"So..."
Dwight leaned forward, his tone firm and serious. "This is probably your last shot at a major contract, Karl. Don't sell yourself short. You deserve one. A real deal—four or five years, not just some two-year quick fix with the Lakers."
He paused, giving Karl Malone a look that only a seasoned agent could deliver. "Sure, teaming up with Kobe and Shaq might get you a ring, but are you really ready to leave tens of millions on the table for a maybe?"
"…,"
Malone opened his mouth but couldn't get a word out.
Deep down, he wanted both—legacy and the bag. But in today's NBA, cap space was tight. Teams in contention had no money to offer. With the luxury tax looming, it was damn near impossible for a team like the Lakers to sign him to a long-term deal.
"Unless…"
Dwight voice trailed off for a second. "Unless you consider the Knicks. They've got cap space. A lot of guys leaving. They're in rebuild mode—could use a veteran star like you."
Malone scoffed, shaking his head. His voice dropped into a growl. "Nah. I'd rather sit at home than play in New York. Ain't happening."
Dwight didn't push it. "Okay. Look, Philadelphia's been on the phone every day. The Sixers are offering a strong deal. Billy King's got plans for the offseason. They're looking to contend. Why not wait and see how they retool?"
Karl leaned back and nodded slowly. "…Alright."
Dwight picked up his phone. "So I'll turn down the Lakers' offer? Two years, low money, no security. They're just trying to rent you and dump you after."
"Yeah. Turn 'em down."
A few moments later, Lakers GM Jerry West picked up his office phone.
"I'm sorry, Mr. West," Dwight said respectfully. "Karl's decided not to sign with Los Angeles."
West didn't flinch. "Understood."
The moment the call ended, he hit the next number on his list.
"Ringo? Let's lock Ben in. Send the paperwork. Get him and Wells out to L.A. after the July freeze lifts."
---
June 24 – Two Days Before the Draft
Yao Ming had just wrapped up his team workouts and mini-camp. The 1999 NBA Draft was only four days away, set to be held at Madison Square Garden on June 28.
That evening, Zhao Dong hosted a private dinner at his place in Manhattan. At the table were Yao Ming, Hu Weidong, and Wang Zhizhi.
Hu and Dazhi had just completed physicals. Wang was cleared, but Hu was flagged for some wear and tear—specifically his right knee and left foot. He went through a minor laser procedure on the knee, and while the foot issue was minor, he'd need to undergo rehab.
"Zhao Dong," Hu said, "After Yao gets drafted, I'm heading back to China. I'll do rehab at Dongcheng Base."
Zhao Dong nodded. "Good. I already had medical equipment and a couple specialists flown in from the States. It's up to standard now."
"Brother Dong," Wang Zhizhi chimed in, "Brother Hu and I plan to return to China together for a while. I'll bring my parents back with me. Then I'll head to Houston with Yao and Dream to train."
Zhao Dong took a sip of his drink. "Ringo Wells is already talking to teams for you and Hu. The Knicks got a few trade calls about you, Dazhi. Talk to Wells and the front office. I already spoke to Ernie Grunfeld. He promised to respect your wishes when considering trades."
"Thank you, Brother Dong."
"Appreciate it, Zhao."
Both Hu and Dazhi were fired up. They'd won a title. The next step? Earning a starting spot and building their resumes for the Olympics next summer.
Zhao turned toward Yao. "How'd the Nets tryout go?"
Yao Ming chuckled, relaxed and confident. "Honestly? I'm happy with it."
"That's what I wanted to hear."
Zhao leaned in, serious now.
"The Nets center right now is just a role player—puts up maybe two a game. If you land there, you're the starting big from Day One."
He broke it down.
"You'll be paired up inside with Van Horn. Second pick in '97. He averaged 22 and 8 this season. Big talent—but his game is perimeter-heavy. He doesn't like the paint. Only about 20% of his shots come near the rim."
Zhao pointed his finger for emphasis. "That means the paint is your kingdom. You dominate the low block, let him stretch the floor. High-low game, inside-out action—you two could be lethal."
