New York, Chattanooga Training Center.
At 7:45 in the morning, Li Fei's black Mercedes-Benz drove into the underground parking garage.
The moment the car came to a stop, he spotted the old Ford Explorer beside it—Sabonis's car. The Lithuanian was always the first to arrive, a habit he had never changed in twelve NBA seasons.
Li Fei carried his training bag into the locker room, where things were already lively.
Sprewell sat in front of his locker, his left foot propped on a bench as he tied his shoelaces.
Allan Houston was stretching in the corner with jazz playing through his headphones. Donyell Marshall was discussing last night's playoff game with Stephen Jackson—Game 5 of the Western Conference Finals, where the Houston Rockets had lost to the Lakers at home and fallen behind 3-1 in the series.
"The Rockets lost." Jackson looked up when he saw Li Fei enter. "The Lakers won by six. Shaq had 35 points and 18 rebounds."
Li Fei nodded without speaking. He set his training bag in front of his locker and began changing.
Sprewell finished tying his shoes, stood up, and patted Li Fei on the shoulder. "So our opponent will be either the Lakers or the Rockets. Who do you want to play?"
"Doesn't matter." Li Fei pulled on his practice jersey, his voice as calm as if he were talking about the weather. "We'll beat either one."
The locker room went quiet for a second, and then everyone laughed. Not the perfunctory kind of laugh, but the kind that said, He's right.
Van Gundy's office was on the second floor overlooking the practice court, with a glass window that gave him a view of the entire floor. He sat at his desk with a stack of scouting reports spread before him—one for