At noon, Zhao Dong hosted Jordan and Magic Johnson for lunch.
"Zhao Dong," Magic said, shaking his head, "I really don't get why you'd come back. Take my advice—announce your retirement now. You'll remain the god of basketball forever. But if you lose, you'll fall from the altar. Don't forget, your career was only seven years long. That's your weakness. If you fail at these Olympics, that weakness will be magnified for the world to see."
Jordan shrugged. "Don't bother trying to talk him out of it. He can't quit now, not after rejoining the national team. If he walked away, the media and fans would roast him alive."
Zhao Dong smiled calmly. "You're both that pessimistic about me? I still train three hours every day."
"Three hours? Every single day?" Both men froze.
Jordan leaned forward. "Since you retired?"
"Of course," Zhao Dong replied with a grin.
"Damn…" Jordan swore under his breath, then frowned. "Then why didn't you go back to the NBA after leaving the NFL? You've been grinding like that for four years—just for these Olympics?"
Magic looked equally puzzled, nodding in agreement.
"Why would I go back to the NBA?" Zhao Dong said casually. "There's no challenge left there. But yes—you're right about one thing. Every bit of my daily training has been for this Olympics."
"You're insane," Jordan muttered. "Four years of your life… wasted on one Olympics? Is it worth it?"
"Why not? This Olympics means everything to my country," Zhao Dong replied firmly. He didn't bother explaining further. He knew Americans wouldn't understand certain Chinese values, and there was no point in arguing.
After the meal, Zhao Dong left. Jordan and Magic lingered, speaking quietly.
"This guy's still got at least eighty percent of his old strength," Magic said, concern in his tone. "Should we tip off the team?"
Jordan nodded. "You do it."
Magic hesitated. "But why would Zhao Dong tell us this in the first place? Doesn't he worry we'll warn Team USA?"
Jordan laughed. "Worry? Him? He's Zhao Dong. In the NBA, he became a legend in one season. In the NFL, he did the same. Do you think a man like that cares about leaks?"
Magic sighed with a wry smile. "True. Killing two opponents in one game and three in a season—that's legend enough."
---
Sure enough, the U.S. team quickly got word that Zhao Dong had been training three hours a day for years. Coach K immediately convened a closed-door strategy session.
The news had the players buzzing.
Carmelo Anthony leaned forward, dismissive. "Come on, he's thirty-one. Even with daily training, his body's gotta be declining. And he hasn't played competitively in five years. Without game action, how do you keep your edge?"
Then his eyes gleamed. "But that's what makes this perfect. This Olympics is our chance—our last chance. He'll retire after this for sure. So this is it: the chance to kill the god. We can't waste it."
A chill ran through the room. His words lit a fire in every player present.
God-killer.
The phrase echoed in their minds, making their hearts pound faster.
---
On the night of August 10, the Wukesong Stadium was electric. Media outlets from all over the world filled the seats. Sports stars mingled in the stands. Heads of state, Olympic officials, and dignitaries from multiple nations were in attendance.
The atmosphere was already historic.
In the crowd, Zhao Dong's family arrived—four sons, one daughter, and their mother Liu Wei—drawing loud cheers from the audience.
The five children were bundles of energy, unable to sit still. As soon as they arrived, they sprinted straight to the court.
The fourth son, Zhao Rongxing, marched confidently up to several referees. "Gentlemen," he said in crisp English, "can you give me a ball?"
The referees, instantly recognizing Zhao Dong's famous quadruplets, exchanged amused smiles. One handed him an official game ball with genuine respect. "Here you go, young man."
"Thank you, sir!" Rongxing grinned, then hollered back to his brothers, "Come on, let's play two-on-two!"
"I want in too!"
Qiaoqiao came running, arms outstretched, eyes fixed on the ball.
Rongxing froze. He didn't dare stop his little sister, and could only watch helplessly as she swiped the ball right out of his hands.
"Humph!" Qiaoqiao lifted her chin proudly, dribbling toward the hoop with ease. "Four dumb brothers, come on! All of you against me!"
"..."
The four boys stood there in silence, looking up at the ceiling in defeat.
The crowd in the front rows burst into laughter.
Just then, it was time for the teams to take the court. Liu Wei called the boys back, and they ran off without protest. Qiaoqiao, however, stayed planted in the middle of the floor, refusing to budge.
Liu Wei sighed, helpless. She rarely had time to care for Qiaoqiao, who had been raised mostly by Zhao Dong himself. And when it came to authority, the little girl only listened to one person—her father.
