T/N: This chapter marks a small but meaningful milestone—500 chapters completed.
Thank you to everyone who's been reading, supporting, commenting, and sticking with this story for so long. Reaching this point wouldn't have been possible without you. I'm grateful to have you along for the ride.
There's still a long road ahead. The story isn't slowing down, and neither am I.
— GRANDMAESTA_30
. . .
After Lin Yi and Yao Ming returned to New York together, the Knicks' front office—quiet for most of the summer—suddenly sprang to life.
Yao Ming officially signed with the Knicks on a one-year veteran minimum deal. With Klay already wearing No. 11, Yao chose No. 80 for the upcoming season.
The news sent Chinese fans into another frenzy. As for the Chinese entertainment world—celebrities who had been waiting for the Olympics to end so they could reclaim the headlines—there was nothing they could do but watch in silence.
Lin Yi alone had been dominating the trending charts. Add Yao Ming to the mix?
Forget it. Completely untouchable.
ESPN insider Wojnarowski handed the signing a B. In his analysis, although Yao was out of his prime, his presence would immediately stabilize the Knicks' interior, and he made a point of highlighting the impact on the Chinese fanbase.
It was obvious: the Knicks were about to become the team for Chinese fans next season. Former Chinese Rockets supporters were already switching sides in droves.
NBA commissioner David Stern was quietly pleased when he saw the deal go through.
If Yao had still been in his prime, Stern never would have allowed him and Lin Yi to play on the same team. From a business standpoint, keeping them apart would have generated even greater appeal in the Chinese market.
Stern liked seeing Chinese players succeed—but he didn't want any single NBA roster to feel too Chinese.
This situation, however, was different. Yao had signed for the minimum and made it clear this would be his final NBA season.
Watching the Knicks' market value soar, Stern couldn't help but feel a bit of regret. Had he known this earlier, he might've pushed to host one or two regular-season games in China.
Tickets for that year's NBA China Games were already being resold at absurd prices. Meanwhile, Tencent Sports—just as Lin Yi remembered—had secured the NBA's broadcasting rights for five years at 500 million dollars.
By future standards, it wasn't a massive deal. But in Stern's eyes, it marked real progress.
Nike and Adidas were already printing money in China. Sales of Lin Yi's Grim Reaper and Glory signature lines there had long surpassed U.S. numbers. Knicks merchandise stores across China kept reporting record sales.
Lin Yi's rise had undeniably pushed the NBA's influence in China to a new level.
Stern's only concern now was balance.
Outside of New York, contenders were aggressively stacking talent. The Knicks, despite their strength, were still essentially built around the 404 duo—Lin Yi and Paul—with the rest of the roster made up of young players and veterans.
After Lin Yi captured his second straight regular-season MVP, Stern wasn't eager to see a third. Not out of bias—but because no league should lean too heavily on a single star.
And yet… the more Stern watched Lin Yi, the more he liked him.
From a business perspective, Stern's instincts had always been sharp. Convincing the IOC to allow NBA players into the Olympics hadn't been about goodwill—it was about exposure.
The 1992 Dream Team proved that instantly.
After Barcelona, international talent flooded into the league, and the NBA became the ultimate stage for basketball worldwide.
The London Olympics had achieved something similar.
The Chinese team, led by Lin Yi, going head-to-head with a star-studded U.S. roster in the Final, was described by many fans as an All-Star Game, although the Chinese roster diluted it a bit.
And unlike the All-Star Game, there were no favors, no easing up.
It was raw. Competitive. Unfiltered.
From Stern's perspective, it was publicity money that simply couldn't buy.
Why was Team USA dominant?
Because they were packed with NBA superstars.
Why did China rise so fast?
Because they had an NBA MVP.
Quietly, Stern made up his mind:
If the Knicks didn't add another superstar that summer, and if Lin Yi maintained both his numbers and the team's record, then a third straight MVP wouldn't be out of the question.
Lin Yi, of course, knew nothing about this.
