February 26, 2000, Boston.
Two days have passed since the trade deadline, and the league has entered a brief period of calm. The general managers who frantically tested and negotiated before the deadline can finally breathe a sigh of relief, but the real competition has just begun. There are still more than thirty regular season games left, and every ambitious team is making its final sprint and fine-tuning for the playoffs.
Lin Qi sat in his office with two player files spread out in front of him.
Bruce Bowen, 28 years old. Brad Miller, 23 years old.
Both players' contracts expire this summer. Within the Celtics ' current roster depth, they are definitely fringe players...
He only gets sporadic playing time when the team has a large lead or when there is a need for highly targeted tactical matchups.
Lin Qi closed the file and pressed the intercom button on the table.
"Have Bowen come to my office Monday morning. Miller Monday afternoon."
February 28th, Monday, 10:00 AM.
When Bowen knocked and entered, his back was tense, and his expression revealed a hint of restraint. This player at the end of the bench always had a natural awe for the management's offices.
"Sit down," Lin Qi gestured to the sofa, "What would you like to drink? Coffee or water?"
"Water will do." Bowen sat down on the edge of the sofa, placing his hands neatly on his knees. "May I ask what you need me for?"
"Your contract expires this summer," Lin Qi said bluntly. "I'm prepared to offer you a two-year, $1.6 million extension."
Bowen was clearly stunned, a hint of astonishment flashing in his eyes.
"I've barely had any playing time this season." Bowen frowned slightly, his tone revealing self-doubt. "Except for garbage time or when I need to guard specific outside scorers, I've spent most of my time on the end of the bench. I thought I was going to be abandoned."
Lin Qi took a document out of the drawer and handed it over.
This is your personalized training plan.
Bowen took the document and opened it; it was filled with detailed training indicators for three-point shots and specific requirements for defensive footwork.
"I need you to make your three-point shot more consistent," Lin Qi said firmly. "Add extra shooting drills every day, from the corner and the 45-degree angles on both sides. Also, strengthen your core muscles; I need you to maintain shooting consistency even after high-intensity contact."
Bowen looked at the documents without saying a word.
"Your defense is top-notch in the league, there's no doubt about that," Lin Qi continued. "But if you want to stay on this court in the playoffs, you need to make sure opponents don't dare leave you open. This year's playoffs might give you a chance to shine. But the prerequisite is that you can't become a complete black hole on offense, otherwise opponents will double-team Kevin and Chris Paul without restraint, and our offensive spacing will be locked down."
Bowen was silent for a few seconds, then slowly raised his head.
"Mr. Lin, do you mean... that if I can make those corner threes, I'll be a regular starter next season?"
"It's not just about getting into the rotation," Lin Qi stared intently at him, "If you can do what I'm asking, your next contract will double."
Bowen took a deep breath, his expression remaining composed, but the knuckles gripping the document had turned slightly white.
"I will practice hard."
"I'll have Eddie Jones mentor you," Lin Qi said. "He'll teach you how to quickly regain your shooting rhythm after intense defensive play."
Bowen stood up and solemnly shook Lin Qi's outstretched hand.
Thank you, Mr. Lin.
"No need to thank me," Lin Qi said calmly. "The value you deliver determines the size of the contract you can get in this league."
At three o'clock in the afternoon, Brad Miller knocked on the door and came in.
Compared to Bowen's restraint, the white center appeared more uneasy, sitting with his back ramrod straight and his eyes darting around.
" Brad, relax." Lin Qi smiled. "I didn't tell you you were laid off."
Miller forced a smile.
"I want to talk to you about your future," Lin Qi said.
Miller's expression visibly darkened.
"Mr. Lin, I know I haven't performed well this season..." He took a deep breath, seemingly prepared for the worst, "If you're planning to give up on me, or not make an offer, I completely understand. I just want to play for a team that needs me."
Who told you I was going to give up on you?
Miller was stunned.
"I'm prepared to offer you a fully guaranteed contract for two years, worth 1.6 million," Lin Qi calmly offered.
Miller's eyes widened instantly, his face filled with disbelief. "But I... I haven't been getting any playing time at all this season, trailing behind Rasheed and Dikembe..."
"I know the rotation in the paint is very tight right now," Lin Qi said, "So I'm asking you now, do you want to take on a more important role in the future?"
Miller nodded without hesitation. "Of course I want to."
"Then you need to be patient," Lin Qi said. "At the latest, next season, I will adjust the interior structure and increase your role."
Miller was about to speak when Lin Qi raised his hand to interrupt him.
"Don't get too excited yet." Lin Qi leaned back in his chair. "To establish yourself in this league, you need to develop one thing... a three-point shot."
Miller frowned. "Three-pointers? Hmm, you talked to me about that before."
"Your high post playmaking, passing vision, and basketball IQ are all excellent, which is rare among big men in the league," Lin Qi pointed out incisively. "But on this team, we already have Dikembe and Rasheed in the paint. If you want to stay on the court with them at the same time, you have to be able to create space."
"If you can develop your three-point shot, you'll become the most unique part of this team's tactical board—a center who can stretch out to shoot from beyond the arc and facilitate from the high post."
Miller lowered his head, lost in thought.
"Don't rush into becoming a sharpshooter," Lin Qi pushed a training plan across the table. "Start with spot shooting from the elbows and the top of the key. Also, go to the weight room to build muscle and improve your strength in the paint. I'll have Rasheed train you, teaching you how to catch the ball after a high pick-and-roll."
Miller opened the heavy training plan and looked up at Lin Qi.
Miller bit his lip, a resolute glint in his eyes.
"Give me a year, Brad," Lin Qi's voice carried an undeniable, seductive power. "A year from now, you'll have much more than you have now. But first, you have to prove you deserve it. After this contract ends, you'll get a much bigger one."
"I understand." Miller stood up and gripped Lin Qi's hand tightly. "I won't let you down."
After seeing Miller off, Lin Qi walked to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked down at the streets of Boston in early spring.
Bowen and Miller, two seemingly insignificant fringe figures at the moment. But Lin Qi understood their tactical value. If developed properly, they would be two excellent pieces of the puzzle.
This is the essence of managing a team... buy assets when they are at an absolute low, and then patiently wait for them to appreciate.
Lin Qi withdrew his gaze, returned to his desk, and turned on another computer connected to a dedicated line.
On the screen, the Bloomberg Terminal is displaying the real-time movement of the Nasdaq Index.
4,850 points.
That green candlestick chart is like a mad bull that has lost its mind, charging wildly upwards.
March 10th, Friday, 10 PM.
Inside a secluded office building in Boston's financial district.
This private office is small and minimally furnished, with nothing more than a high-spec computer and a few secure telephones.
On the computer screen, the Nasdaq Index had just closed at 4,950 points. The entire Wall Street was in a frenzy, and the market capitalization of countless technology companies was expanding exponentially.
Lin Qi picked up the secure phone and dialed a number.
David.
"Mr. Lin," the Wall Street trader on the other end of the phone said, his voice a mixture of exhaustion and excitement, " the Nasdaq closed near the 5000-point mark today. Are you sure you want to short it now? Market sentiment is insane; many analysts believe the index will easily break through 6000 points or even higher."
"Proceed as planned," Lin Qi said calmly. "Allocate $1 billion in principal and begin establishing short positions. Target internet technology stocks with no profitable business model and ridiculously high price-to-earnings ratios."
What about the leverage ratio?
"Double."
David was silent for a few seconds on the other end of the phone, clearly surprised by the conservative figure.
"Mr. Lin, if you're convinced the market will crash, why not use higher leverage? Five or even ten times leverage can maximize your profits."
Lin Qi frowned slightly as he listened to the other party's advice. Five to ten times leverage was considered "basic" on Wall Street, and his two times leverage was as conservative as a retirement account. What's more, he had a huge amount of cash in his account, enough not only to make margin calls at any time, but also to reserve funds for buying at the Bullets after a market crash. To anyone, this transaction seemed to be "zero risk".
Even Lin Qi himself occasionally wondered if he was being overly cautious. But after experiencing countless unprecedented "black swan" events, he no longer dared to be 100% certain about the future. Who knew if, this time, the butterfly would flap its wings?
