"Zhao Dong, what's going on? Why didn't you loop me in earlier?" Ernie Grunfeld jogged over, clearly annoyed.
Zhao Dong had recommended Da Ben, Dazhi, and Hu Weidong—each one solid. Lately, he'd gotten a bit hooked on scouting, and with seven or eight roster spots about to open up, they desperately needed talent, especially down low.
Don Nelson joined them, and the three walked off to the side for a private chat.
Zhao Dong gave a quick rundown of Bart's game: strong physique, decent length, but not very mobile. "He's not as quick as Da Zhi," Zhao said. "He's a big body and can anchor the paint, but I just don't see him fitting our tempo and spacing. He'll clog the lane. Doesn't fit our offensive system."
Grunfeld turned to Nelson, who gave it a beat and nodded. "I agree with Zhao's take."
"But Zhao, if Wang is leaving and Da Ben is heading out too, we'll have nobody in the paint!" Grunfeld said, getting worked up. "And the Lakers just keep getting stronger. If we face them in the Finals, who's gonna hold their own against Shaq?"
That comment made Don Nelson pause. Shaquille O'Neal was a problem—unstoppable when left unchecked.
Zhao Dong cracked a grin. "Bart's strong enough to deal with Shaq."
Grunfeld jumped at the opportunity. "Exactly! Then don't send him away. Let him stay with us. We'll give him a good deal—I promise you that."
"You guys can figure it out among yourselves," Zhao Dong said with a shrug. "I don't handle contract stuff."
With that, he walked away, leaving the two front-office veterans exchanging looks.
Sometimes management resents the franchise player poking around in roster decisions. But with Zhao Dong, it was the opposite. They wished he'd take more control—especially since his picks usually panned out.
"Well, Don, what do you think?"
"Tactically? Bart's not the best fit for us."
"Then what?"
"I say we look at the free-agent market. Maybe we can find someone who checks more boxes."
"Fair enough."
Within 30 minutes, Bart—had received training invites from twelve NBA teams. He was hyped.
Zhao Dong pulled him aside. "Forget the Lakers. You won't see much court time there. You're not even 24 yet. You need reps—minutes to grow. That's what matters now."
Wells nodded in agreement. O'Neal was already there, and with Big Ben also committed to L.A., Bart wouldn't stand a chance.
"Pick a weaker team with a thin frontcourt. That's your best shot at getting signed and playing real minutes."
"Got it," Bart said.
Truth be told, Bart actually wanted to stay with the Knicks. He admired what Hu Weidong and Dazhi had done—win a ring with Zhao Dong, boost their stock, then explore free agency with more leverage.
But Zhao Dong hadn't said anything about keeping him, and Bart didn't have the guts to speak up. He respected Zhao, even feared him a little. Two years ago, Zhao had offered some tips and had his Dongcheng Base trainer put together a tailored development plan.
It focused on:
Mid-range shooting consistency
Defensive awareness
Footwork and mobility drills
Zhao even gave him a template to study: Karl Malone.
Now, two years later, Bart had transformed. He was stronger, more confident, and eager to carve out a name like Hu Weidong and Dazhi. But deep down, he still couldn't muster the courage to tell Zhao Dong he wanted to stay.
Just then, several Duke players came over—Yao's teammates: Elton Brand, Shane Battier, William Avery, and Corey Maggette.
This year, Duke had five players entering the draft. Boozer and Jay Williams had held off—they were still under 18. But the rest? All five were in the green room.
The media called this year "The Duke Draft", comparing them to the legendary Michigan Fab Five. They'd even given Yao's group a nickname: The Duke Five Tigers.
Zhao Dong glanced at Yao Ming and Battier.
"History's changing again," he thought.
In his past life, Shane Battier had stayed in school chasing an NCAA title, delaying his draft to 2001. He was 23 by then, considered older for a rookie. But now? He was only 21—earlier entry meant more time to develop.
"Zhao Dong!"
Brand and the others greeted him respectfully.
All of them were Zhao Dong Sports clients. Brand had even signed an endorsement deal, though nothing massive.
Zhao Dong nodded and said to Yao, "Go on."
"Got it," Yao replied, heading off with his parents and agent Zhang Mingji.
Other green-room prospects were accompanied by their families and agents too—it was a special honor.
Besides Yao and the Duke Five, Zhao Dong recognized a lot of other top talents: Steve Francis, Baron Davis, Lamar Odom, Andre Miller, Rip Hamilton, Shawn Marion, Jason Terry, Ron Artest, Andrei Kirilenko, and Manu Ginobili.
Some scouts were calling this a weak draft year.
Big mistake.
Looking at that talent pool, Zhao Dong knew the truth: this class was being wildly underrated—just like 1986 or 1996. Once these players found their stride, this draft would be remembered as one of the greats.
Later, Grunfeld approached him again, handing over the Knicks' draft profiles.
"Zhao, we've got two second-round picks at the end. No guarantees, but I still want your recommendation."
"Don't blame me if it doesn't work out," Zhao Dong said with a smirk.
"We're scraping the bottom of the barrel anyway," Grunfeld replied, grinning.
"Fine. Just one guy."
Zhao Dong pulled out one profile: Manu Ginobili.
"Him?" Grunfeld looked surprised but didn't argue.
Zhao didn't suggest anyone else. Most of the "sleepers" in this draft weren't actually falling that far—except Ginobili.
At 7:30 PM, Madison Square Garden was already 70-80% full.
Tickets were sold to the public at just $100—a steal for New York fans, even though that price was higher than many regular-season games in smaller markets, where you could get in for under $20.
"Zhao Dong."
At that moment, Michael Jordan walked over and sat beside Zhao Dong, a satisfied grin on his face.
"What's up? Made some moves in the last couple of days?" Zhao Dong asked casually.
Jordan leaned in, his voice low and excited.
"Absolutely. The Mavericks and the Nuggets—both owners have been in touch. Looks like they're ready to sell."
Zhao Dong smirked. "Yeah, figures. You've seen what the Storm Group has been pulling, right? Asset values are through the roof right now. It's not the most cost-effective time to buy, but if you wait too long, the window closes. After this period, becoming a majority owner in any NBA franchise? Almost impossible."
He remembered—after retiring, Jordan had dipped his toes into ownership with the Wizards but got played and pushed out. It wasn't until 2010 that he finally became majority owner of the Bobcats, dropping $287 million to do it.
If MJ could spend that kind of money now, he'd become an owner a full decade earlier—and at a better value, too.
Sure, the U.S. market was in a bubble at the moment, but NBA franchises were the exception. Even after the 2001 crash, team values didn't tank like the rest of the economy. Buying in now? It was a long-term win.
Jordan nodded. "Exactly what I'm thinking."
Then he whispered with a grin, "But there's someone else sniffing around the Mavericks… tough competition."
Zhao Dong raised a brow. "Mark Cuban?"
"Yeah. That's him," Jordan confirmed.
No surprise there—Feng Bao had given Zhao Dong the inside scoop, so he'd expected it.
Zhao Dong nodded thoughtfully. Cuban had made a killing this year, selling his internet sports-streaming startup to Yahoo for a massive $2 billion. The guy knew when to buy and sell. A cool-headed shark in a suit.
But right now? Cuban hadn't sold the company yet. The deal wouldn't close until later in the year. He didn't have the cash in hand—not yet. He was just testing the waters with the Mavericks' ownership.
In his previous life, Cuban didn't seal the deal until January next year. That meant Jordan still had a shot.
Between the two franchises, the Nuggets owner was the more reluctant seller. The Mavericks were the better bet.
"Mike," Zhao Dong said firmly. "Push hard with the Mavericks' owner. Get ahead of Cuban—first-mover advantage. Stern would rather have you back in the league, especially in an ownership role. He'll back you. Go talk to him."
He added, "Without Stern's support, Cuban can't close that deal. And don't forget, team ownership changes need approval from the other owners. They'd rather welcome you than some dot-com billionaire. You know that."
Jordan stood up with renewed purpose. "Alright, I'm going to see Stern right now."
Zhao Dong pointed to a hallway near the front entrance. "He's right in there."
The draft was scheduled to begin at 8:00 PM. A few minutes before the ceremony, Jordan returned, a wide grin on his face.
"Called it, didn't I?" Zhao Dong chuckled.
"You damn sure did, Zhao." Jordan sat down, his eyes still gleaming. "Stern said if I can work something out with the Mavericks' owner, he'll handle the rest. The other owners, the board—he's got it covered."
