Two days later. George Mumford's private psychological clinic in Boston's Back Bay.
A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air. Outside the one-way soundproof glass of the clinic's interior, Lin Qi stood with a cup of black tea, staring blankly into the room.
What should have been a meditation room filled with yoga mats and playing soft white noise is now witnessing an absurd psychological battle.
Ron Artest and Stephen Jackson sat awkwardly cross-legged on a Persian rug. Dressed in grey, muscular training uniforms, their bodies resembled two Chicago Bulls ready to smash through the walls at any moment. Their eyes were tightly closed, and their heavy breathing echoed in the empty room, as if even the surrounding air was ignited by their intensely suppressed hormones.
"Inhale... feel the air filling your abdomen, let your consciousness sink into your lower abdomen..." a gentle guiding voice came from the speaker.
Artest's eyebrows twitched violently. His fingers scratched unconsciously on his knees, clearly reaching his limit. He endured for about ten seconds before finally snapping out of it, his eyes snapping open, and he growled like a raging beast, "Enough! You think you can defend Michael Jordan by sitting with your eyes closed for five minutes? That's a complete waste of my time! I should be lifting weights, I should be at the gym watching that bastard Marion's tapes a few more times!"
Jackson, sitting diagonally across from him, scoffed without even lifting an eyelid, his tone dripping with mockery. "Shut up, you Queens idiot. If you can't even sit still for five minutes, we'll continue meditating in this godforsaken place. You want to sit courtside in a suit and watch those West Coast guys swagger around on our home turf?"
"Who are you calling an idiot?!" Artest's veins bulged, and he instinctively wanted to throw a punch.
But he abruptly withdrew his hand. His chest heaved violently, his gaze swept across the glass window, and finally, gritting his teeth, he forced himself to swallow his anger. He sat cross-legged again, closed his eyes, and actually managed to force himself into a meditative state.
George Mumford, standing outside the glass window, sighed. He drew the blinds on the soundproof glass, blocking the view inside, then turned and walked to his desk, looking at Lin Qi sitting on the sofa.
"It seems your mindfulness therapy has them under your thumb." Lin Qi put down his teacup.
Mumford shook his head with a wry smile, walked to the coffee machine, and poured himself a cup of black coffee.
"Mr. Lin Qi, let me correct you, I never intended to 'cure' them." Mumford held his coffee cup, his eyes deepening. "Back with the Chicago Bulls, I coached Dennis Rodman. Before coming here, I thought these two young men had the same problems as Dennis. But I was wrong."
Lin Qi leaned back on the sofa, raised an eyebrow, and gestured for him to continue.
" Dennis Rodman's madness stemmed from his extreme insecurity. His outlandish outfits, his on-court outbursts, and his attempts to attract everyone's attention were essentially the tantrums of a child craving attention and love." Mumford leaned against the edge of his desk, his tone professional and serious. "So my approach to Dennis was to embrace him, to give him a psychological 'safe house,' to let him know that no matter how much he acted up, the Chicago Bulls would accept him. When he felt safe, he would become the most loyal hound on the court."
Mumford turned and pointed to the inner room with the blinds closed.
"But Ron and Stephen are different. They're not seeking attention; they're genuinely fighting for survival. They've crawled out of the deepest slums and the bloodiest street culture. Violence isn't their mask; it's the muscle memory they rely on for survival."
"So?" Lin Qi asked.
"So I can't 'appease' them like I did with Dennis Rodman; that won't work. The violence and street survival instinct in their bones can't be washed away." Mumford clasped his hands together. "I spent a month trying a different approach. I didn't try to extinguish the fire within them; that would destroy their aggression on the field."
"I taught them how to build a 'forge'."
A hint of psychological mastery flashed in Mumford's eyes. "I taught them to build a floodgate with their breath before their emotions explode. This floodgate can't stop the rage, but it can transform that destructive negative emotion into cold focus and discipline on the field. Like just now, if it were a month ago, Ron's punch would have landed on Stephen's face. But today, he hit the brakes."
Mumford opened a drawer and took out a document with the Celtics logo on it.
"From a psychological perspective, they are no longer ticking time bombs in the locker room." Mumford handed Lin Qi a pen. "As their attending physician, I agree to end the treatment. Mr. Lin Qi, the Christmas Day game is just around the corner. When will you sign off on their psychological evaluation reports and lift the ban?"
Lin Qi looked at the document that represented his return to the competition, but did not take the pen.
He leaned back on the sofa, his gaze returning to the closed blinds.
"It's too early, George," Lin Qi said calmly.
Mumford frowned slightly, this was completely unexpected. "You're going to continue suspending them? I heard from people inside the team that Coach Rick Carlisle's defensive pressure has reached a breaking point. Against the Lakers, without these two on the wings, your defense will be torn to shreds by Jordan."
"That's one of the reasons Rick Carlisle agreed to keep their suspensions in place." Lin Qi stood up and straightened his suit cuffs. "This Christmas Day game is also a pressure test for the current roster. We'll never know where the team's limits are until we push players like Raja Bell to the brink."
"And what about the two of them?" Mumford gestured towards the inner room. "If you keep them on the bench, you'll only fuel their resentment. Once it explodes, all my mental preparation over the past month will be ruined."
Lin Qi shook his head.
" George, you taught them how to control their emotions, that's good. But you didn't teach them what 'responsibility' is." Lin Qi walked to the door, grasped the doorknob, and turned to look at Mumford.
"If I signed for them now, what would they think? They'd just see it as a deal obtained through submission. They'd still be individuals outside the team's system."
Lin Qi's voice sounded exceptionally clear in the quiet clinic.
"The reason I'm not lifting the ban is to wait until after the Christmas Day games. I want them to be in casual clothes, sitting in the best seats on the sidelines, watching the team face a strong opponent like the Lakers, and watching Raja Bell fight his hardest on the defensive end to fill the void that should have been theirs."
Lin Qi's eyes were deep, revealing a keen insight into human nature.
"By then, the anger in their hearts will transform into something they themselves are unaware of."
Lin Qi turned around and took one last look at the tightly closed blinds.
"Only when they realize that every time they lose control, they are not only hurting themselves, but also hurting their teammates who are cleaning up their messes... will they truly be considered part of the team. This is the only way for them to become a championship piece."
Lin Qi opened the door and went out.
"Until this sense of responsibility takes hold, keep that report in your drawer for now."