ever since Ewing got shipped to the Bulls and publicly said he wanted to help 'em beat the Knicks, fans saw him as a straight-up traitor. On top of the boos, the Garden rained down all kinds of curses. Ewing looked real uncomfortable out there.
But when MJ came out? Mixed reaction. Some boos, but also some claps.
"Alright, the Knicks are coming out now, and Zhao Dong's getting the loudest pop by far," said Matt Goukas.
"Last season, the Bulls got bounced by the Knicks in the East Finals," Marv Albert added.
"And here we go again—another clash for the crown. It's all gonna come down to Zhao Dong and Jordan."
Ten minutes later, the game tipped off.
"And it's showtime!" Marv hyped. "This is the matchup everybody's been waitin' for. Our viewership just hit 35.7 million, and we might break 40 tonight!"
Commissioner Stern? Lovin' it.
Right before tip-off, Zhao Dong popped open the system one last time. No new task for the East Finals. But he already had one from the start of the season:
Super Team Sniper Mission: Stop Jordan's comeback and crush the dream of a second dynasty.
Reward: One full injury recovery.
Every time he saw that mission, he felt pressure creeping in.
Big Ben and Ewing lined up for the jump. Surprisingly, Big Ben won the tip.
The Knicks got the first possession. The Bulls scrambled back fast. Jordan stuck to Zhao Dong like glue, while Rodman dropped back to the paint to buy Ewing time.
"Nice rotation by the Bulls," Goukas noted.
"Wait, is Jordan really guarding Zhao Dong by himself?" Marv said in shock.
"Yup," replied Matt from the NBC booth. "T-Mac's still young, so MJ's taking the big assignment. With Rule 138 of the Zhao Dong Rule in play, Zhao Dong's strength edge ain't as dominant, so MJ can hang with him a bit."
Zhao Dong was surprised, but he welcomed it. This was the showdown he wanted—face-to-face with Jordan. If MJ didn't come looking for him, he was gonna go hunting anyway.
"Zhao Dong's standing on the left wing, just outside the arc..."
"He wants the rock!" shouted Sun Zhenping on CCTV.
Bang!
Zhao Dong snagged the pass one-handed.
No double team yet. MJ stayed solo on him.
They were still outside, so no reason to double—if Zhao Dong pulled up here, that was a win for Chicago.
MJ played off just a bit, half a step, and started chirping.
"Let's see that jumper, kid."
"My three-point's already better than yours, didn't you get the memo?" Zhao Dong shot back.
"…." Jordan had no comeback.
Zhao Dong jab-stepped, then exploded off his right foot—blow-by!
He caught MJ sleepin' and hit that first step like Grant Hill in his prime.
Jordan spun and chased.
T-Mac cut in from the free-throw line to close off the lane.
Zhao Dong pulled up—stop on a dime.
MJ came from behind, reaching in.
Zhao Dong protected the rock, picked it up with both hands. He couldn't dribble again, so it was shoot or pass.
MJ and T-Mac swarmed—four hands in his face.
Zhao Dong faked, then spun—fadeaway jumper!
With his height, length, and lift? No chance to block it. MJ and T-Mac couldn't touch it.
"Board up!"
But the second it left his hand, Zhao Dong knew it was off.
"Rebound!" he called out.
Down low, Big Ben and Oakley battled Rodman and Ewing.
Rodman read it first—dude had the craziest nose for rebounds.
Zhao Dong saw Rodman move—he knew it was over. Offensive board gone. He turned and sprinted back.
On the bench, Danny Fortson shook his head. "Damn shame. If I was in, I would've snagged that easy."
Rodman secured the board and hit MJ with the outlet.
Jordan took off in transition.
But Zhao Dong? Already back. If he got one step ahead, even AI couldn't beat him to the rim, let alone MJ.
MJ reached the free-throw line, Zhao Dong met him.
Crossover—Jordan broke right toward the cup.
Zhao Dong chased.
Quick stop, pull-up—Jordan's signature move.
Swish!
MJ buried it
"Too easy," he grinned. "But man, that shot got no soul."
"Yeah? Your trash talk's got no juice," Zhao Dong clapped back.
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