He thought back to the old Jazz squad that torched the Rockets. Boozer and Okur pulling bigs out the paint. Yao struggled in that era because of his size and weight. Couldn't rotate fast enough.
But now? If Yao and Van Horn created their own version of that—he'd be on the other side of history.
"Oh—and one more thing," Zhao added. "Marbury likes the ball in his hands. A lot. He's explosive, but not always efficient. Don't be afraid to speak up. You'll need to be assertive in that locker room."
Hu smiled. "So how good would the Nets be next season if Yao goes there?"
Zhao thought for a moment.
"Elite frontcourt—top-tier, no doubt. Backcourt with Marbury and Kendall Gill is solid. Not elite, but solid. Their biggest hole is at the three. With a decent small forward, they're a playoff team. How far they go depends on chemistry."
---
June 25 – Yacht Dreams
The next morning, Zhao Dong made some international calls.
He dialed one of Europe's premier private yacht manufacturers: Lucerne Shipyard in Germany.
The voice on the other end was crisp and professional. "Lucerne Shipyard. This is Chesman, Sales Director. How can I help?"
Zhao introduced himself. "This is Zhao Dong."
A pause. Then excitement.
"Zhao Dong? The Golden Tyrant from the NBA?"
"That's me."
"We're honored to take your call. Lucerne is the global leader in luxury yacht craftsmanship. Custom builds, elite materials, top-tier design—we deliver only the best."
As Chesman dove into specs, layouts, and options, Zhao Dong leaned back in his leather chair, exuding calm confidence.
"Zhao Dong, what kind of price range are you looking at for this private yacht?" Chesman asked, flipping through renderings on his tablet. "I can send over some design mockups so you can make a preliminary selection. Then we'll arrange a private jet and fly you to Germany for an in-person inspection."
"Top-grade," Zhao Dong replied casually.
Chesman paused, thinking he misheard. "What? Oh… okay, top-grade, got it…"
His fingers froze mid-scroll, the word still ringing in his ears. Trying to be tactful, he added, "Just so you know, Zhao Dong, top-grade yachts are extremely expensive. We're talking at least a hundred million U.S. dollars—could even push into the hundreds of millions. Do you have a specific budget ceiling?"
Zhao Dong nodded calmly. "Nothing too ridiculous. Let's cap it at 500 million USD."
"Five… five hundred million?"
Chesman's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Whether Zhao Dong had the funds or not didn't matter—Lucerne Shipyard had never received an order even close to that amount. In fact, no shipyard in the world had ever built a private yacht worth half a billion dollars.
"Send the pictures first," Zhao Dong said. "I need to compare with other companies."
"Oh, of course, right away! I'm confident you'll choose Lucerne—we're the best in the business," Chesman blurted, his tone now reverent, completely changed from earlier.
Minutes later, Zhao Dong's inbox filled up with high-res images—some of completed yachts, others digital concept art. Some were Lucerne's own work, others not.
Over the next few hours, Zhao Dong contacted several top private yacht builders across Europe. His inbox flooded with even more designs.
That evening, he sat down with Lindsay in their Manhattan penthouse to go through the options.
"Honey, Lucerne and Dongshun Shipyard out of Germany both look solid," Lindsay said, swiping through the latest batch.
"Yeah, both are impressive. Their design language and build quality are top-tier—best in the world," Zhao Dong replied.
"I say we give them two months to draft a full set of detailed designs," Lindsay suggested. "Then we'll make a final decision."
"Perfect. I'll notify them now."
Zhao Dong immediately sent out emails to the selected shipyards, listing his custom requirements and giving them a two-month window to submit detailed plans.
The moment those emails hit inboxes across Europe, alarms went off in design studios and boardrooms.
A $500 million contract? With at least $200 million in profit? This would be the most luxurious private yacht ever built—a literal floating castle. Whoever secured the deal would instantly become the number one name in the global shipbuilding game. Every shipyard went into overdrive.
