Just as Su Feng and McGrady were enjoying themselves on the afternoon of June 28, the 1995 NBA Draft was officially held in Toronto.
This was a draft with far-reaching consequences, and it also marked the debut of two new NBA franchises—the Toronto Raptors and the Vancouver Grizzlies—at the draft.
Joe Smith, out of the University of Maryland, was selected first overall by the Golden State Warriors.
Smith was technically well-rounded, and during his rookie season, he fully lived up to the No. 1 pick status.
The turning point in Smith's career came when his rookie contract neared its end.
With the Warriors in terrible shape, Smith—guided by his high-profile agent Andrew Miller Miller—chose to enter free agency, rejecting the team's three-year, $36 million extension.
In an attempt to salvage value, the Warriors traded Smith to the Philadelphia 76ers.
Upon arriving in Philly, Smith learned quickly: even if you're a top pick, under Coach Larry Brown, there's no guaranteed respect.
Then came the NBA lockout. When free agency reopened in February the following year, Smith was blindsided...
That's when Miller came up with a backdoor strategy.
First, Smith signed an under-market two-year, $1.75 million deal with the Timberwolves. Then, quietly, he was promised a mammoth seven-year, $76 million deal.
The infamous "Yin-Yang contract" instantly transformed the Timberwolves into the Huskies—at least in reputation.
Just before the lockout, the Timberwolves had inked Garnett to a six-year, $126 million megadeal.
After the league uncovered the irregularities in Smith's contract, the Timberwolves were hit hard: stripped of their first-round picks for five years and fined heavily.
Smith was declared a free agent once again.
The lockout had ushered in a series of reforms that made the NBA's salary-cap enforcement tighter and more robust.
The combination of Smith's shady contract and Garnett's astronomical deal effectively crippled Minnesota's roster-building flexibility.
As for Smith—the former No. 1 pick—his career never recovered. He faded into NBA mediocrity.
After retirement, financial struggles forced him onto a reality TV show for help.
So, tell me—was it worth it?
You turned down a solid contract, chased a bigger payout... and paid the price.
Honestly, common sense is underrated.
After Smith, Antonio McDyess was picked second overall by the Clippers.
Next, the Philadelphia 76ers selected Jerry Stackhouse—forever cast as the supporting actor to NBA superstars—with the third pick.
Stackhouse? He got thrashed.
Talked trash to Jordan—got humbled by Jordan. Tried to mentor Kobe—got outplayed by Kobe. Waged a shooting war against Allen Iverson—got shipped off. Thought he was better than Vince Carter—yeah, no.
That was that. After boosting the confidence of NBA "main characters," Stackhouse himself never reached leading-man status.
Eventually, he chose self-preservation over confrontation.
With the top picks out, the other elite prospects soon followed.
Fourth overall: Rasheed Wallace to the Washington Bullets.
Fifth: high school phenom Kevin Garnett to the Minnesota Timberwolves.
When Garnett was picked, Celtics VP M.L. Carr, oozing sourness, remarked, "Kevin's the best high school player since Moses Malone. But he'd be even better in the NBA if he went to college."
Garnett read that and thought: what kind of logic is that?
If I could pass a college entrance exam, would I need NBA classes?
Even before stepping onto the court, Garnett felt the world's skepticism bearing down on him.
Ridicule. Nonsense. Mind games.
Garnett swore to become an elite trash talker. In the NBA, he'd dish it out—never take it.
Anyway... back to business.
"Mighty Mouse" Damon Stoudamire was picked seventh by the Raptors.
"White Men Can Jump" Brent Barry went 15th to the Nuggets, and Michael Finley landed with the Suns at No. 21.
Others, like Bob Sura, Donny Marshall, and Eric Snow, followed their own paths—just like Su Feng had in his past life—recruited and molded by teams who truly wanted them.
…
The camera shifts back to Orlando.
After completing physical exams for Su Feng and McGrady, their results left all three trainers stunned.
Though Su Feng's current potential is locked by the 7.0 "iron system firewall," let's not forget—he's only 17 years old.
As for McGrady? After seeing his stats, trainer Mancias exclaimed, "The sky's his limit."
During McGrady's exam, Mancias also noticed something unusual—his spine differs from an average person's.
Because of that, he advised: "Don't gain weight too quickly, and avoid driving into contact too often."
In Su Feng's past life, when McGrady hit peak form with the Magic, he relied heavily on pull-up jumpers. He played nearly 40 minutes per game, and aside from minor injuries, stayed mostly healthy.
But after joining the Rockets—thanks to changes in HC rules—McGrady's weight went up.
Mancias was right: weight control is crucial. Yet, Su Feng believed it wasn't enough—avoiding major injuries requires more than just playing light and driving less.
The best way to maximize McGrady's talent is to preserve his health.
Show brilliance in short bursts, extend the career.
But that wasn't easy. In the '90s, being a team's star meant playing close to 40 minutes—anything less, and you'd be labeled soft.
Heavy workloads were simply tradition.
After a full day of training, Su Feng went to find Fraser.
A one-on-one with McGrady had exposed something: against someone taller and faster, Su Feng struggled.
And this was before McGrady had even unlocked his signature moves. If his shot improved by the end of the summer, Su Feng wouldn't stand a chance.
Sure, "iron value" matters—but boosting your actual strength is what wins games.
If you can't solve McGrady—just a sophomore—how can you survive in the NBA?
Su Feng knew his ball-handling still needed serious work, so he focused on his strongest skill: defense.
Fraser had coached Nash in Su Feng's past life, helping him refine both his shooting and defense.
Okay... maybe Nash's defense didn't benefit much.
But Su Feng trusted Fraser's teaching.
"So you're saying you're struggling?" Fraser asked.
"Yeah. Facing Kobe and guys like him—they've got so many moves, it's hard to read them," Su Feng replied.
"Then why not take the initiative?" Fraser challenged.
"Take the initiative?"
"Exactly."
Under Fraser's guidance, Su Feng grasped a new defensive mindset.
If "Death Coil" and "Mad Dog Defense" were basics, Fraser now offered him the elite curriculum.
He taught Su Feng to use HC rules smartly, how to position his hands against slashers, and how to calculate safe distances.
Applying past experience, Su Feng crafted a new method: "magnetic defense"—also jokingly dubbed "spare tire defense."
Think of it like this: your crush treats you like a backup—ignores you, but the second you pull away, she chases you again.
Fraser defined Su Feng's optimal range—30 to 50 cm—based on wingspan and lateral speed.
Within this radius, if McGrady pulled up, Su Feng could contest with reach.
"Defense doesn't need brute force," Fraser said. "It's okay if you don't stop them every time. Just drain their energy. That's victory, too."
Over the next few days, Su Feng tested his new strategy.
Turns out...
It worked.
Because Su Feng finally claimed his first one-on-one win.
After countless losses—Su Feng triumphed.
21–18. McGrady exhausted.
Su Feng only wished he had a camera.
Proof: "I beat Tracy McGrady. I actually beat Tracy McGrady!"
Okay... maybe beating a younger player isn't headline-worthy.
But Su Feng had gained invaluable defensive insight, right?
As he strutted around, teasing McGrady with a hand on his hip, something stirred in Su Feng's mind...