042: Top-Tier Talent in the American Mainland (Please Follow for Updates!)

Lin Qi, having become the number one overall pick as everyone expected, walked to the interview area amidst the cheers of Knicks fans.

His mind was a complete blank; he had even forgotten the details of shaking David Stern’s hand. He only knew that the moment his name was called, the system’s notification chime had exploded in his brain.

[As a 32-year-old veteran, you have finally become an NBA "old rookie" through continuous effort.] (It is quite normal for "old rookies" to exist; many international players do not sign contracts with NBA teams until their 30s, and the league considers them rookies nonetheless.)

[New Goal: Demonstrate your vitality as a rookie in front of fans and media, and make people forget you are already 32.]

[Reward: 50 Talent Points.]

Before Lin Qi could look into it further, Hubie Brown, one of the hosts of the draft broadcast, had already begun interviewing him.

"Congratulations, Lin Qi. As early as a year ago, there was media speculation that you might become the 2004 number one pick. Now that it’s finally come true, what do you have to say?"

"I can only say that all of the process was worth it."

"The Spanish media, *Marca*, said that your feat of winning the European Championship to conquer Barcelona was like Philip V, Charlemagne, and Caesar. What is your take on that?"

Lin Qi’s tongue tasted the salty, sea-breeze-like memories of Europe. He felt immense pride in his heart regarding everything in Europe, but having just arrived in North America, he intended to be modest.

"I am still young, and I haven't done enough yet. But precisely because I am still young, I will create even more in the NBA."

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the young Caesar! He can’t wait to conquer the world in the NBA!"

Lin Qi’s answer was standard; he didn’t deliberately say anything to satisfy the "demonstrate vitality" task. In fact, in his state of extreme excitement, he had completely forgotten he even had a system task.

Yet, the system notification popped up suddenly.

[As a 32-year-old old rookie, you have successfully displayed the vigor and vitality of a young man.]

[Goal completed: 50 Talent Points rewarded.]

Lin Qi: ???

I didn’t even see the task clearly, and the reward is already credited?

Sure enough, a young man's vigor doesn't need to be faked.

Lin Qi truly hoped there would be more tasks like this in the future—things that old timers find difficult to complete, but which come naturally to the young.

For instance: At 3:00 AM at a post-game party, while facing a one-on-one "hand-to-hand" combat scenario, still remaining full of life and exploring the wettest parts of New York City.

With this reward, combined with the previous "Revenge on Barcelona" task, Lin Qi now had a total of 252 Talent Points.

This was enough for Lin Qi to comfortably upgrade himself the next time the store refreshed—James Johnson’s MMA talent was certainly great, but right now, Lin Qi needed to rapidly increase his immediate combat effectiveness, so he would have to wait for the store to refresh some genuine basketball talents.

After the first round of the draft concluded, all the lottery picks took photos with David Stern.

Once these proceedings were over, Lin Qi walked through the bustling hallways of Madison Square Garden and finally stepped into the Knicks' suite, meeting the "Smiling Assassin" who had been pulling the strings all along.

Isiah Thomas, dressed in a sharp suit, opened his arms to welcome him. This man, once hailed as the "God of Point Guards," leaned half his weight onto Lin Qi, even imitating the way he had kissed Magic Johnson in the eighties, pressing his cologne-scented lips firmly onto Lin Qi’s cheek.

This excessive enthusiasm made Lin Qi slightly uncomfortable, but the Smiling Assassin believed this gesture would quickly bridge the distance between them.

As a member of the team’s management, the Smiling Assassin’s career was undoubtedly a failure. Whether during his time with the Raptors or the Knicks, it was a disaster that tarnished his professional reputation.

Therefore, he needed someone to help him break his career bottleneck. Lin Qi was that person. He believed he and Lin Qi were in the same boat, their fates bound together.

Lin Qi would fight for him, just as Tracy McGrady once had. During their time in Toronto, McGrady had once looked upon the Smiling Assassin as a father figure.

The Assassin was clearly immersed in his own script, as if this re-enacted kiss, spanning thirty years, could erase his poor decisions in Toronto and his checkered history in New York.

But he overlooked two points.

First: Everyone’s fate is independent; you cannot bind anyone.

Second: Lin Qi was more mature than McGrady in his rookie season and did not like to go around calling people "father" at will.

"Welcome to New York, Lin Qi," the Assassin finally moved his hands off Lin Qi. "I believe the team can return to the playoffs under your leadership, and perhaps even enter the ranks of championship contenders within the next few years. All of my operations will fully support you in achieving this goal."

"Our cooperation will be pleasant, Isiah."

"For the next little while, you should get some good rest and familiarize yourself with New York City. Of course, don’t forget to keep training; you have the Summer League to play. Coincidentally, our first opponent in the Summer League is the Orlando Magic. You know, number one pick versus number two pick, you versus Dwight Howard. This Summer League game, which will be broadcast nationally, is your first battle to make a name for yourself in North America."