---
On the 27th, Bart finally arrived in New York. Zhao Dong, Yao Ming, Wang Zhizhi, and Hu Weidong headed to the airport to welcome him. Bart's agent, Ringo Wells, tagged along.
Bart, better known in China as Daba, was born in November 1975. Not even 24 yet—just a year and a half older than Zhao Dong—but built like a tank. A true low-post bruiser with a huge frame and no injury history. His physical prime was now.
His arrival was thanks to some behind-the-scenes work by Liu Yumin and the folks at Shougang, who let him go without resistance.
After a few handshakes and warm greetings, Zhao Dong introduced Wells.
"Daba, what's up?" Zhao Dong smiled. "Everything going smooth?"
"Well… this is gonna be tricky," Bart said politely.
"Don't be so formal. It's just us. There's only a handful of us playing at this level from China. Let's grind together for another year and aim for the Olympic podium next summer—raise the flag, play the anthem."
"Raise the flag? Play the anthem?" Bart, Yao, and the rest were stunned.
Zhao Dong grinned. "What? That goal scare you? We can stand at the top. Why not us?"
"You're the efficiency god," Hu Weidong suddenly laughed. "Number one player in the NBA—you call the shots!"
That lit a fire under everyone. They weren't just dreaming anymore—with Zhao Dong on their side, anything felt possible. Even challenging Team USA didn't seem so crazy now.
Later, Zhao Dong arranged for Bart to stay in the same hotel where Yao Ming's family was housed. After getting settled in, Bart asked the question on his mind.
"Zhao Dong, so what's the plan for me?"
"Relax. Inside presence is always in demand," Zhao Dong grinned. "At the very least, with your build, you can be a meat shield."
"Meat shield?" Ringo blinked.
Bart froze too. A meat shield? Seriously?
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Look—Shaquille O'Neal is wreaking havoc in the West. I'm holding it down in the East. Every team needs someone to bang inside. Trust me, you'll get your shot."
Ringo finally laughed. "He's not wrong."
"Well… guess I'm a meat shield now," Bart said with a resigned smile.
"Brother Dong," Wang Zhizhi asked, "didn't Daba enter the draft?"
Zhao Dong shook his head. "He's old enough to sign straight-up. It's actually better this way. In the draft, without college or pro experience, he'd be a second-rounder at best. This way, he can pick his own path."
Bart leaned forward, hopeful. "How big a contract do you think I can land?"
"Hard to say," Zhao Dong replied. "You'll need to negotiate. Don't expect anything crazy on your first deal. But if you show out—like Dazhi or Brother Hu—then you can go big on your second contract."
Da Ba nodded, signaling that he understood.
Zhao Dong reminded him again, "Da Ba, this isn't like back home in China. Over there, with your skillset, you could dominate easily. But here, it's different."
"I understand," Da Ba quickly replied.
"You can't afford to be lazy. Once you enter the league, you need to double down on your training—correct your weaknesses, strengthen your strengths. Take your mobility, for example. It's your biggest flaw. It severely limits how much of your power you can actually show. You've got to keep working on strength training and improve your muscle composition."
"I've been training at the Dongcheng Base for over two years now. My strength training's been consistent. I've gotten much quicker, especially laterally," Da Ba said eagerly.
"That's good. Just keep it up," Zhao Dong nodded.
---
June 28 — NBA Draft Day
Although the Nets had already committed to selecting Yao Ming, he, along with his parents and agent Zhang Mingji, still felt a bit nervous.
They were all dressed up early, waiting at the hotel. Joining them was Da Ba.
"Yao, you've basically got that number one pick locked in," Da Ba said, trying to ease the tension. "What are you nervous about?"
"Heh, it's not official yet, is it?" Yao chuckled.
"Man, Zhao Dong really believes in you. That sponsorship deal he signed with you? Eight hundred million RMB! I still can't wrap my head around how much that is."
Da Ba shook his head in amazement.
Yao and his parents laughed. Yao's mother added, "We owe Zhao Dong a huge favor. I told Yao—if Zhao wants that Olympic gold, Yao better be ready to play on one leg if he has to."
