In early June, FleetCenter Arena in Boston was deserted.
Lin Qi stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of the basketball affairs office, a black marker in his hand. On the whiteboard behind him, five words were written in a flamboyant style: hard-solving, space, brain, vitality, tower.
This is the "list" that Michael Jordan and his Chicago Bulls delivered to the Celtics two weeks ago, with a series of blows.
The system can take the team to the Eastern Conference Finals, but to shatter the Chicago Bulls ' iron throne, Lin Qi needs a sharp knife in his hand.
"Boss, everyone's here." The teaching assistant pushed open the door and lowered his voice, "The first one is that high school student from Philadelphia, Kobe Brian."
Inside the training hall.
Seventeen-year-old Kobe Brian, dressed in his training gear, looked thinner than he did on videotape, but the moment he received the ball, he was like a fully drawn bow, his eyes radiating an almost obsessive ferocity.
The coach in charge of practice was starting shooting guard Michael Finley.
"Kid, I heard you want to skip college and go straight to the NBA?" Finley clapped his hands, his tone teasing as he stepped forward to guard him. "The physicality here isn't..."
Before he could finish speaking, Kobe a sudden, unexpected right-side probing step, followed by pulling the ball up and accelerating—the whole movement was as fast as lightning!
Tear!
The screech of his shoes on the ground was ear-piercing. Kobe practically brushed past Finley's ribs, and after the mid-air collision, he launched a right-handed layup that bounced off the backboard and swished through the net.
Finley's smile froze instantly.
In the stands, defensive coach Thibodeau leaned forward abruptly, staring intently at the players on the court.
In the second game, Finley, having lost face, immediately switched to playoff-level defense. His long arms tightly covered Kobe, and the thuds of their collisions could be clearly heard in the empty arena. Kobe was completely shut down and had no room to break through.
He turned and slammed Finley twice with his back turned, then used the rebound force to suddenly sway his shoulders, his body looming in mid-air with a huge backward tilt.
Finley had already covered his face.
Swish!
The ball grazed Finley's fingertips and fell cleanly into the net.
"Again!" Kobe landed without even looking at the basket, rudely demanding the ball from the assistant coach, staring intently at Finley. "Keep going!"
Finley gritted his teeth, his face turning completely grim.
"I heard this kid's a troublemaker," assistant coach Adelman whispered. "His offensive drive is unreasonable; he's hard to manage."
"It's unreasonable because no one is worthy of him passing the ball right now." Lin Qi stared at Kobe's eyes, which were red with the desire to tear his opponent apart, but what came to mind was Jordan's devastating one-on-one play in the last five minutes of Game 5.
This is the knife Lin Qi was looking for that could be physically dissected.
After the tryout, Kobe, covered in sweat, walked up to Lin Qi and, without the hesitation of youth, asked directly, "Will you draft me?"
Adelman and Thibodeau exchanged a glance, both amused and exasperated by the high school student's arrogance.
The second person to walk in was of Eastern Europe appearance.
Peja Stojakovic.
He appeared quiet, even a bit introverted, and stood outside the three-point line as per procedure.
"Let's begin." The assistant coach passed the ball over.
Catching the ball, jumping, shooting. The whole movement was as fluid as a precisely calibrated industrial machine.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
Thirty consecutive shots, from the bottom corner, 45 degrees, and the top of the arc, the sound of the ball hitting the net almost formed a dense symphony. What was even more terrifying was that, despite his physical exhaustion, his shooting form remained completely unchanged.
"Take a step back," Lin Qi suddenly called out from the stands.
Peja glanced at the floor and silently retreated to a distance of a full meter and a half from the NBA three-point line.
The assistant coach passes the ball.
Peja received the ball and shot without hesitation.
Swish!
Another crisp sound of net swishing.
Adelman stood up abruptly, his breathing becoming rapid. "That height... that release point! Lin, if the Chicago Bulls dare to use Pippen to collapse their defense again, this kid can shoot them to pieces!"
"Too slow, and probably a black hole on defense," Thibodeau said, pouring cold water on the idea.