The players from both sides stepped onto the court to thunderous cheers.
"Dad!"
Qiaoqiao tossed the basketball aside and ran straight into Zhao Dong's arms, beaming with excitement.
"Dad, you have to win!"
This was her first time watching him play—he had retired before she was born—and her little face was glowing with anticipation.
Zhao Dong scooped her up and laughed. "Don't worry. Even if I wanted to lose, I couldn't."
He set her down gently next to Liu Wei and added with a smile, "But Qiaoqiao, you can't run onto the court while Dad's playing, okay?"
"Yeah!" Qiaoqiao nodded vigorously.
Zhao Dong patted her head affectionately, then jogged off to warm up. He took more than a dozen shots, missing only one. Each time he put the ball up—even when it rimmed out—the crowd roared with applause.
On CCTV's live broadcast, commentators Zhang Heli and Su Qun were watching closely.
"It's been five years," Zhang said with emotion. "Zhao Dong retired suddenly from the NBA at 26, right at his peak. Time flies—we haven't seen him play since."
"Yes, five years feels like a lifetime," Su Qun agreed.
Comparing the lineups, Zhang laid it out. "The Chinese and American teams both have strengths. At center, Yao Ming should dominate Dwight Howard. But at power forward, Yi Jianlian and Wang Zhizhi will have to deal with Bosh and Boozer. There we're at a disadvantage."
Su Qun added, "At small forward, the Americans are stacked—LeBron James, Anthony, Prince. James came into the league as Zhao Dong's so-called successor, and now he's the face of the NBA. That's a huge gap for us."
"At shooting guard, Kobe, Wade, and Redd—another disadvantage," Zhang continued. "And at point guard, they've got Kidd, Chris Paul, and Deron Williams. On our side, it's Sun Yue, Liu Wei, Chen Jianghua… the difference is massive."
Shaking his head, he sighed. "This American team doesn't even have the concept of starters and bench. Every guy is a starter in the NBA. In four of the five positions, we're at a disadvantage."
Then his tone brightened. "So it all comes down to Zhao Dong—what condition he's in, and what role he'll play."
Su Qun nodded. "It was rumored Yao was hurt recently, but he's recovered well enough to rejoin training. If he's healthy, Zhao Dong may take the point guard spot—our weakest link."
"That makes sense," Zhang agreed. "At power forward, Alian has grown quickly. In two NBA seasons with the Bobcats, he's secured his starting role. He should start here too. Dazhi is better suited as a backup center."
---
At 10:15 p.m., the game tipped off.
China's starting five: Yao Ming, Yi Jianlian, Zhu Fangyu, Wang Shipeng, Zhao Dong.
Team USA's starters: Dwight Howard, Carmelo Anthony, LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, Jason Kidd.
As the players gathered for the jump ball, Zhao Dong stepped forward. "Yao, let me handle this."
Yao blinked in surprise. He remembered that back in Zhao's Knicks days, he never jumped for tip-offs. But without hesitation, Yao stepped aside.
Howard smirked. "Zhao Dong, can you even jump anymore?"
"Heh." Zhao Dong grinned. "Not only can I jump, I can win it."
Howard's smile faltered.
"I'm at point guard tonight," Zhao Dong added, voice low and sharp. "So watch the paint. If you don't want to get hurt, clear the lane."
Howard's face stiffened. He tried to laugh it off. "Don't scare me, Zhao Dong. You've been out of the NFL for four years. You're not the steel-armored monster anymore. You can't charge like before."
Zhao Dong just chuckled, not bothering to answer. But his confidence unsettled Howard, leaving his mind uneasy.
The referee tossed the ball into the air. Both men leapt.
In midair, Zhao Dong initiated contact, using his unmatched core strength. His aerial control was still world-class, forged by years of cross-sport dominance. Howard's balance broke instantly; Zhao forced him off-center.
Snap!
Zhao Dong got his hand to the ball first, tipping it perfectly toward Wang Shipeng.
"Beautiful! From that jump alone, you can see Zhao Dong's still in great shape—he even outmuscled Howard in the air!" Su Qun shouted excitedly.
Both commentators exchanged relieved looks. Before the game, no one knew how much of his old self Zhao Dong had left. But that jump ball—just a single play—was enough to ease their doubts.
The truth was simple: Zhao Dong had kept himself sharp. Training at least three hours a day for years, his body hadn't slipped. In fact, he was still at his peak.
---
(End of chapter)
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