After locking in Jokić, Chen Yilun wasted no time diving into the next meeting.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Just send the contract straight to my house!"
Rudy Gay lounged carelessly on the conference room sofa, complaining loudly.
"I was all set for my vacation in Rio, and now I can't even leave!"
"Almost done! Just finish this up and you're free to go."
Seeing Gay act like a big kid, Chen Yilun chuckled, then sat back at the negotiation table, exchanging glances with Gay's clearly exhausted agent.
"Come on, sit down already! We've all still got a ton to deal with. The sooner we wrap this up, the happier we'll all be."
Chen Yilun motioned for Gay to return to his seat.
"So, old-timer, how many years are you thinking for this new deal?"
Gay slowly sauntered back to the table.
"How about five years?"
"Five years? You serious?"
Chen Yilun laughed. "You're turning 31 soon. Why would I give you a five-year deal?"
As he aged, Gay's athleticism had naturally declined. Signing a long-term contract now would just turn into a financial burden later.
"How about this," Chen Yilun said, glancing down at the report in front of him.
"I'll sign you to a 1+1 deal this year. Then when it's done, we'll... you know."
He winked at Gay as he spoke.
What Chen meant was clear—a subtle hint at an under-the-table agreement.
Such "under-the-table deals" referred to arrangements between players and teams that went beyond what was written in the contract.
Chen's meaning was simple: sign a short-term 1+1 deal now for a reasonable amount, giving him more flexibility for future moves. Then, once it expired, he'd reward Gay with a long-term contract as payback—a comfortable deal to end his career on.
Of course, these kinds of deals were strictly forbidden in the league. If caught, teams could face massive fines and lose draft picks. Ever since the Timberwolves' infamous "shadow contract" scandal in the '90s, everyone had avoided mentioning such deals in public.
But really—what owner would give up such a convenient tool?
So while no new "shadow contracts" had surfaced in years, everyone in the league knew the old foxes still quietly played that game.
Hearing Chen's words, Gay grinned knowingly.
"Deal."
He nodded. "At this stage of my career, I wasn't looking for anything big anyway. Having a good place to finish things up sounds great to me."
"Then it's settled."
Chen Yilun laughed and the two began hammering out the numbers.
...
In that tense, nonstop atmosphere, time flew to July 1st.
The Kings' offices were packed, people moving back and forth preparing for the 12 p.m. signing window.
"Yeah, don't worry about a thing. I'd never lie to you."
Chen Yilun sat alone in his office, phone pressed to his ear, talking to Buford.
"That move to re-sign CJ? That was just to get those old foxes to take their eyes off Jokić. Go ahead and make your offer—I won't match it."
Buford's laughter boomed through the line.
"You're getting sneakier by the day, kid. Almost had me fooled. I thought I'd come up empty-handed, but this twist—gotta admit, it's a pleasant surprise."
"But Coach," Chen said, his tone turning serious. "CJ's a good kid. I'm letting him go because I trust you. Don't screw this up."
"Please," Buford scoffed. "When it comes to developing players, you learned everything from us. He'll be fine."
As the clock struck twelve, under the flashing lights of cameras, players across several rooms signed their names.
Minutes later, Woj's Twitter exploded like a machine gun—post after post firing out updates.
"The Sacramento Kings have officially re-signed Nikola Jokić to a five-year, $121 million deal, with the final year as a player option."
"The Sacramento Kings have re-signed Rudy Gay to a two-year, $14.5 million deal, structured as a 1+1 player option."
"The Sacramento Kings have re-signed Josh Richardson to a four-year, $45 million deal, with the final year non-guaranteed."
In an instant, the Kings became the center of league-wide attention.
But some sharp-eyed fans noticed one glaring omission: the name of last season's starting point guard, CJ McCollum, was nowhere to be seen.
"We've been duped!"
In the Knicks' office, the Zen Master shut off his phone and slumped in his chair, a hint of defeat in his eyes.
"Boss! More updates!"
His assistant, eyes glued to his phone, called out.
"The New Orleans Pelicans just re-signed Jrue Holiday to a five-year, $175 million contract!"
"$175 million?"
The Zen Master froze for a moment, then sneered.
"Trajan sure isn't afraid to spend."
Then, as if something clicked, a dangerous glint flashed across his usually calm face.
Chen Yilun... Alvin Gentry!
They say when the big boss falls, the followers scramble. When Popovich's banner came down, I thought the Spurs' network would fade away. But you little upstarts—you're still colluding behind the scenes!
The Pelicans' rush to re-sign Holiday was proof enough. Gentry must have gotten word from Chen Yilun—that's why he moved so fast.
Not only did he lock down a former All-Star guard, but he also helped drive up CJ's market value in the process.
"Impressive move," the Zen Master muttered as he rose, pacing with his hands clasped behind his back.
"Tell the team to drop everything else. Go all-in on CJ."
"Huh?"
The assistant blinked, thinking he'd misheard.
"Why, boss? Going after CJ now will throw us right into a bidding war with those other GMs!"
"That's exactly the point."
The Zen Master nodded with a thin smile.
"We're going to stir the waters."
"Knowing those stubborn Spurs guys," he continued with a touch of mischief,
"I'd bet they already know Chen Yilun won't re-sign CJ—and they've probably even decided internally who'll get him."
"We'll be the catfish," he said with a faint grin.
"Whoever wants CJ? I'm going to help them make it interesting."
"Think you can get him cheap? Dream on."