The day after All-Star Weekend ended, Lin Qi called Chris Ford, the entire coaching staff, and several of the team's core players into the general manager's office.
He offered no superficial criticism of January's losing streak. Lin Qi walked straight to the tactical whiteboard, picked up a black marker, and wrote three mandatory rules for the stretch run across the top.
The first rule concerned limits on Dominique Wilkins's playing time.
As Lin Qi read it aloud, Wilkins's brow instantly furrowed.
His playing time in each game would be strictly limited to around 30 minutes.
In the second game of a back-to-back, he could play no more than 24 minutes.
If either knee or his lower back showed any clear signs of strain, he had to request an immediate substitution.
"30 minutes?!" Wilkins's voice instantly dropped. The gloom of missing the All-Star selection had yet to lift, and Lin Qi's plan to cut his minutes had undoubtedly struck the most sensitive nerve of this superstar nearing the end of his career. "Lin Qi, do you think I'm too old to play now, too? You want me to give up my touches?!"
The atmosphere in the office abruptly grew heavy. Coach Ford clasped his hands together a little nervously, but Lin Qi remained calm. He walked up to Wilkins and looked this long-established superstar scorer directly in the eye.
"Dominique, let me ask you just one question. Did you come to Boston this year to score 40 points against some lottery-bound bottom-feeder on the road in the regular season, just to shut those tabloid reporters up?"
Something shifted in Wilkins's eyes, and he did not immediately argue.
"Or," Lin Qi continued more slowly, every word carrying weight, "would you rather finish an opponent off yourself on the most critical, do-or-die possession of the playoffs, in front of everyone who doubts you and thinks you're washed up?"
Lin Qi rested a hand on Wilkins's shoulder. "The young guys on this team can help you shoulder the physical toll of the regular season and the pressure to win. But when the playoffs come and we need a superstar to deliver the decisive blow, this team has to rely on you. Limiting your minutes is about letting you perform well in April. You aren't here to play the regular season, Dominique. You're here to play the playoffs."
Wilkins stared at Lin Qi. This practical explanation, with its clear strategic purpose of protecting him, gave the veteran superstar all the respect and room to back down that he deserved.
After a long silence, Wilkins slowly leaned back in his chair and forced out a few words. "...Once the playoffs start, you'd better give me enough touches. Otherwise..."
"You have my word." Lin Qi smiled.
The second rule concerned Sam Cassell: clearly defining his responsibility for initiating the offense as its primary playmaker.
Cassell raised his eyebrows in surprise. He had assumed that last month's wave of turnovers, caused by his getting carried away, would lead management to reduce his control of the ball.
"Starting tomorrow, you'll have full authority on the floor over our half-court offense and how we push the break." Looking at Cassell, Lin Qi first offered that reassurance, then shifted to a firm restriction. "But there's one mandatory requirement: in the first six minutes of every quarter, you must make sure Dino Radja gets enough shot opportunities in the low post. That's an order. It isn't open to discussion."
Cassell frowned. "If Dino establishes position down low, of course I'll pass to him. Do we really have to be that rigid about the timing?"
"Because you didn't do it last month." Lin Qi went straight to the heart of the issue. "Sam, you're a talented point guard, but sometimes you're too eager to solve problems with your own scoring. Once the game gets bogged down, all you tend to see is the basket. Last month in Indiana, you got so caught up in attacking that you forgot to pass."
Cassell's expression stiffened slightly, and he looked somewhat uncomfortable.
Lin Qi did not press him further, instead softening his tone. "Your drives and pull-up jumpers are this team's sharpest weapons for breaking down defenses from the perimeter. Management will never restrict your initiative. But as the starting floor general, you have to understand what comes next after your drive draws a defensive rotation... Do you kick it out to an open Person on the perimeter, feed P.J. Brown inside, or throw an entry pass straight to Radja, who's already sealed his defender firmly behind him in the low post? There are plenty of guards willing to take responsibility in crunch time. But a guard who can still calmly distribute touches and organize the entire offense after winning a championship is the one who deserves to be called a team cornerstone. Sam, this is the path you have to take to truly become this team's brain."
The office fell silent. Cassell said nothing for a moment. Lin Qi's analysis had pinpointed the biggest technical obstacle in his transition to a new role.
"...Find Dino in the low post for the first six minutes of every quarter." Cassell finally lowered his head.
Sitting beside him, Radja finally shed the tension that had lingered on his face for more than a month. He turned and took the initiative to give Cassell a slight nod. The tiny locker-room rift caused by consecutive regular-season losses and an uneven distribution of touches quietly closed under the structure of clearly defined tactics.
