The next morning. Downtown Milwaukee, at a private clinic.
The environment here is completely different from the medical room at Marquette University. There's no pungent smell of disinfectant in the air, only a faint aroma of coffee.
Dwyane Wade Wade sat on the large leather sofa, his hands clasped tightly together. Siohvaughn sat beside him, gripping his arm tightly.
Across from me, a white expert in a white coat with gray hair was pointing seriously at the MRI scans hanging on the lightbox.
" Dwyane Wade, the situation is very worrying."
The expert's voice was deep and authoritative as he pointed to a shadow on the X-ray with a medical pointer. "This isn't just ordinary fatigue wear. See that grade 2 signal and the severe joint effusion around it? Your lateral meniscus is on the verge of collapse; it's like an old rubber band held together by only a few last strands of fiber."
Wade froze, cold sweat instantly streaming down his forehead.
"Your college team doctor will most likely tell you: 'It's okay, drain some fluid, give you a nerve block injection, and you can still fly high and low.' The doctor turned around, looking directly into Wade's eyes, his tone extremely stern. 'But I must warn you, if you try to make that kind of breakthrough in this situation, just one unstable landing, or even just a sudden stop and change of direction, will cause this 'rubber band' to instantly suffer an irreversible grade three rupture!'"
Despair overwhelmed Wade like a tidal wave.
"Then... what should I do?" Wade's voice trembled, and he instinctively clutched his left knee.
"Immediately stop all basketball activities. No training, no playing time," the doctor declared. "You need months of complete rest and physical therapy. If you try to tough it out with painkillers now, your career will be over."
Cannot play ball.
For a slum boy who had just been released from suspension and desperately needed to perform to keep his scholarship, this word was tantamount to a death sentence.
Lin Qi, who had been standing silently by the window, turned around at this moment.
"Take Sio to the car downstairs and wait for me, Dwyane Wade." Lin Qi walked over and patted Wade's stiff shoulder. "Go ahead. Report back to me for it."
Like a soulless puppet, Wade, supported by his fiancée, staggered out of the clinic.
As the door to the consultation room closed, a brief silence fell over the room.
Lin Qi pulled up a chair and sat down, then took a thick white envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and placed it on the doctor's desk.
"Well done, Doctor. A perfect, white lie." Lin Qi's tone lightened, even carrying a hint of a smile.
The doctor glanced at the cash on the table but didn't rush to take it. He took off his reading glasses, rubbed his tired brow, and his expression revealed a hint of struggle with professional ethics.
"Mr. Lin Qi, I did not fabricate a diagnosis." The doctor pointed to the X-ray images on the light box and defended himself. "His meniscus does show signs of degeneration, and his patellar tendon is indeed overloaded. If he continues to play at such a high intensity, he will have serious problems sooner or later."
"Yes, you've simply exaggerated a 'certain probability' of something happening into an absolute certainty." Lin Qi crossed his arms, incisively puncturing the doctor's linguistic artistry. "You've used your authority to magnify the risk tenfold."
The doctor was silent for a moment, then sighed.
"Because I know all too well the dirty tricks and short-sighted practices in college sports." The doctor gave a wry smile. " Marquette University is on a winning streak right now, and all the national cameras are on it. If I don't put it bluntly, in order to make it to next year's March Madness, the college's quack doctors really might just cut his meniscus out, turning him into a short-lived consumable."
The doctor reached out and pulled the white envelope on the table toward himself.
"I slightly deviated from the objective and neutral medical description. But with your comment about a 'white lie,' my guilt has indeed lessened somewhat."
"Believe me, you're genuinely doing a good deed; you've saved his career." Lin Qi stood up, straightening his coat collar. "Produce that official written report requiring 'indefinite suspension for physiotherapy.' Even if the school requests a re-examination, it's just a difference in medical philosophy—a radical team doctor versus a conservative specialist. No one can accuse you of academic fraud."
Goodbye, Doctor.
Ten minutes later, in the underground parking garage below the clinic.
Lin Qi opened the back door and got in.
The atmosphere in the carriage was so oppressive it was hard to breathe. Wade buried his head in his hands, while Siohvaughn silently wiped away tears beside him.
Lin Qi picked up a McDonald's's paper bag with a bit of oil stains and threw it directly onto Wade's lap.
"Open."
Wade mechanically unsealed the paper bag. Inside were not hamburgers, but two bundles of crisp, new hundred-dollar bills. The bright green color stood out starkly in the dim light of the carriage.
"Twenty thousand US dollars in cash." Lin Qi leaned back in his leather seat, his tone as casual as if he were chatting.
Wade recoiled as if electrocuted, staring at Lin Qi in horror.
"Don't refuse. This $20,000 is enough to cover Sio's nutrition expenses, maternity ward fees, and heating costs for your apartment for the next few months. You're a smart person; don't buy a gold chain or a sports car. Treat it as spare change for groceries and rent, and the NCAA won't suspect anything's wrong."
Wade stared at the bag, his hands trembling. He didn't refuse again, because his fiancée, wiping away tears beside him, and their unborn child left him with no other choice.
"Go back to school and slam the private doctor's report on Coach Crean's desk. Tell him you refuse to take injections, you need to immediately stop all basketball activities, take care of your pregnant wife, and undergo long-term rehabilitation therapy."
Wade looked up, his eyes filled with panic. "Mr. Lin Qi, if I do this, the coach won't agree! The school will cut off my scholarship! And... and if I miss my sophomore season, my draft stock as a junior..."
Forget about your junior year, just register for the 2002 NBA Draft.
"Mr. Lin Qi... what are you doing...?"
"I was breaking the rules," Lin Qi admitted bluntly. "Once you take the money in this bag, you're no longer an amateur player. If it gets out, the NCAA will permanently expel you. So, our deal starts today, we're in the same boat."
Lin Qi pushed open the car door, and the cold Milwaukee wind instantly rushed into the car.
"Take good care of yourself, Dwyane Wade. I'll bring you back to Boston next summer."