Whenever Li Fei, Sprewell, and the other starting regulars went to the bench for a rest, Jackson would naturally take over control of the ball.
He possessed exceptional ball-handling and driving ability. His long arms and unpredictable changes of rhythm from street basketball allowed him to tear through opposing second-unit defenses with ease.
Even more valuable was that he could not only score himself, but also possessed excellent court vision.
While driving, he could accurately find Donyell Marshall waiting in the corner, or deliver a clever bounce pass to a teammate cutting into the paint.
As long as he was on the court, the Knicks' second unit would never suffer the embarrassment of a stagnant offense.
What was more, Jackson was just as intimidating on the defensive end.
At 2.03 meters tall, he was powerfully built, quick on his feet, fiercely competitive, and carried a ruthless, unrestrained edge deep in his bones.
On defense, he was a universal adhesive patch in Van Gundy's hands.
Whenever the opposing team's primary perimeter scorer caught fire, Van Gundy would always wave a hand and send Jackson in to hound him relentlessly.
Whether facing a shooting guard or a small forward, Jackson could completely disrupt his opponent's rhythm with his aggressive physical defense and nonstop trash talk.
Within the Knicks' lineup, Jackson's importance was no less than that of a starter.
He was the bridge connecting the starters and reserves, Li Fei's most trusted armed guard whenever he rested on the bench, and the toughest piece of armor on this luxurious warship.
At that moment, inside a luxury apartment on Manhattan's Upper East Side in New York.
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows lay a dazzling city nightscape. The Hudson River shimmered beneath the moonlight, reflecting the city's prosperity and clamor.
Stephen Jackson sat on an