Zhao Dong grinned. "Told you. Cuban might be a smart businessman, but he's not beating you if Stern's on your side."
The two shared a quick nod as the arena lights dimmed and the energy in Madison Square Garden reached a new level.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Madison Square Garden for the 1999 NBA Draft!" David Stern stepped onto the stage, his voice booming through the speakers.
After a quick two-minute welcome speech, the draft officially kicked off.
Behind the scenes, John Nash, general manager of the New Jersey Nets—holders of the No. 1 pick—handed the envelope to the staff.
Stern took it, cracked it open, and gave a sly smile before scanning the audience.
Elton Brand and Steve Francis, both top prospects, were visibly tense, eyes locked on the commissioner.
But Stern wasn't looking at them.
"With the first pick in the 1999 NBA Draft, the New Jersey Nets select... from Duke University... Yao Ming!"
The arena erupted in cheers.
Yao Ming pumped his fist in the air, standing tall and hugging his ecstatic parents and agent. He waved at Zhao Dong in the crowd, then turned to hug Brand and a few Duke teammates before heading to the stage.
The staff handed him a black Nets cap. He adjusted it onto his head and walked confidently toward Stern.
"Congratulations, Yao," Stern said with a warm smile. "I hope you follow in the footsteps of Zhao Dong and showcase your talent in this league."
"Thank you," Yao replied with a smile.
Offstage, the Memphis Grizzlies were visibly disappointed. Yao had been their top target. But they were prepared—they immediately wrote down Elton Brand and handed their envelope to the staff.
Meanwhile, tension grew in the Jazz war room.
They held the third pick. Yao Ming was gone. Brand was off the board.
Jazz GM Kevin O'Connor began to sweat. His second and third choices were both frontcourt guys. Losing both back-to-back was a gut punch.
Stern returned to the podium.
"With the second pick in the 1999 NBA Draft, the Memphis Grizzlies select... from Duke University... Elton Brand."
Brand exhaled deeply. He didn't get the top spot, but the No. 2 pick was no small prize.
Back in the Jazz camp, GM Kevin cursed under his breath.
Damn it!
He grabbed the pen, paused, and scribbled a name: Lamar Odom
Versatility was the name of the game. Zhao Dong had exposed the Jazz with his ability to play all five positions. Odom, a 6'10" point-forward who could run the floor, rebound, pass, and shoot—was the closest thing in the draft to that kind of utility.
With the third pick, Stern announced:
"From the University of Rhode Island... Lamar Odom!"
That bumped Odom up one spot from where he'd gone in Zhao Dong's past life. Originally drafted fourth, he was now headed to Salt Lake City.
The Clippers, next up with the fourth pick, were pissed.
They'd had their eye on Odom, banking on him slipping to them.
Frustrated, they pivoted quickly and wrote in a safer bet—one of the most respected scorers in college hoops.
"With the fourth pick in the 1999 NBA Draft, the Los Angeles Clippers select... from the University of Connecticut... Richard Hamilton!"
NBC's cameras panned to the table as Rip Hamilton hugged his mother, then confidently walked up to the stage.
The fifth pick belonged to the Toronto Raptors. Without hesitation, they selected Steve Francis.
The sixth pick was originally owned by the Charlotte Hornets, but their first-rounder had been traded to the Philadelphia 76ers in the Derrick Coleman deal. Philly then sent the pick to the Utah Jazz. It was a top-five protected pick—and just narrowly fell outside that protection—so Utah officially got the rights.
Jazz GM Kevin scribbled a name onto the draft card and passed it to the commissioner.
"Baron Davis."
Zhao Dong leaned back in his chair at Madison Square Garden and chuckled to himself.
"In my past life, Francis went second overall, and Baron went third. Now they've dropped to fifth and sixth? Tough luck, fellas."
The draft continued.
With the seventh pick, the Minnesota Timberwolves took Wally Szczerbiak.
The Washington Wizards selected Shane Battier at No. 8.
At No. 9, the Cleveland Cavaliers picked up Andre Miller.
Phoenix Suns chose Shawn Marion with the 10th pick.
The Atlanta Hawks went with Jason Terry at No. 11.
Then came the 12th pick—Utah's third selection in the first round.