"I’ll handle it."

The Smiling Assassin liked Lin Qi’s simplicity and directness; this kid was as calm as a professional hitman.

After the meeting ended, Misko and Lin Qi boarded that high-profile Rolls-Royce Phantom to return to the hotel. In the car, he asked Lin Qi, "What do you think of the man controlling the fate of New York basketball?"

"I don't know. He seems to want to appear very close to me, but we aren't familiar with each other at all."

The agent handed over a bottle of chilled soda: "Because he needs you. If the Knicks don't improve, his career is over."

Lin Qi looked at the dazzling neon lights of Fifth Avenue, saw his own giant poster, leaned against the glass, and murmured softly, "I will make the championship confetti rain down in Madison Square Garden again, but my mission is not to fight for him."

"By the way, for the Athens Olympics, the Chinese Basketball Association needs you to wear the red jersey. Are you going?"

"Why not? Reebok also wants me to go."

"But they hope you will consider skipping the Summer League to report to the national team training camp on time and practice with the team as early as possible."

"Tell those bureaucrats: either they wait for me, or they go to Athens by themselves."

Of course, they would wait for him; they had no choice. If they went to the Olympics without the NBA number one draft pick and the results were disastrous, many people would lose their jobs.

What Wang Zhizhi couldn't do, Lin Qi could, because he had the strength that granted him privileges.

Misko watched Lin Qi, feeling that his future work would be much easier. Neither the web of power intricately woven by Isiah Thomas nor the golden shackles forged by collectivism could bind Lin Qi.

Lin Qi’s mind was always clear, so he would never make any foolish "Decision 1," "Decision 2," or "Decision 3" in his future career to complicate Misko's job.

In the following days, the entire United States set its sights on the upcoming Orlando Summer League. Lin Qi and the other rookies attended the league’s rookie transition program; given the increasing number of high schoolers entering the league, such courses were deemed necessary.

During the tactical fundamentals training, Lin Qi met Spurs video analyst Sam Presti. Lin Qi wanted to bring him onto his private team, but Presti did not intend to give up his job with the Spurs.

"If you need it, I can provide you with some game analysis reports privately," Sam said, showing great friendliness.

The training course ended quickly, and in the blink of an eye, the rookies had to throw themselves into the Summer League.

On game day, the media section at the Amway Center was packed; the press had built a front line of long lenses and cameras—this battle between Lin Qi and Dwight Howard, the number one and number two picks, was destined to be the litmus test for the quality of international basketball talent.

This was the first time Lin Qi would face truly top-tier domestic American talent.

Almost all media had a consensus—if not for Lin Qi, Dwight Howard would certainly have been the number one pick; that was an affirmation of his talent.

Everyone had heard the legends of Lin Qi, but could he really suppress top-tier American talent on the court? The American players Lin Qi had faced in Europe before, such as Maceo Baston, were merely "defective goods" that had lost out in the competition on American soil.

Dwight Howard was different; he had formidable ability.

An Orlando fan said it well during an interview: "It’s not that we don’t trust Lin Qi; we just want to broaden our horizons and see exactly how good Lin Qi is."

The game was about to begin, and the fans at the Amway Center were already restless.

Dwight Howard stood at the center circle, laughing as he hugged Lin Qi. The veins on his bulging, muscular arms stood out, revealing the fighting spirit of a beast ready to pounce; he was raring to go.

The referee tipped the ball, and the Knicks gained possession.

Lin Qi did not post up in the paint like a traditional big man; instead, he caught the ball outside the three-point line. The man marking Lin Qi was not Dwight Howard, but Andrew DeClercq, a white forward who had played as a backup for the Magic last season and was now fighting for his next contract.

Lin Qi drove with the ball. DeClercq only felt a gust of wind sweep past his ears; Lin Qi had already crushed his defensive radius like a heavy tank. His body and speed were completely overwhelmed; he was no better than those European forwards.

When Lin Qi drove into the paint, Howard finally woke from his dream and rushed to help on defense. Clearly, this high school prodigy’s ability to read the game still needed improvement; he helped too late—he might as well have just stood there and watched Lin Qi dunk.

By the time Howard raised his arms, Lin Qi had already leaped high.

This super-prodigy, who had dominated the high school basketball scene, was helpless against Lin Qi’s equally terrifying vertical leap and stronger physique. He could only watch as the number 10 of the Knicks rode over his head to complete the dunk, allowing him to produce his first poster-worthy highlight since landing in North America.

"BOOM!"

The sound of the metal rim and the friction of sneakers intertwined in an earth-shaking blast.

The Orlando fans had their horizons broadened, and Dwight Howard could no longer laugh.

Top-tier domestic American talent, it seemed, was nothing more than this.