Madison Square Garden glowed under the bright lights, the legendary temple of basketball once again drawing the eyes of the world. The 2015 All-Star Weekend had arrived!
With the Kings' rise this season—and to cater to the Chinese market—the team had an unusually strong presence in the festivities. Cousins and CJ were both selected as reserves for the All-Star Game, while LaVine and Jokić earned spots in the Rookie Game thanks to their impressive performances.
For Jokić, a second-round pick, making the Rookie Game was already a huge honor. An unexpected bonus came when Bojan, normally just a fringe rotation player, was added to the roster because the international squad didn't have enough players. That gave the Kings three representatives in the Rookie Game.
CJ also entered the Skills Challenge, and LaVine joined the Slam Dunk Contest.
Chen Yilun didn't care much about the other events—he was only looking forward to the dunk contest. Many people mix up the timeline and think this year featured the iconic LaVine vs. Gordon duel. But that wouldn't happen until the following year. This year's lineup included Giannis Antetokounmpo—the Greek Freak—Oladipo, LaVine, and others. The real peak was still a year away.
Still, whether interested or not, All-Star Weekend was one of the rare occasions where all 30 teams—from executives to players—gathered under one roof. For fans and players, it was a rare midseason break. But for managers like Chen Yilun, it was nothing but overtime.
The trade deadline was just two days after the All-Star Game. Every deal had to be finalized within that narrow window, and the All-Star break provided general managers with the perfect chance to maneuver.
Nearly every GM came to New York. Unlike before, when everyone was scattered across the country and relying on phone calls, now they were all in one place, making negotiations much easier. Even the laziest GM would push through sleepless nights chasing trades.
Chen Yilun climbed up to the highest seats and looked down at the court, sighing.
"Madison really is the mecca of basketball. Even these awful seats sell out."
These were the cheapest tickets in the arena, and you got exactly what you paid for. From up here, the players looked like ants. Without the massive screen hanging above the court, you couldn't tell who was who. It was like paying for a front-row seat to watch TV.
It wasn't that Chen Yilun was strapped for cash. As the Kings' GM, he could get prime tickets whenever he wanted. But up here, he could stay out of sight. With the spotlight fixed on the floor, nobody noticed what was happening in the nosebleeds.
"You made it?" In a quiet corner, Danny Ainge sat in a plain old shirt, not a hint of Celtics green on him, sipping from a beer he'd bought at the arena.
"Yeah, you got here pretty early." Chen Yilun, wearing sunglasses and casual clothes, sat down beside him.
On his other side, a man with glasses nodded in greeting.
It was Ryan McDonough, the Suns' GM.
This was Chen Yilun's first time meeting him. Both were from the West, and with old disputes lingering between their predecessors, the two sides rarely crossed paths.
"So, where do we start?" Chen Yilun pulled a local New York newspaper from his briefcase, unfolded it across his lap, and asked casually.
"From our last discussion, the most I'm willing to add is a protected first-rounder," Ainge said, taking a sip of beer before turning to McDonough. "Ryan, you've got to understand—we're helping you here. That three-point-guard experiment is a dead end. If you don't cut your losses now, no one's going to save you."
McDonough grimaced. Last season, the Suns had thrived with their two-guard backcourt and fast-paced offense. Riding that success, they doubled down in the offseason, signing Isaiah Thomas to form a three-guard Suns lineup.
But the move backfired. Their record collapsed, and core player Dragic lost faith, demanding a trade.
Sensing his hesitation, Chen Yilun cut in. "We're willing to make concessions too, but the most we'll add is another second-rounder."
"If I don't take your Mozgov, with that crowded frontcourt of yours, you'll be stuck with him," McDonough pressed, thinking he'd found leverage.
But Chen Yilun didn't bite. Flipping through the newspaper nonchalantly, he said, "Sure, it's tricky—but my situation isn't the same as yours. Mozgov's a solid blue-collar player. If I put him on the market, plenty of teams will want him. But your Isaiah Thomas? That's a different story. His flaws are obvious."
Then he suddenly turned to Ainge. "By the way, I've been reconsidering your Crowder. He's only had a few good games since joining you. Paying that much for him feels like I'd be taking a loss."
The core of the three-team trade was the Kings' Mozgov, the Suns' Isaiah Thomas, and the Celtics' Crowder. On paper, it was a win for everyone.
The Kings already had Cousins, Oden, and Jokić in the frontcourt. Mozgov, useful early in the season, had become expendable—better to flip him for assets elsewhere.
The Celtics had acquired Crowder from the Mavericks midseason. He'd shown flashes of being a quality 3-and-D player, but it was still early, and his long-term ceiling was uncertain.
As for the Suns, Isaiah Thomas simply didn't fit. With their season already lost, moving him while he still had value was their best option.
The sticking point, as always, was the extras.
The Celtics wanted Thomas at the lowest cost possible. The Suns wanted some future assets back. The Kings? They were just stirring the pot, looking to squeeze out whatever they could.
The three of them kept their voices low, bargaining back and forth.
Around them, working-class New Yorkers craned their necks to watch the action on the court. None of them could have imagined that right in their midst, three NBA general managers were locked in heated trade talks.
By the time the dull Celebrity Game wound down, the three had finally reached a basic agreement. One by one, they left their seats.
Chen Yilun was the last to leave. Watching Ainge and McDonough exit, he chuckled, folded the newspaper, slipped it into his briefcase, and headed down.
"Sir, excuse me—ticket, please." At the edge of the section, a security guard stopped him.
"Oh, sure." Chen Yilun casually pulled out a ticket and handed it over. The guard examined it and frowned. "Sorry, sir. This is for the upper level. You can't go down."
"Huh?" Chen Yilun pulled off his sunglasses and glanced at the ticket in the guard's hand. "Ah, wrong one—my mistake." He rummaged through his pocket again, pulled out another ticket, and handed it over.
"A courtside ticket?" The guard's eyes went wide. These premium seats were reserved for VIPs and celebrities. Looking up and finally recognizing Chen Yilun without the sunglasses, he froze. "Mr. Chen! My apologies—I didn't recognize you earlier. Please, go ahead."
Chen Yilun nodded politely, slipped him a small tip, and walked downstairs.
The guard watched him leave, then noticed the upper-level ticket still in his hand. A new question came to mind.
He glanced up at the nosebleeds, seats so high they nearly touched the ceiling.
"Why would Chen Yilun buy a ticket for the top row?"
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser