NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

November 1. The bilateral negotiations continued.

At exactly 9:00 a.m., Lindsay returned to Storm headquarters, sharp as ever. Her first order was direct and firm:

"Adidas, Reebok, and Puma can move now. Activate the bet agreement."

She and Zhao Dong had already agreed—those companies should no longer be acquired outright. Buying them would trigger anti-monopoly regulations. Keeping them as competitors, however, would be far more strategic.

Each of these companies had been sold with financial landmines embedded—massive derivative assets just waiting to explode. Now that the U.S. stock market had slid into bear territory, it was the perfect moment to detonate those traps. A collapse in Adidas and the rest would allow Nike and Zhao Dong's Sports to step in and seize market share like a breakaway dunk.

Just thirty minutes later, Lindsay—now sitting at the helm of Tianlong Investment Bank—dropped a bombshell.

Tianlong Investment Bank was raising $500 billion in closed-end funds in the U.S., to be invested directly in China.

The scale blew past all prior estimates. Why? Because this wasn't just about raising money—it was a coordinated strike, perfectly timed with the ongoing negotiations. To sway American capital, they had to go big.

Since the recruitment plan had tripled in size, they also needed to expand U.S. fundraising quotas. Without it, Lindsay wouldn't be able to pull in enough funds globally.

At the press conference, she didn't mince words. "We remain bearish on the U.S. stock market, but long-term bullish on China's economic development."

That single line exploded like a headline slam dunk. U.S. markets opened with a massive 165-point gap, crashing through the 5,000-point threshold. Sell orders flooded in. Even with support from bullish funds, the momentum was clearly turning.

This time, Lindsay wasn't personally shorting the market. The decline wasn't due to her direct selling—but the market's own judgment.

Massive amounts of capital began fleeing U.S. stocks. Some of it, ironically, belonged to investors now being recruited by Tianlong.

Unlike Baobao Investment, which raised capital publicly, Tianlong operated by invitation only. No circus. No crowds. Only elite, handpicked funds were invited to the table. A small share of them came from Wall Street giants—but most were America's top-tier financial groups with aligned visions.

With Lindsay leading the wave, these conglomerates took synchronized action: they cashed out of U.S. stocks. Part of it was defensive—padding their cash positions for a rough bear market. But the deeper motive? Freeing up liquidity to join Tianlong's juggernaut.

Their selloffs became Lindsay's indirect ammo to hammer the stock market. She didn't need chips of her own—she weaponized theirs.

The mass unloading triggered a domino effect. Bigger sell orders followed. The market turned stormy, dark clouds gathering overhead. The U.S. stock market spiraled, with no brakes in sight.

"President, no one's biting on our short orders," Lindsay's Storm assistant reported during a break in the negotiations.

She gave a sharp, knowing nod. "That means the bulls and bears have come to an agreement. The bulls are dead. The bear market is in full effect."

That evening, she stayed late at Storm. Zhao Dong visited her at the Chinese consulate.

President Zhu happened to spot him and quickly pulled him aside.

"The Americans are playing hardball. They want us to concede more. Liu Wei has her own idea, but I wanted your take."

Zhao Dong's expression remained calm, but his tone was ice cold, precise—like a mid-range jumper off the glass.

"President Zhu, if the U.S. stock market crashes hard, it benefits us. Their funds will need a new home, and China will be that home. With our own lobbyists working the background, I say we hold our ground. Stand tall. Better terms are coming."

Zhu nodded slowly, exhaling.

"If we crack open even a small breach in the American front, it'll inspire other negotiating parties too. Let's aim for that."

Then he smiled slightly, gesturing to Zhao Dong and Lindsay.

"You two have made massive contributions—to Tianlong, to Hong Kong, and to the strategic U.S. tech and industrial assets Storm now controls. The country owes you its thanks."

Those company shares? All core tech and industrial equipment companies. High-value assets. Eventually, they would be transferred to China's national group corporations. But for now, with no state capital available, they were held under Zhao Dong and Lindsay's names.

That made them unofficial stewards of nearly $20 billion.

Zhao Dong grinned.

"President Zhu, my grandparents sacrificed their lives for China. They didn't do that so their grandson could become the richest man in the world. They did it so this country could stand tall and never be bullied again."

"So what if I lose a little money? Compared to my grandfather's lost arm—this is nothing. If the nation needs help someday, Liu Wei and I will donate every cent. Gladly."

Zhu looked at him for a long moment, then nodded with conviction.

After he left, Zhao Dong turned to Lindsay and said softly, "Eve, I just spoke for both of us without asking. You okay with that?"

Lindsay gave a sly smile.

"As a speculator, there's no difference between my money and someone else's. All of it's under my control anyway. Honestly, I don't care what's in my pocket."

Zhao Dong couldn't help but laugh.

What Lindsay said made sense.

Even after transferring those key U.S. tech and industrial stocks to state-owned group companies in China, Tianlong Investment Bank continued to manage them behind the scenes. The distinction was subtle but crucial—this wasn't short-term speculation anymore. It was long-term national investment.

And for Lindsay, the numbers didn't matter the way they used to. With her global influence in the financial world, she could raise hundreds of billions with just a statement. Twenty billion? That was pocket change.

Now, her attention had shifted beyond individual wealth. She had her eyes locked on China's entire economic future. Her pockets were just numbers. The real prize was power—and control.

---

Tuesday, November 2 – Opening Night of the 1999-2000 NBA Season

The new NBA season tipped off under the bright lights of Madison Square Garden. The defending champion New York Knicks were set to battle their old rivals, the Miami Heat, in the league's premiere opening night slot.

Zhao Dong. Wang Zhizhi. Hu Weidong.

All three Chinese stars were slated to play today. Chinese fans were locked in, televisions blaring from Beijing to Shanghai.

NBC carried the opening game live across the United States.

Inside the booth, Marv Albert and Bill Walton were in midseason form.

"The Heat owner, Micky Arison, is worth billions," Walton said, warming up before tip. "But he barely touched the roster this offseason. Meanwhile, the Knicks—man, they got gutted. Over 60% of last year's title squad is gone. They lost depth inside, lost shooting outside… But you still can't sleep on the Knicks."

Marv chuckled. "Yesterday, the U.S. stock market crashed through the 5,000 mark, closing at 4,880—a brutal 4.5% drop. Nearly triggered a circuit breaker. And today? Another 129-point drop. Closed at 4,751. That's an 8% nosedive in just two days. Trillions in value—gone."

"Carnage," Walton added with a grin. "And Heat owner Micky Arison's Carnival Cruise stock? Down 11% in 48 hours. That's tens of billions wiped off the books. He might tighten the purse strings on the Heat."

---

VIP Lounge, Madison Square Garden

Heat owner Micky Arison sat next to Knicks owner James Doland. Both were glued to the TV as their names got casually roasted on national television by Walton and Marv.

They exchanged tired smiles.

Both were major players in the U.S. stock market. And both had just taken a financial beating. They'd missed the warning signs before the crash—and this time, the market turned savage.

Sure, Wall Street had pumped the brakes and helped rally the market back above 5,000, but not every stock had recovered. Arison's Carnival stock and Doland's media empire were still deep in the red. The total damage? Over $10 billion between them.

Even worse—both had been warned.

Zhao Dong and Lindsay had sounded the alarm weeks ago. Arison had even asked Lindsay directly. But neither man had listened.

Now, Doland leaned in.

"Micky, think we could sneak into Storm's recruitment pool? Maybe Lindsay left a back door open."

Arison raised a brow. Doland shook his head.

"Storm's round is done. According to Zhao Dong, Tianlong's fundraising is invite-only. We're not on the list. We're not the capital they want."

Arison frowned. "So we've got nothing?"

Doland gave a hollow laugh. "Let's be real. Storm's basically Quantum Fund 2.0—I wasn't chasing that. But Tianlong? That's another beast. They want first-tier consortiums, real economic players. We don't meet the bar."

"Even the Spurs' owner might have a better shot," he added. "He builds tractors, he's got tech, engines. They want industry. We sell cruises and TV time."

The conversation died right there.

---

8:10 PM – Starting Lineups Announced

Miami Heat:

C: Luc Longley

PF: Alonzo Mourning

SF: Jamal Mashburn

SG: Voshon Lenard

PG: Tim Hardaway

New York Knicks:

C: Zhao Dong

PF: Danny Fortson

SF: Latrell "Madman" Sprewell

SG: Jerry Stackhouse

PG: Manu Ginóbili

---

Inside the CCTV broadcast booth, veteran commentator Zhang Heli laughed.

"Old Don Nelson is fearless. He just made rookie Ginóbili the starting point guard!"

His new partner, Su Qun, was visibly excited—his first time calling a game on-site.

"Three guards in the starting five… All of them need the ball. One ball might not be enough!"

Zhang chuckled. "If Zhao Dong's on the floor, there's no such problem. He touches the ball first, second, and last. This is his team. The Knicks aren't like other squads. He runs that locker room. Anyone challenging him for touches? They're either riding pine or getting traded by Tuesday."

Su Qun blinked, then nodded repeatedly. "That's… Yeah, that's fair."

The player tunnel had been revamped.

Walls once dark and lifeless were now decorated with slick murals, illuminated by rows of warm bulbs. The dim past was gone—this was Madison Square Garden, the home of champions.

Zhao Dong stood quietly in the tunnel, just a meter from Alonzo Mourning. He studied the Heat big man with cool detachment.

He knew the truth.

This was Mourning's final season as a dominant force. The kidney issues would hit next year. The fade would begin. He'd fall from the elite tier of centers.

Mourning caught Zhao Dong's gaze. Cold. Detached. It pierced like a dagger through his pride.

He raised his chin with defiance—chest out, nostrils flared—as if trying to reclaim dignity with posture.

Zhao Dong gave a lazy smirk.