"If not next year, then in 2004 or 2008. They're still young," Yao's father laughed.
"If we could land the 2008 Olympics, that would be amazing," Yao said, eyes lighting up with excitement.
"The decision's coming out in 2001, right? We only missed it by one vote last time. I'm confident we'll get it this time," his mother said with hope in her voice.
At 5 p.m., Zhao Dong arrived at the hotel with Hu Weidong and Da Zhi. After dinner with Yao's family, they all headed to Madison Square Garden by 6:30.
Coming up from the underground parking lot through a private entrance, the group was quickly swarmed by reporters.
"Zhao Dong, do you think the Nets will take Yao at number one?" one reporter asked.
"I think it's the best choice they can make," Zhao Dong smiled.
Now wasn't the time for false modesty. That number one pick status would go a long way toward helping Yao gain immediate respect in the league. With his talent and ceiling, even in a loaded draft class, he'd still be a top pick.
"Zhao Dong, Yao's draft comparison is Hakeem Olajuwon, and he's been training with The Dream. Do you think he can reach Hakeem's level?" another reporter asked.
"That's tough to say. Hakeem had a legendary career. Yao's got work to do," Zhao Dong replied.
"And in terms of potential and skill set?" the reporter pushed.
Zhao Dong paused, then said seriously, "If Yao stays healthy, I think he has a shot."
"Whoa!"
The crowd of reporters buzzed in surprise.
Hakeem Olajuwon was an all-time great, arguably the most successful of the four modern super centers. He led his team to back-to-back titles as the franchise centerpiece. Could Yao really match that?
Zhao Dong wasn't exaggerating. Yao had size Hakeem never had, a feathery shooting touch, and in this timeline, he'd undergone the best training possible. If he stayed healthy, he could absolutely reach that level.
"Yao, what do you think?" the reporter turned to Yao.
"Hakeem is my mentor, and a true superstar. I respect him deeply. I've learned so much from him..." Yao, not even 19 yet, had been the most talked-about NCAA player since last year. His calm and humble response, full of clichés, was textbook media training—and far more polished than Da Zhi's.
"Zhao Dong, what about this gentleman? Is he also a player?" a reporter asked, pointing at Da Ba.
Zhao Dong nodded. "I'll take this opportunity to introduce him. His name is Bart—one of the best Chinese centers right now. He's 211cm tall, weighs 135kg, has a wingspan of 214cm, and a vertical leap of 60cm. His strength is insane—bench press max is 190kg. He's got a solid mid-range jumper, can shoot, can pass, plays with power in the paint, and has reliable low-post moves. He can even shoot threes. His agent is Mr. Wellsq."
With all the NBA team execs at the draft site, Da Ba's profile quickly circulated.
Zhao Dong had built a reputation for quality recommendations.
Take Hu Weidong, for example—he was a key rotation piece for the Knicks dynasty and could easily start on a weaker team.
Then there was Big Ben. Two seasons as a starting center, elite defense, ironclad toughness. If the Knicks didn't already have a deep frontcourt, he'd still be starting in the playoffs. On many contending teams, he'd be their number-one center.
Da Zhi? Starting center in the Finals. No need to say more. Teams lacking big men could plug him in as a starter immediately.
And now, Yao Ming. A projected number-one pick with all-star-level talent from day one.
Given Zhao Dong's success rate, even if this fifth recommendation wasn't quite on the same level, Da Ba still looked very viable—especially as a physical bruiser or paint enforcer.
"Reach out. Let's bring him in for a workout," Lakers GM Jerry West told his assistant.
First, he needed a backup plan for Shaquille O'Neal. Second, this guy was a rookie, which meant a low salary. Having someone like him would strengthen their bench and keep rivals from signing him.
Shaq had become the most dominant force under the rim. Any team with championship aspirations needed a way to counter him. Jerry West knew this better than anyone.
The Spurs and Gregg Popovich also sent someone to inquire.
The Bulls followed.
Pretty soon, teams all over the league were contacting Wells.
(End of Chapter)
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