New York.
Inside the practice gym attached to Madison Square Garden.
Zhou Yuan, dressed in Knicks gear, was undergoing a private workout.
Two trainers assisted him—one guiding, one recording stats.
Knicks GM Glen Grunwald watched closely from the sideline.
On the neighboring court, the Knicks roster was scrimmaging, but one by one, their attention drifted toward Zhou Yuan's workout.
A hand span of 12 inches, dwarfing Michael Jordan's famous 9.75-inch grip.
A 100-meter sprint in 10.9 seconds.
Combined with his enormous stride, he could reach the rim from the backcourt with just three dribbles.
He could even take off from beyond the three-point line in three steps and still finish.
A freak of nature.
But the scariest part was—
His mid-range shooting: 49 makes out of 50 attempts.
From five different three-point spots: 44 out of 50.
His jumper looked unstoppable.
His three-point shooting wasn't all-time elite, but it was right behind legends like Ray Allen.
And in this era, when three-point shooting wasn't yet king, a big man with this level of outside touch was unheard of.
Ball-handling? Zhou Yuan could execute complex dribble combos with ease, while maintaining absolute control.
His basketball IQ, his grasp of tactics, his ability to read the game—all at a historic level.
The skills and poise of a top-tier point guard.
The speed, shooting, and agility of an elite guard.
And the height of a dominant big man!
What kind of monster was this?
Grunwald, the trainers, the entire Knicks squad—all were stunned.
This kind of talent made people drool.
"Incredible… Zhou Yuan's talent is ahead of his time. And no one wanted him?"
"Who in their right mind would pass on this guy?"
"His agent asked for how much again? One year, $4.5 million? Screw it, give him $5 million. I need to make sure Zhou Yuan signs with us!"
To Grunwald, Zhou Yuan was a priceless jade, and he wasn't letting go.
Before the ink dried on a contract, no training footage was leaving the gym.
If Zhou Yuan delivered even a fraction of this potential, $5 million was a bargain.
And a one-year deal benefited both sides:
If he flopped, the Knicks could cut losses.
If he thrived, Zhou Yuan could demand a huge contract next season.
Grunwald ordered an assistant to prepare the contract upstairs.
But before signing, he wanted one last test.
He called over David Lee, last season's Knicks leading scorer, who averaged 20.2 points and 11.7 rebounds.
The perfect test, since both were big men—and Lee was the team's core.
"Mr. Grunwald, I usually play on the perimeter. Why test me against a post player?" Zhou Yuan asked with a faint smile, palming the ball.
"What's wrong? Afraid Lee will destroy you? He's our leading scorer, our main big man. You're just a rookie. If you can score five points on him, that's excellent. Don't be scared."
To Grunwald, this matchup looked like a total mismatch: a proven NBA star versus an unproven rookie.
"Welcome to the NBA, rookie. You take the ball first," David Lee said coldly. He wasn't much of a trash-talker, but against a newcomer, he couldn't resist laying it down.
Zhou Yuan only shrugged, casually holding the ball at the top of the arc, staring Lee down.
Lee had seen Zhou Yuan's shooting, so he didn't dare sag off. But as a veteran, he also didn't want to press up immediately. He gave him a step of space.
You don't guard me? Fine, I'll shoot.
Zhou Yuan rose lightly, released a smooth three-pointer—
Swish!
The ball carved a sharp arc through the air and snapped the net.
Lee's defense had been softer than a massage parlor hostess. Zhou Yuan didn't even bother driving—just pulled up in his face.
Getting scored on instantly, Lee's expression darkened. He pressed closer this time, arms waving, feet shuffling, fully engaged.
Zhou Yuan cradled the ball, posed in triple-threat, then drove right. Lee moved quickly, cutting him off.
But Zhou Yuan spun sharply, his long legs covering ground in a single step, slipping past to the rim.
He rose effortlessly, one arm outstretched—
Bam! A dunk without even needing much lift, just his sheer reach.
"I like breaking presses. You can guard tighter if you want," Zhou Yuan teased.
Lee was furious, his rhythm broken.
But no matter the category—height, strength, speed, handle, agility, footwork, shooting—
Zhou Yuan dominated.
Under "winner keeps the ball" rules, Lee could barely touch it.
Zhou Yuan scored seven straight, only missing once out of mercy.
Lee, desperate to save face, tried to post up and shoot—
Smack! Zhou Yuan swatted his shot right back.
The duel ended with Zhou Yuan hammering a dunk over Lee.
10–0. A complete demolition.
The gym erupted.
Grunwald had only expected Zhou Yuan to score five points while losing.
Instead…
Holy crap.
This was slaughter.
And the scarier Zhou Yuan looked, the more thrilled Grunwald became.
This wasn't just a steal.
This was a franchise cornerstone.
Rebuilding? With Zhou Yuan, it really was this simple.
"Get the contract! Zhou Yuan, upstairs now—don't waste another second!" Grunwald shouted, terrified his prize would slip away.
The cooked duck was right in his hands, and he wasn't letting it fly off.