"Trying to flash your nostrils at the sun? Doesn't your neck hurt?"

"Pfft!"

Laughter broke out from the Knicks starters behind him.

Mourning's face turned red with embarrassment.

"What's it got to do with you?" he snapped.

Five minutes later…

NBA Commissioner David Stern walked onto center court to present the Knicks with their 1999 championship rings.

Barkley's laugh boomed like a bass drum.

"Hahahaha! I'm a champion! Finally!"

He held the ring aloft like it was the Holy Grail.

Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow, eyeing Barkley's sausage-thick fingers.

"You sure that'll fit?"

"Hmm…"

Barkley hesitated, then forced the ring on. It was tight. Uncomfortably so. When he tried to pull it off, it wouldn't budge.

"…."

The big man froze, looking stunned.

The room exploded in laughter.

"I swear—I'm gonna lose weight!" Barkley shouted, flailing his stuck hand.

---

8:30 PM – Tip-off

Fortson outjumped Mourning for the opening tip, and just like that, the 1999–2000 NBA season was underway.

"Zhao Dong is heading straight for the low block!"

Bill Walton's voice lit up on NBC.

"Looks like he's officially moving to the interior this season. That's a relief for the rest of the league. No more 250-pound freight trains crashing in from the three-point line!"

Zhao Dong squared up against Mourning on the right block. Fortson dragged Luc Longley out of the paint. Sprewell, Ginobili, and Stackhouse spread to the arc, clearing the lane.

Despite having a strength advantage, Zhao Dong didn't try to bully Zo. Instead, he used his speed.

One jab step. A shoulder fake. Then a quick burst to the baseline—he was gone.

Sprewell, aka "Madman," spotted the cut and lobbed it.

BOOM!

Zhao Dong soared and hammered a one-handed alley-oop dunk through the rim. Garden shook.

"OH BABY!" Marv Albert bellowed.

"The first bucket of the new season is an alley-oop SLAM by Zhao Dong!"

"That's how you light the fire!" Walton exclaimed.

"While Shawn Kemp fades from the skies, Zhao Dong is still playing like a caged beast off the leash!"

---

Heat ball.

Tim Hardaway snaked through traffic and hit a quick pull-up jumper from the elbow.

Knicks respond.

Zhao Dong pulled out to receive the ball near the three-point line. Fortson suddenly burst past Longley toward the rim.

Zhao Dong saw the lane, lobbed it—

SLAM!

Another alley-oop. This time, Fortson detonated it.

"YEAH YEAH YEAH!" The MSG courtside announcer roared.

"That's back-to-back alley-oops for the Knicks! New York might just rename itself Alley-Oop City!"

---

Heat possession.

Mourning caught it deep on the right block. He tried backing Zhao Dong down—no dice. He spun into a hook shot.

Swat!

Zhao Dong sent it flying.

Ginobili grabbed the rebound and took off like a bullet. Sprewell and Stackhouse flanked him on the wings.

Ginobili tossed a one-hand lead pass to Sprewell. Sprewell zipped to the left, drawing the defense, then kicked it back across court—

Stackhouse caught it, faked, drove baseline, and—

"BANG!"

A vicious tomahawk dunk sent Madison Square Garden into hysteria.

"That's three dunks in three possessions!" Marv shouted.

"The Knicks are putting on a show!"

---

Back to the Heat.

Hardaway found Leonard on the wing for a jumper—bucket.

Knicks again.

Fortson drifted high. Longley didn't follow.

Zhao Dong set up on the left block, drawing a double team. He spotted Ginobili slicing in from the weak side and zipped a bounce pass through the gap.

Ginobili caught it in stride—rose—

"BOOM!"

A two-handed dunk over Longley.

"GREAT CUT by the rookie!" Su Qun shouted on the CCTV broadcast.

"This game is insane!"

Zhang Heli chuckled.

"Everyone says the Knicks lost too many players. But you can't measure chemistry or pace with a roster chart."

"There are 82 games. Let's not rush judgment. But one thing's clear—Ginobili's got the juice. He's crafty, can shoot, and he's fearless on D. Stackhouse and Sprewell are scorers. The Knicks backcourt this year is a real offensive machine."

---

Heat miss.

Another fast break. Zhao Dong fired a pinpoint full-court pass to Stackhouse in transition.

Stackhouse drove hard, pulled defenders, then dished to Sprewell cutting from the left.

Sprewell caught, hesitated, pump-faked the closeout, then stopped and popped from mid-range—

Swish.

"Smooth." Bill Walton nodded.

"The Knicks are cooking on both ends. Zhao Dong and Fortson are controlling the paint. And their three guards? Absolute lightning in transition."

Matt Goukas added,

"But there's a caveat—these are all on-ball guards. At some point, they'll need one or two to adapt, play off-ball, or even move to the second unit to boost the bench."

Walton agreed.

"Exactly. Look at the bench now—Barkley, Kevin Willis, and Gary Trent bring toughness inside, but the perimeter's thin. They're missing reliable firepower off the bench compared to last year."

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