Kevin had already added Lamar Odom and Baron Davis, strengthening both the interior and backcourt. Now, he wanted a forward. The league had witnessed how dominant wings like Larry Bird, Scottie Pippen, and now Zhao Dong had become. Teams needed that kind of two-way athleticism to keep up.
He scrawled another name:
Corey Maggette – a powerful, high-flying forward out of Duke.
Michael Jordan, seated near Zhao Dong, raised an eyebrow.
"Four outta five Duke guys going lottery? Damn—Duke's blowing up this year."
He didn't have to wait long for the fifth.
With the 14th pick, Minnesota circled back and selected William Avery, another Duke product.
Just like that, all five Duke prospects declared for the draft had landed in the lottery—exactly as analysts had predicted.
The draft marched on. At pick No. 16, the Seattle Supersonics selected Ron Artest.
As the first round wrapped up, the San Antonio Spurs selected Andrei Kirilenko with the 28th pick.
Then came the New York Knicks, sitting at No. 29.
Ernie Grunfeld reviewed the board and confidently wrote one name:
Manu Ginóbili.
Thanks to Zhao Dong's scouting report, the Knicks reached a full round earlier than history recorded. In Zhao's previous life, Manu had gone at the tail end of the second round. Not this time.
"Shit!"
Gregg Popovich, sitting in the Spurs' war room, nearly spat out his coffee.
He'd had his eye on the Argentine star for months. While NBA scouts were lukewarm—Ginóbili was tearing it up in Europe, but didn't have a name in the States—Pop saw a diamond in the rough. He was hoping to snag him quietly in the second round.
Too late now.
---
Far across the ocean in Europe, 22-year-old Manu Ginóbili stared wide-eyed at the TV.
He hadn't expected this. He'd declared for the draft, sure—but had no buzz stateside. Not many scouts took him seriously. And honestly, he wasn't in a rush. He was already a star in Europe, getting paid, playing big minutes, and dominating.
But now?
First-round pick.
Guaranteed contract.
The New York Knicks.
And Zhao Dong, the most electric player in the league, was there.
"I'm going to play with the God of Efficiency?" Manu whispered in Spanish, overwhelmed.
---
At Madison Square Garden, Zhao Dong had seen enough after the first round. With no hidden gems left in the second round this year, he knew it was time to bounce.
He rose from his seat, nodding at Jordan, who stood and followed.
The draft may have ended, but free agency and trade season were just beginning. The NBA's front offices were shifting into overdrive.
However, the luxury tax freeze period had kicked in. The league needed around 20 days to finalize next season's salary cap, which was based on a fixed income ratio. During this period, teams could negotiate—but couldn't make trades official until the freeze lifted.
---
June 29th.
Wang Zhizhi and Hu Weidong caught a flight back to China.
Meanwhile, Yao Ming and Bateer flew to Houston to train with Hakeem Olajuwon, preparing for their own NBA dreams.
Though formal trades were on hold, conversations across the league were heating up.
The Dallas Mavericks—despite an ownership shakeup and instability at the top—were actively working the phones. They were looking to make a move at the five.
Their current starting center, Shawn Bradley, still stood tall at 7-foot-6, the tallest in the league—taller than even Yao. But his production had dipped: just 8.6 points and 8 boards per game. Worse, his stamina and physicality were fading. He could barely log over 20 minutes a night.
They wanted to move on.
They had eyes on Wang Zhizhi.
The Mavericks valued his footwork and agility—Dazhi could stretch the floor, had a soft touch, and unlike Bradley, still had spring in his step. His coordination and low-post instincts were a solid match.
They put in a call to the Knicks.
"Bradley for Wang Zhizhi?"
Ernie Grunfeld nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
"Are they crazy?"
He pulled up the Mavericks' roster.
Michael Finley? Untouchable—he was Dallas' franchise player.
Anyone else?
Grunfeld's eyes settled on one name.
Dirk Nowitzki—No. 9 pick from last year. Still raw, but promising. He was averaging 8.4 points and 3.4 rebounds in 20 minutes per game. Stylistically, he was similar to Dazhi: a European stretch big with scoring upside.
"What about Nowitzki—and a bench player?" Grunfeld floated the idea.
Dallas immediately shut it down.
They weren't fools. Dirk was younger, had a similar skill set, and more importantly, he was their guy. A homegrown investment. Trading him for Dazhi made no sense in their eyes, especially when they believed he could become their franchise cornerstone.
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