"Defense can be practiced, but this kind of spacing and shooting range is a gift from God." Lin Qi looked away. "We need to solve the problem of Garnett being double-teamed; he's the best spacing nuclear weapon. Next."
The third player to step onto the stage was Steve Nash.
Upon seeing Nash's physical test results, Thibodeau's brow furrowed so deeply it could trap a fly. "Not tall enough, mediocre in strength, and his speed is only below average for a black guard. Lin will be devoured on the defensive end by the NBA's powerful point guards."
However, once the four-on-four drill began, the doubts from the sidelines vanished instantly.
Nash had the ball and, facing pressure from a young defender, casually took a step to the right, as if he had eyes in the back of his head.
With just this one move, the defender's center of gravity was shifted by half a millimeter.
Sizzle!
Nash flicked his wrist in a peculiar way, and the ball, as if guided by eyes, passed between the legs and fingers of two defenders, landing precisely in the hands of his teammate cutting into the open.
An easy layup.
In the next possession, facing a double-team, Nash, in a desperate situation where he lost his balance and could barely see the basket, made a blind behind-the-back pass with one hand.
The ball, with a strong spin, came to a comfortable chest position right in front of the shooter at the bottom corner.
The person catching the ball doesn't even need to adjust; they just raise their hand.
"Damn, he's not playing on instinct." Adelman rubbed his eyes, completely amazed. "He's reading the defense with his brain. His passing timing is a step ahead of 80% of the point guards in the league!"
As Lin Qi looked at Nash, the image that flashed through his mind was Sam Cassell being completely blocked by Pippen's long arms in the playoffs.
The Celtics don't need another guard who can only push with his muscles; they need a commander, a super brain who can run a hundred different pick-and-rolls with Kevin Garnett in the high post.
The trial training was extremely fast-paced.
The fourth player to appear was Jermaine O'Neal. This high school student was like a terrifying spring stretched to its limit. During the rim protection drill, he used his long, towering arms and double-jump ability to swatt away Finley's seemingly inevitable dunk from the backboard while out of position.
"Rough, but with good physical attributes and a solid foundation; a tough, dark-skinned guy who can do the dirty work." Thibodeau's eyes gleamed with the glint of a potential genius. "Give me a few years, and I can develop him into a defensive-minded center."
The last to appear, " Big Z " Nas Ilgauskas, was like a moving Lithuania Mountain.
" Big Z " stood in the paint, and without even jumping, his raised arms alone exerted immense pressure on the trial forwards. What was even more disheartening was that this 220cm giant possessed a remarkably smooth mid-range jumper from the free-throw line.
"The medical report indicates a significant risk of injury to his ankle," the medical director whispered in Lin Qi's ear. "Selecting him was a huge gamble."
As the sun set, all five trial sessions came to an end.
Lin Qi returned to his office alone. On the whiteboard, five names were already written after the five questions:
Hard-Solve -- Kobe Brian
Space -- Peja Stojakovic
Brain -- Steve Nash
Energy -- Jermaine O'Neal
The Tower – Nas Ilgauskas
Looking at the five names, Lin Qi lit a cigarette.
He knew that this group of people were still greenhorns, but as long as he could bring them together, that was the ultimate the Answer to overthrowing the Chicago Bulls and even dominating the next twenty years.
The next day.
"Lin, something's happened."
Coach Adelman didn't even bother to knock; he strode in with a stern face and gently patted three fax papers, still warm from the ink, onto Lin Qi's desk.
Lin Qi leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the list.
Kobe Brian's team: Due to recent scheduling conflicts, the second individual workout originally scheduled for this week has been cancelled as the time needs to be rescheduled.
Peja Stojakovic's team: Disagreements over details in Europe buyout negotiations have led to an indefinite postponement of his trip to the United States.
Jermaine O'Neal's team: He has been experiencing health issues recently and is undergoing closed-door treatment as advised by his doctor.
Three faxes, each with slightly different wording, arrived in Boston on the same morning at almost the same pace.
Lin Qi's expression remained largely unchanged. He simply opened a drawer and neatly folded three sheets of fax paper before placing them inside.