"Because before a market dies completely, it always experiences one last, frenzied surge," Lin Qi calmly explained. "I don't need to make the last penny. Keeping ample cash as margin is to withstand any extreme surges that might occur before the bubble bursts. Once you're liquidated, even if you're right about the direction, it's a dead end."
"Understood. I'll arrange for funds to enter the market first thing tomorrow morning." David sighed. "You're the boss, I'll listen to you."
Lin Qi hung up the phone and walked to the window.
Looking down at the dazzling lights of Boston's financial district, he knew that behind those lights were countless people dreaming of wealth.
In March 2000, the Nasdaq Index reached a temporary historical peak. Subsequently, the bursting of the dot-com bubble, which shook the world, caused the Nasdaq to plummet by more than 70% over the next two years.
Lin Qi did a rough calculation: this short selling would at least net him $1.5 billion. Two years later, he should have at least $3.5 billion in cash.
This is a gift of the times, and also the time traveler's greatest trump card. He doesn't need to gamble on daily short-term fluctuations; he only needs to grasp the inevitable direction of the major trends, and then, like an absolutely calm hunter, dig traps along the inevitable path, quietly waiting for the moment of harvest.
Monday, March 10th, 9:30 AM.
Lin Qi sat in his private office, his gaze fixed on the screen of the Bloomberg Terminal.
Wall Street opens.
The Nasdaq Index surged immediately after the market opened.
4,950 points... 4,980 points... 5,010 points... 5,048 points... 5,132 points!
The green numbers were fluctuating wildly, and market greed had reached its peak at that moment. Correspondingly, Lin Qi's newly established short position was rapidly incurring paper losses.
The secure phone rang.
"Mr. Lin, the market has broken through a new historical high! Our short positions are under tremendous floating loss pressure." David's voice sounded somewhat anxious. "Should we implement a partial stop-loss?"
"No stop loss." Lin Qi stared at the curve hovering around 5,132 points. "Deposit all the reserved cash and continue shorting. Keep the leverage at 200%."
"If you add to your position now, we'll face significant pressure to meet margin requirements if the index continues to rise!" David's voice rose eight octaves.
" David," Lin Qi's voice remained steady, yet carried an undeniable air of authority, "Execute the order."
A suffocating silence fell over the other end of the phone.
"Understood, Mr. Lin."
Lin Qi put down the phone and leaned back in his chair.
Just over ten minutes later.
The frenzied market seemed to have suddenly hit some invisible barrier. Huge selling pressure poured down without warning.
5,132 points...5,041 points...5,023 points...5,006 points...4,960 points...
The once-promising red curve, like a kite with a broken string, began to plummet in a straight line.
Lin Qi stared quietly at the screen. The unrealized losses in his account began to narrow rapidly, then turned into a dazzling red profit figure.
Nasdaq closed that day.
The index is stuck at 4,930 points, with a long upper shadow line, making it hard for many people to sleep.
Lin Qi lit a cigarette, stared at the screen, and quietly exhaled a puff of smoke.
March 15th, Wednesday, 3 PM.
Lin Qi pushed open the door to the training hall.
The team's practice session had ended, and the court seemed somewhat empty. But the huge arena still echoed with the heavy thud of basketballs hitting the floor and the screeching of shoes rubbing against the wooden planks.
Lin Qi stood on the sidelines, looking at the distant half of the field.
Bruce Bowen was doing the tedious catch-and-shoot three-point drills in the corner. His practice clothes were completely soaked, and sweat dripped down his chin. After each set, he would quickly run to the baseline, turn back, and then return to his position to catch the ball and shoot.
Meanwhile, on the other half of the court, Brad Miller was practicing his pick-and-roll jump shot near the free-throw line. Robert Parish stood by, patiently pointing out the angles for setting screens and the footwork for catching the ball.
"How long have they been training?" Lin Qi asked the assistant coach beside him.
" Bowen arrived at seven. Miller arrived at eight." The assistant coach looked at the two on the court with a hint of admiration in his eyes. "These two guys are like tireless machines."
Lin Qi nodded slightly.
Tell them to rest and avoid injury.