The moment Yao's signing was finalized, Lin Yi threw himself straight into intense individual training.
Yao returned to Houston first. After making his decision, he needed time to rest—and to move on his own terms.
…
For Lin Yi, the most painful part of every offseason was the same: putting on weight.
Not fat.
Muscle.
Even among NBA elites, adding 1.5 kilograms of muscle in a month was considered impressive.
With only two months left before the season tipped off, Lin Yi set a clear target for himself:
Secure two, push for three—two to three kilograms of lean muscle.
While Lin Yi was fully immersed in his summer program, the Knicks quietly completed a small trade.
They sent Chandler Parsons to the Indiana Pacers in exchange for Marcus Morris.
At long last, the Morris brothers were reunited.
Last season, the younger Morris averaged a very special kind of double-double with the Pacers: fifteen towel waves and fifteen water cup deliveries per game. An elite contributor, just not in the box score.
Indiana, to be fair, was genuinely high on Chandler Parsons. They liked his shooting, his off-ball cuts, and—if we're being honest—his face didn't hurt either. From their perspective, he fit the system and the marketing department.
The Knicks were looking at something else entirely.
They wanted athleticism. Length. Someone who could absorb contact, switch defensively, and at least make life uncomfortable for LeBron James. That made the younger Morris the obvious choice.
For both teams, it was a clean deal. Parsons wasn't going to break out in New York, and Morris needed a stage where his physical tools actually mattered.
When the Morris brothers heard the news while training in Florida, they hugged each other on the spot—no shame, no filter. They'd always been tight. Same agent. Same offseason plans. Eventually, even their contract renewals would be negotiated together.
Their girlfriends, unfortunately, were less enthusiastic. Even now, most people still couldn't confidently tell which brother was which.
The younger Morris had a slightly cleaner shooting form than his brother. Once the trade went through, Lin Yi called him directly.
"Corners and the forty-five," Lin Yi said plainly. "Lock those down. You hit those consistently, you're in the rotation. No bs."
That was all it took.
The younger Morris hung up, fired up, already picturing himself as a legit 3-and-D piece. Watching his brother thrive in New York the year before had eaten at him more than he'd admit. Now that they were finally together, the two made a quiet agreement: stick close to Lin Yi and don't let go.
A week into Lin Yi's special training, another familiar face showed up.
Klay Thompson arrived straight from Los Angeles, having just finished the first phase of his offseason work with his father. He looked different—stronger through the shoulders, quicker through his release.
The shot was faster. Sharper. Almost automatic.
And the New York nightclub VIP cards? Gone.
The hair? Buzzed.
When Klay played Lin Yi one-on-one on his first day, Lin Yi understood immediately why this guy would eventually become the ultimate 3-and-D weapon.
Klay couldn't stop everything in the post—but if Lin Yi relaxed even slightly, a clean look wasn't guaranteed. Strong base. Good hands. No wasted movement.
Some players just felt solid.
A clean-cut Klay, it turned out, was peak Klay.
Not long after, Stephen Curry arrived in New York as well, fresh off finishing his own training block with Dell Curry.
The moment he saw Klay's buzz cut, Curry completely lost it.
He bent over, hands on his knees, laughing.
"Man… you look like you're about to collect debts."
Klay glanced at him. "You're one to talk. You look thicker."
And he was.
Curry had clearly put on weight—nothing bulky, but enough that he didn't look fragile anymore. His defense still wasn't his calling card, but at least now he wasn't a liability.
When the two played one-on-one, Lin Yi did everything right defensively.
It didn't matter.
Curry took shots that made no sense, with balance that shouldn't exist—and they still went in.
Lin Yi could only shake his head. Some things were just unfair.
He remembered that in the original timeline, the Warriors would break through and make the playoffs in the 2012–13 season. Even though the Splash Brothers and Green weren't together in quite the same way anymore, this version of Golden State was far from weak.
Curry had done some leveling up.
From here on out, he was ready to lead.
And the league would feel it soon enough.
. . .
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