049: The Autumn Wind Carries Restlessness and Anticipation (Please Follow for Updates!)

The giant LED screen in Times Square continued to flash Lin Chi’s colossal advertisements twenty-four hours a day, resembling an unquenchable neon lighthouse in the heart of the city.

From Tokyo’s Ginza to Paris’s Champs-Élysées, promotional posters of Lin Chi could be seen everywhere.

Television screens across the five continents continuously broadcasted commercials endorsed by Lin Chi.

Even the global realm of art films suddenly saw a surge in productions themed around basketball locker rooms.

Indeed, China had produced many Olympic champions, yet very few had ever claimed gold in a sport with such an intensely commercialized global footprint as basketball.

This made Lin Chi an extraordinary anomaly.

When the radiant halo of Olympic glory intersected with the immense market potentials of New York and China, the brand value generated by Lin Chi unleashed an astonishing multiplier effect.

As a sports superstar embodying both an Olympic gold medal and miraculous commercial success, he was reshaping the dimensions of modern marketing with omnidirectional exposure.

The products he endorsed not only swept across the North American and Asian athletic goods markets, but also triggered a worldwide consumer frenzy.

As the ultimate beneficiary, Reebok achieved a vertical surge in sales—soaring like a Saturn V rocket—fueled by the basketball legend's global influence.

This commercial penetrating power, capable of crossing cultural boundaries, stirred envy even among several superstars in the NBA, who whispered in awe of the "Lin Chi Effect."

Consequently, Lin Chi became the darling of the fans, yet he also began to transform into the enemy of certain players.

One should never underestimate the petty jealousy harbored by these towering giants.

After the trade falling through that would have swapped him with Lin Chi, Shaquille O'Neal ultimately headed to Miami. At the bustling welcoming ceremony hosted by the South Beach fans, upon receiving the key to the city from the mayor, Shaquille O'Neal declared that he would bring a championship trophy to Miami.

When asked who he considered the most promising rookie in the Eastern Conference, Shaquille O'Neal paused to ponder.

It was a standard yet highly anticipated question, for the Eastern Conference at present resembled a cauldron of venomous creatures.

Dwyane Wade, LeBron James, Carmelo Anthony, Lin Chi, Dwight Howard—these top-tier talents of a new era had inadvertently converged in the East, outlining the most suspenseful battle for a new crown in NBA history.

A bloody struggle among the young guns was inevitable; at least one of them would find it impossible to turn the tide in the East.

Thus, who would emerge as the ruler of the East had been a favorite topic of discussion among the media for weeks.

After a moment of thought, the Diesel gave his answer.

"Dwyane will be the ruler, Melo right behind him, and LeBron needs to prove himself. As for that Chinese kid?" The Diesel let out a cold snort from his nasal cavity. "He barely deserves to be ranked ahead of Dwight. After all, those fools in the Magic front office only draft softies."

This powder keg of a comment was no coincidence. When trade rumors first linked the Eastern player—uninitiated in the NBA—to the Diesel on equal terms, he had flown into a rage and shattered a locker room closet.

In his eyes, being placed on the Lakers' trading block was already the ultimate humiliation; that the trade target was a youngster who had never even stepped foot onto an NBA court felt like a desecration of the title "Most Dominant Center," leaving an unhealed scar upon Shaq’s dignity.

He was desperate to ruin that universally beloved bastard and prove to the world that he had not yet exited the conversation of the world's elite basketball players.

On the other side, LeBron James was undergoing an exclusive interview with *Sports Illustrated*, the main focus of which was the most disastrous Olympic campaign in the history of the Dream Team.

Normally, no player would be willing to discuss such a disgraceful episode.

Yet right at the onset of the interview, LeBron James drew a sharp line between himself and the failure: "Larry barely gave me any playing time. I felt I could help the team do something, but under his rotation strategy, there was nothing I could do."

Who could blame a man who wasn't allowed on the court?

He spoke at length about the Dream Team's discordant atmosphere, the chaotic system, and flawed strategies. From the fragmentation of team chemistry to the disorder of the tactical scheme, the superstar pointed his finger squarely at the operational mechanism of the entire organization.

Finally, the interview inevitably steered toward Lin Chi, the biggest winner of the Olympics, and Reebok, the brand Lin Chi endorsed.

The atmosphere on set instantly tightened as the reporter lobbed a sharp question.

"Have you ever wondered what kind of commercial miracle the two of you could have created if you had chosen Reebok last summer?"

Who would have guessed that LBJ's reply was even sharper.

"No, never crossed my mind. That would never happen."

"Are you saying you never considered Reebok's offer?"

"Yes, I don't like Reebok's shoes. A few years ago, Shawn Kemp, who was signed with Reebok, mentioned that the shoes they provided him broke down during games. I’ve also heard many people around the league call Reebok's shoes 'disposable stuff.'

I chose Nike because I like the company, because I grew up watching MJ wear Nike, and because I believe Nike delivers the best sneaker design. I chose them because I care more about who can help me preserve an important spiritual legacy, rather than just scheming to make as much money as possible."

This interview caused a massive uproar, for it was rare to see a superstar launch a direct public attack on a rival athletic brand.

In fact, this was not the first time LeBron James had been embroiled in brand controversies.

Last year, Stephon Marbury launched his own sneaker brand, "Starbury," targeting the low-end, affordable market. Because of the low price point, coupled with Marbury’s personal efforts to promote the shoes in local communities and campuses, sales for the footwear were explosive for a time.

Children in Black neighborhoods who could not afford Air Jordans could finally slip on a pair of Starburys and shed the stigma of being labeled "country bumpkins."

When reporters asked LeBron James for his thoughts on the craze surrounding "Starbury," he replied with a sneer: "I would never wear a twenty-dollar sneaker."

This cutting remark sparked intense controversy at the time, triggering a war of words between Marbury and LBJ. Marbury took the moral high ground to fiercely criticize the Chosen One from Cleveland: "Twenty dollars was grocery money for my family when I was growing up. I always keep poor people in mind, and that is my philosophy for making sneakers. I won't forget my roots after making money like certain people do."

Although Marbury fought back from the moral standpoint of "keeping the impoverished in his heart," three consecutive losses on the hardwood stripped him of any right to speak.

Indeed, facing an enemy who had insulted his personal brand, a scrub like Marbury hadn't managed to win a single game against LBJ.

After transferring to the Knicks, he lost all three matchups against the Cleveland Cavaliers led by the rookie LeBron, scoring a mere eight points in one of those games—heaven only knows what grudge the number eight held, as it always seemed to pop up in such embarrassing scenarios.

Having suffered defeat after defeat, Marbury had little left to say and could only let James insult his brand without any recourse.

Such was the world of competitive sports: only winners were entitled to speak loudly.

Still, Starbury was merely a minor brand built by the Son of New York himself; Reebok was entirely different. Though suppressed by Nike, they remained a heavyweight player in the athletic footwear industry.

LBJ firing shots at Starbury could be considered a counter-insurgency operation by Nike, but opening fire on Reebok was tantamount to instigating a world war.

Moreover, James's decision to point his spearhead at an industry giant, coupled with his subtle characterization of Lin Chi as "mercenary," created a dual resonance between the commercial value showdown of the two phenomenal young players and their rivalry on the court.

Despite outside speculation that these aggressive remarks stemmed from instructions given by Nike executives—perhaps demanding that LBJ repeatedly strike down rival brands as part of their corporate strategy, fulfilling his endorsement obligations—it was undeniable that LeBron James’s personal image had become deeply intertwined with brand strategy. Words spoken from LBJ’s mouth naturally represented LBJ himself.

Faced with such provocation, Reebok’s counterattack was swift. Unlike the cash-strapped Starbury, they were hardly going to stand by and be slaughtered.

They released a commercial featuring a bench player wearing a number 23 jersey, constantly chattering and complaining from the sidelines, while Lin Chi, standing at center court, spun a basketball on one finger and delivered a line with a disdainful gaze that ignited the entire nation: "Shut your mouth and come up here for a one-on-one."

This marketing counterpunch, hitting back with the opponent's own logic, cleverly echoed James's days spent warming the bench during the Olympics while translating the cutthroat corporate rivalry into a direct face-off on the basketball court.

The remote skirmish between the two athletic giants escalated intensely, their tit-for-tat marketing strategies seemingly infused with the fierce personal animosity of Phil Knight and Sonny Vaccaro.

The destined rivalry between LeBron and Lin Chi had quietly taken root in the hearts of global fans.

Though he had yet to officially land on an NBA court, this Chinese rookie would face the wrath of Shaquille O'Neal and the sharpness of LeBron James next season—two mountains he had to conquer standing right in his path toward legendary status.

Saddled with two adversaries for no apparent reason, Lin Chi felt quite helpless.

He had expected his old friend Darko Miličić to jump out and confront him face-to-face, but he never anticipated that the Diesel and LeBron would be the first to leap into the fray.

As the new season drew closer, the enthusiasm of the fans surged higher and higher.

The autumn wind in New York carried a sense of restlessness and anticipation, and the countdown to the new season intertwined shadows with hope above Madison Square Garden.

Renowned New York basketball commentator Stephen A. Smith opined: "Over the past three years, our payrolls have ranked first, second, and first in the league respectively, yet we can’t even make the playoffs. If even Lin Chi fails to end the franchise's streak of missing the postseason, then this team deserves to be permanently sealed on the pillar of shame in basketball history."

The playoffs—this was the first milestone the New York fans had set for Lin Chi.

Whether New York would be hell or heaven depended entirely on whether Lin Chi could fulfill the expectations of New Yorkers.

The two scales of this city's balance were distinct: heaven belonged to the savior who could deliver on promises, while hell was reserved for the failures who betrayed expectations.

Reaching the playoffs was no simple feat, for it meant Lin Chi had to drag the Knicks to at least twelve more wins.

Across the Eastern Conference landscape, the powerhouse quartet of the Pistons, Pacers, Heat, and Nets had already secured half the territory in advance, leaving effectively only four spots up for grabs.

Yet Lin Chi felt the greatest obstacle was not the overflowing talent of the East, but rather Isiah Thomas’s mind.

He had yet to figure out how a general manager with a sharp eye for the draft but a roster-building competence close to zero would alter the team.

Lin Chi understood that he was fighting not merely against the giant palms of O'Neal and the tomahawk drives of James, but also against the absurd decision-making of the front office.

The path to redemption in this basketball sanctuary was destined to be far more thorn-strewn than his journey beneath the five-ring flag.

Although Lin Chi had not yet established sufficient authority within the team and was maintaining a superficial peace with General Manager Isiah Thomas, he had already drawn a quiet red line: if front-office decisions threatened victory, he would undoubtedly launch a rebellion in a player's way.

Initially, the Knicks remained utterly inactive.

Trade rumors concerning Stephon Marbury had dragged on all summer, but due to his abysmal performance in the Olympics and his hefty annual salary of 14.63 million dollars, his trade value was remarkably low, leaving him un-traded to this day.

Meanwhile, Allan Houston sat on the bench slated to earn 17.53 million dollars next season while barely able to play, which meant the pathway for free-agent signings was firmly locked.

Yet what was bound to come would eventually arrive. Fortunately, the first trade executed by the Smiling Assassin was relatively normal.

Using Dikembe Mutombo as the primary asset, along with a few sweeteners, he acquired the talented Jamal Crawford and blue-collar forward Jerome Williams from Chicago.

This trade was initially viewed unfavorably by the outside world, with Stephen A. Smith practically losing his composure on air: "I don’t know what part of Isiah's anatomy he used to figure out that Jamal and Stephon could coexist in the backcourt! Good God, our Olympic champion might not even be able to touch the ball on the court!"

In reality, however, if next season's Knicks head coach Lenny Wilkens deployed Jamal Crawford as a sixth man off the bench, the trade turned out to be quite decent.

For his second transaction, he traded Vin Baker, Moochie Norris, and a 2006 second-round draft pick to the Houston Rockets in exchange for Maurice Taylor.

Lin Chi doubted Maurice Taylor could bring any substantive help to the squad, nor did he understand why the Assassin would surrender a draft pick for such a mediocre player; you could never truly fathom the wiring of the Assassin's brain.

At the very least, removing Vin Baker—the alcoholic—from the locker room counted as good news.

Thank heavens; having Stephon Marbury alone already made the locker room toxic enough.

Lin Chi certainly did not want to walk into the locker room every day greeted by the reek of alcohol.

Trades continued to unfold, and Lin Chi’s arrival brought certain alterations to the original timeline.

In this reality, defensive stalwart Nazr Mohammed—who in the original timeline had been shipped by the Smiling Assassin to the San Antonio Spurs in exchange for draft picks—managed to stay with the team. The Assassin firmly believed that retaining this type of rugged interior presence would help rebuild the franchise’s gritty nineties identity, aligning well with Lin Chi’s defensive ethos.

A shift likewise occurred for Tim Thomas. The 1997 seventh overall pick, once hailed as the "Next Kevin Garnett," completely lost his utility now that Lin Chi occupied the core role.

No matter how foolish the Smiling Assassin might be, he wasn't about to pay 12.90 million dollars for a guy to ride the bench.

He decisively initiated trade proceedings, attempting to swap him for someone more worthy of assisting Lin Chi.

Subtle changes were quietly fermenting in New York. As Tim Thomas’s trade negotiations entered the substantive phase, as the liquor inside the locker room was cleared out, and as chemistry-disrupting players like Vin Baker departed one after another, the playoffs genuinely seemed to be swinging their gates wide open.

Lin Chi observed these shifts, feeling both grateful for the front office's resolve in clearing out the environment and vigilant against the impending turbulence.

On the other side, Orlando was a land awaiting reconstruction.

Grant Hill was holding an autograph signing session alongside his Fila brand, announcing his return for the upcoming season.

Grant Hill stroked the microphone stamped with the Fila logo, his knuckles turning white from sheer pressure.

He gazed at the familiar faces of Orlando local reporters in the audience, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed the bitterness of four years plagued by injuries.

"The fans in this city..." His voice choked up abruptly, his fingertips swiftly wiping across the corners of his reddened eyes. "You have shown me far too much tolerance, and I have no way to repay it. I swear I will repay every single drop of sweat and pour everything I have into Orlando."

Scattered camera shutters clicked in the audience. Number 33, once hailed as Jordan's heir, had spent less time wearing a Magic jersey over the past four years than he had in hospital gowns—having appeared in a grand total of just 47 games for the franchise across the preceding four seasons.

At that moment, the sharp clicking sound of Grant Hill’s assistant Ron Barbie striking the floorboards with his leather dress shoes abruptly tore through the tender atmosphere.

Grant Hill was one of the rare NBA players who chose not to hire an agent, believing that paying commission to an agent was a poor investment.

Consequently, Ron Barbie served merely as a collaborator rather than taking a percentage of Grant Hill's contracts, charging an hourly rate instead.

Whenever attending commercial events, Grant Hill always loved bringing him along to handle various issues.

Known for his elegance, the renowned attorney bounded onto the podium in two strides, his crooked tie clinging to his sweat-moistened neck.

Sitting on the sofa, Hill instinctively leaned back, the microphone tilting dangerously in his palm as Ron Barbie’s breath, redolent of cigar smoke, puffed against his ear: "You've been traded!"

"What did you say?"

Grant Hill, who had just expressed his heartfelt devotion to Orlando, widened his eyes and cupped his hand over the microphone.

"You've been traded by the Magic!"

"Traded me at my own shoe launch? Where to?"

"New York! In exchange for Tim Thomas!"

Grant Hill stared down at the sneaker in his hand, feeling that less than thirty seconds had passed since he last believed there was any human warmth left in the NBA.