The third rule concerned Eddie Jones: the cornerstone of the perimeter defense.
Lin Qi stated this one most concisely, but gave it the greatest tactical weight.
"For the rest of the regular season, Eddie will handle the opposing team's strongest, toughest perimeter scoring threat. Whether it's John Starks, Reggie Miller, or anyone else. Whoever poses the biggest threat, Eddie will pick him up and stay on him all game."
Hearing his name, rookie Eddie Jones, seated in the corner, gave his habitual nod with a calm expression. There was not a trace of rookie nerves in his eyes.
Lin Qi looked at Wilkins and said, half seriously and half teasingly, "Dominique, you fought countless bruising half-court battles in the first ten years of your career. If you'd had a young guy alongside you on the wing who could hound the other team's main scorer for an entire game, wouldn't that have saved you at least a third of your energy on offense?"
Following Lin Qi's gaze, Wilkins looked toward the quiet rookie in the corner.
He remembered opening night, when this rookie had gotten up after Anthony Mason's intimidating flagrant foul, dusted himself off, and sunk the technical free throw without expression. He also remembered a training-camp scrimmage: after Wilkins had scored on him in isolation twice in a row, the kid had used his terrifying wingspan and lateral movement to force a disruption of Wilkins's shot on the third possession.
Wilkins offered no gentle pleasantries. But a subtle trace of approval was showing in the eyes of this veteran killer of fourteen seasons.
"...If I'd had a young guy with that kind of defensive potential beside me when I was young, the Hawks really could have avoided a lot of those miserable games where we collapsed in the second half," Wilkins said slowly, his voice low.
Eddie Jones lifted his head and met Wilkins's gaze. The rookie said nothing more, merely nodding once.
The veteran had seen where his career was heading, while the rookie had only just established himself in the league. At that moment, through this pure basketball logic, the Celtics' two generations of cornerstone wings completed a silent handover.
With the three ironclad rules established, the newly assembled Celtics became like a steel machine whose internal gears had been calibrated, displaying striking tactical discipline throughout the regular-season games that followed.
Throughout February, they withstood the pressure of the schedule and put together an excellent 8-5 record, holding firmly onto a playoff spot.
Under load management, Wilkins's physical condition recovered considerably. Though his minutes per game declined, his isolation efficiency and elevation in crucial fourth-quarter moments both rebounded noticeably. Cassell began looking up more often for teammates when driving and dishing, his turnover rate dropped sharply, and his assists per game naturally rose into the league's upper ranks. Meanwhile, with his low-post touches guaranteed, Radja became the team's most dependable hub in the half-court offense.
On defense, Eddie Jones contained several established perimeter players in one-on-one matchups in succession. The movement speed and awareness he displayed on that end gave him strong momentum in the Rookie of the Year discussion.
Off the bench, Dana Barros remained the most explosive perimeter scorer in the league. In one home game against a weak opponent, he came off the bench to pour in an efficient 28 points in 18 minutes. Yet when he returned to the locker room afterward, he seemed somewhat down.
Lin Qi knew the reason very well. Given this point guard's original ability and production, he would have had every chance of making this year's All-Star reserves on the strength of his recent scoring surge with certain weaker teams that offered more tactical freedom. But because Lin Qi had stockpiled so much NBA-ready talent on Boston's wings and in its backcourt, some of Barros's touches and scheme-generated numbers had been diverted elsewhere, leaving him to miss out in the end.
Lin Qi walked over to his locker and smiled as he patted the local guard on the shoulder.
"Dana," Lin Qi began calmly, "most players in this league need an All-Star title to prove to management that they deserve touches and a big contract. But you don't. Boston's coaching staff and I know your tactical value very well."
Barros looked up in some surprise.
"What you need to do now," Lin Qi said, raising an eyebrow at him, "is use your transition threes on the playoff stage in April to make every coach and reporter who left your name off their All-Star ballot regret it together on national television."
Barros froze for a moment, then his features relaxed into a proud smile, and that small, personal disappointment over missing the selection dissolved completely into the winning atmosphere.
This newly assembled team had finally made it safely through the most dangerous winter.
Standing alone in the empty practice facility that night, Lin Qi let out a long breath.
This team had finally become a cohesive whole, with everyone doing his job and the tactics flowing smoothly.
But when he looked up at the calendar on the wall, March was already just around the corner.
And far away in Chicago...
A terrifying man who had once worn number 23, and was now preparing to put on a number 45 jersey, was quietly tightening the laces of his basketball shoes.