July 1, 1999, midnight.
The free market opened on time.
This is the league's busiest night of the year. Phones are ringing off the hook in the teams' offices, agents are running around the world with contracts in hand, and general managers are refilling their coffee cups one after another.
Los Angeles is moving, New York is moving, Houston, Phoenix, Indiana —the entire league is working non-stop.
The Boston Celtics, who had just won the championship, remained as quiet as if they were detached outsiders.
At this moment, the only thing keeping the Celtics busy was internal contract renewals: Eddie Jones, with a hot coffee in hand and his agent, was weighing the options for a six-year, $70 million long-term contract. Ron Harper had a two-year veteran's minimum contract on his desk, with a player option for the second year. And Ben Wallace was also repeatedly weighing a three-year, $3 million offer.
In addition, Boston have remained almost indifferent to the overwhelming celebrations from the outside world.
For the first couple of days, the entire league didn't sense anything amiss. After all, they were a championship team, so it was reasonable for them not to rush into free agency. Besides, their young president, Lin Qi, had already stirred up enough controversy this summer...
First, on the eve of the draft, they acquired Rasheed Wallace, nicknamed " The Rasheed Wallace." Then, they sent Robert Horry to the Utah Jazz. On draft night, they made a bold move, selecting three players in a row.
Boston, however, remained completely still and made no moves other than proceeding with the routine of finalizing contract extensions for its own players.
This completely overwhelmed the Celtics ' team office. Agents from all over the country lined up to try and get their top clients onto the newly crowned champions, and the message slips on the secretary's desk piled up like a small mountain.
The result was like throwing a stone into the sea; no one received a reply.
Because the young man who held the ultimate decision-making power and could determine the future of Boston had simply vanished from the face of the earth.
The Boston Globe, a bellwether for American sports, was the first to chime in.
On the morning of the fourth day, as countless Boston residents bought their morning papers at newsstands as usual, the sports section's front page headline read:
Is the president of the championship team sleeping?
The front page prominently featured a profile photo of Lin Qi during the championship parade, looking nonchalant and even somewhat indifferent. Above the photo's head, a huge and glaring scarlet question mark was mischievously placed.
Columnists took turns firing off their criticisms on the page, their words brimming with exasperation. "This excessively young president of basketball operations seems to treat 'championship' like a Rubik's Cube that can be disassembled and played with at will. Veteran players are ruthlessly sold off for bargain prices, Mr. Clutch are packaged and sent away, and now that the free agency market is wide open, the entire league is busy building and preparing, while our leader... has vanished at this crucial juncture."
Radio sports lines were inundated with calls that day, with furious Boston Celtics die-hard fans roaring during the call, "We just won the championship! What the hell is he doing? Other teams are getting stronger by any means necessary, and we're just watching?!"
The overwhelmed team spokesperson was cornered in the underground parking lot by reporters who had caught wind of the situation. After stammering for a while, he could only manage a weak and ineffective official statement. "Mr. Lin Qi is currently dealing with... some extremely important personal matters."
"What personal matter could be more important than the summer transfer window signings of a defending champion team?!"
Surrounded by flashing lights and a barrage of cameras, the spokesperson scrambled into a car and sped away in a panic.
At this moment, on the other side of the ocean.
Inside a private first-class cabin bound for Milan, Italy, high above the clouds.
Lin Qi leaned back in his large, comfortable leather chair, a thick stack of financial reports piled on the small table above his knees. His Amazon positions were being liquidated in batches. Because the positions were so large, it was impossible to liquidate them all at once. He had to be patient, taking profits in batches over several months. Then, like peeling an onion, he would peel away all the leverage, layer by layer. Once this process was complete, after deducting the money he'd spent on buying the team and arena, and paying that painful tax...
There are still more than two billion US dollars left on the books.
In 1999, this was an almost absurd figure. At that time, the entire league and a single team were valued at only around one or two hundred million US dollars. More than two billion dollars could theoretically buy most of the league, including the players and the arena.
Of course, David Stern would never allow such a thing to happen.
What Lin Qi is about to do is something that many people in this era cannot understand.
The flight attendant walked over quietly and slowly, bowing to ask if I would like another cup of coffee.
Lin Qi snapped out of his reverie, shook his head with a faint smile, then closed the file and turned his gaze back to the vast and deep night sky outside the porthole.
When the plane broke through the clouds and landed smoothly at Milan Malpensa Airport, it was already Late Night local time.
At the end of the VIP passageway stood a Europe man in his early forties, his hair meticulously combed. He possessed the sharp eyes of a hawk and the elegant demeanor characteristic of Italy. Maurizio Gherardini was, at that time, a renowned and top-tier basketball manager in Europe basketball circles.
"Mr. Lin Qi."
Seeing Lin Qi emerge, Gherardini immediately stepped forward, extending his right hand and speaking in standard English with a thick, magnetic northern Italy accent. "Welcome to Milan."
Lin Qi reached out and shook hands firmly.
To facilitate this secret Atlantic Ocean meeting, Lin Qi made only three phone calls through an intermediary, extending an invitation that the entire Europe basketball world could not refuse, and even seemed a bit crazy.
"Mr. Gherardini," Lin Qi released his grip, his tone calm, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
"To be honest," Maurizio Gherardini didn't immediately withdraw his arm, but instead narrowed his eyes slightly, using the dim airport lights to sizing up the person in front of him, "Your invitation kept me up for three whole nights."
He leaned forward slightly, lowered his voice, and asked a question that had lingered for three nights before he finally couldn't help but ask.
"Mr. Lin Qi, what exactly... do you want to do?"
Upon hearing this, Lin Qi simply smiled faintly.
"No rush." He turned and strode into the night outside the airport. "Let's go, we'll sit down and talk slowly tomorrow."