March 20, 2000, Boston, training facility.
The morning sunlight streamed obliquely into the stadium through the high-rise ventilation windows, and the muffled thuds of basketballs hitting the solid wood floor on the empty court were very rhythmic.
Lin Qi stood on the sidelines, holding a cup of black coffee, quietly watching the special training session on the half of the court.
In the corner, Bruce Bowen received the pass, caught the ball, jumped, and shot with the precision of a mechanical clock.
"Whoosh!"
The basketball went through the net cleanly.
"Good shot!" Shooting coach Chip Engelland clapped his hands on the sidelines. "Great core control, be more decisive with your release! Let's do it again!"
Bowen quickly returned to the corner, Chip passed the ball again. He caught it, jumped, and shot...
"Whoosh!"
It's still hollow.
Lin Qi took a sip of coffee, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
Three months ago, Bowen would instinctively hesitate when receiving the ball in the corner, trying to gauge the defender's position. Now, that hesitation has been completely erased by countless repetitions of rote muscle memory. His abysmal shooting performance at the beginning of the season has visibly improved, becoming muscle memory. No matter who is rushing towards him, his corner three-pointers can now maintain an excellent shooting percentage even under strong pressure.
Chip walked over and quickly scribbled a few notes on the scoreboard. "His improvement is qualitative. We don't even need to scrutinize the specific shooting percentages anymore; just look at his willingness to shoot. His lower body strength has improved, and his shooting mechanism after contact is much more consistent than before."
"Very good." Lin Qi's gaze was calm. "Keep practicing. In the high-level games of the playoffs, this hidden shot will be very useful."
On the other side of the arena, Brad Miller is receiving one-on-one coaching from the interior coach.
Miller received the ball at the high post of the free-throw line. Facing the assistant coach's tight defense, he made a very realistic shooting fake, then flicked his wrist and accurately passed the ball to Rashard Lewis, who was cutting in from behind.
"Beautiful!" the coach exclaimed. "Excellent vision, and the timing of that pass was perfect!"
Lin Qi walked over and watched for a while.
Miller's evolution is undeniable. At the beginning of the season, he was just a benchwarmer center on the team. But now, he can skillfully perform handoffs and screens and facilitate play from the high post. Although his playing time is still limited, his competitive ability has long surpassed that of a benchwarmer who can only fill garbage time.
"This kid has an extremely high basketball IQ," the center coach said to Lin Qi in a low voice. "He's just used to a blue-collar style of play; nobody taught him how to use his brain to control the ball. Once we break through that barrier, he'll be a very troublesome high post pivot."
"Maintain this training intensity." Lin Qi nodded.
Lin Qi turned around and turned his gaze toward the main court in the center of the stadium.
A high-intensity battle is taking place there between the main and rotation players.
Starting lineup: Gary Payton, Eddie Jones, Pierce, Garnett, Mutombo.
Substitutes: Billups, Harper, Artest, Rasheed, Big Ben.
Billups dribbled the ball up the court, then suddenly executed a rhythmic crossover dribble beyond the three-point line, briefly shaking off Eddie Jones's defense and driving straight into the paint...
Garnett was like a spider that blotted out the sky, instantly completing the defensive rotation.
Billups didn't force it. He stopped abruptly, gathered the ball, and delivered a very subtle behind-the-back pass to Rasheed was lurking in the bottom corner.
Rasheed receives the ball and pulls up for a three-pointer...
"Clang!"
The basketball bounced high off the back of the rim, and Mutombo used his massive frame to block Big Ben and secure the rebound.
"Great defensive rotation!" Thibodeau yelled hoarsely from the sidelines. " Kevin, your delay was spot on! Chauncey Billups, that pass was perfectly timed! Rasheed, try to make it next time!"
Lin Qi looked at the players' positioning on the field and nodded in satisfaction.
Chauncey Billups Billups was the team's biggest surprise in the second half of the regular season, as he finally started making some eye-catching passes from time to time.
And Ron Artest ... Lin Qi's eye twitched involuntarily at the thought of this rookie. Just a few days ago, for some unknown reason... this guy almost got into a fight with the team's strength and conditioning coach. Lin Qi personally asked both of them about what happened, but after listening for a long time, he still couldn't quite grasp what had occurred. However, it was clear that Artest was the more incoherent one. This forced Lin Qi to try and find Artest a psychologist to see if he could resolve his psychological issues.
"This team is so much stronger than at the beginning of the season," Doc Rivers said, walking over to Lin Qi and looking at the playboard. "The defensive system is fully formed, the offense is no longer so sluggish, and most importantly, our rotation depth is bottomless."
"Not enough." Lin Qi's gaze remained critical. "The intensity of the regular season and the playoffs are completely different. The playoffs are about who has fewer weaknesses."
"We'll most likely face the Pistons in the first round," Doc Rivers said. "They're currently 42-40, and there's a clear gap in skill between them and us. But the Detroit players play dirty and physically. They have a strong frontcourt with Grant Hill and Jerry Stackhouse..."
"Then let's use the Pistons to intensify our rotation," Lin Qi said casually. "Use the four games in the first round to establish an 8- or 9-man rotation for the playoffs."
Doc Rivers nodded emphatically.
That same afternoon, in Lin Qi's private office.
On the computer screen, the Bloomberg Terminal is displaying a real-time chart of the Nasdaq Index.
3,950 points.
Just one week after reaching the all-time low of 5,048 points on March 13, the index has already collapsed by 1,098 points, a staggering drop of over 21%.
Lin Qi's short positions have officially surpassed $400 million in net profit.
The secure phone rang.
"Mr. Lin," David, the trader, said with a hint of anxiety, "Your unrealized profit has reached 420 million. During today's trading session, many large hedge funds on Wall Street began closing out their positions. Goldman Sachs ' chief analyst just released a report believing that the Nasdaq will find strong support at 3800 points and rebound. Should we close out some of our positions and secure our profits?"
"No." Lin Qi leaned back in his chair, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. "Hold on."
"But..." David hesitated for a moment, "Once a retaliatory rebound occurs, your unrealized gains will face a precipitous wipeout. Analysts at Merrill Lynch and Morgan Stanley have both concluded that this is just a deep technical correction, and the market will eventually sprint towards 5500 points."
"They're wrong." Lin Qi flicked his cigarette ash. " David, those Wall Street charlatans in their bespoke suits are either fooling themselves or trying to trick retail investors into buying. This isn't a technical correction; it's the death knell for a structural bubble bursting. Hold on. Don't close a single short position without my order."
David was silent for a full five seconds on the other end of the phone. "... Okay, you're the boss. But as your financial advisor, I still strongly suggest you close at least half of your positions to lock in profits."
"Execute the order." Lin Qi didn't waste any more words and hung up the phone immediately.
He stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at Boston's financial district bathed in the afternoon sun.
He knew better than anyone that this avalanche that would shock the world had only just begun. In the next two and a half years, Nasdaq would plummet like a runaway train. Those Wall Street elites who were now talking confidently in front of the camera and mocking the short sellers might not even have the chance to line up to jump off buildings two years from now.
He possesses the trump card of foresight; now, all he needs to do is maintain absolute patience, like a beast waiting for its prey to bleed out.
It's like playing in the playoffs; you fight game by game and win round by round.