"Su Jun, pinch me, quick. Did I hear that right? Mo Ke got picked?" Xia Song frantically stuck his arm in front of Su Jun, signaling for him to pinch it.
Su Jun raised his hand but pinched himself instead.
He also thought he had misheard.
But the promotional picture of Mo Ke that appeared on the big screen couldn’t be wrong. The Suns really had picked Mo Ke.
"How could this be?"
"I don’t get it. The Suns never even held a tryout for Mo Ke, did they?"
Amid their shock, the surrounding Chinese colleagues had already started discussing it.
The Suns’ pick was too sudden.
Xia Song decided not to leave and sat back down in front of Su Jun. He had already pinched himself and confirmed he wasn’t dreaming.
"What do you think the Suns were thinking? Why would they suddenly pick Mo Ke?" Xia Song mumbled to himself, still unable to figure out why the Suns would do such a thing.
Su Jun, still excited, said, "Why are you worrying so much about it? What, you don’t want Mo Ke to get picked?"
Even though it was just a late second-round pick, nothing compared to Yao Ming’s first overall, he was still drafted. To be chosen from a worldwide pool of talent each year was enough to prove Mo Ke was a prodigy.
"No, no, no." Xia Song shook his head. "You have to understand, being drafted doesn’t guarantee a contract. Maybe they just want to secure his draft rights."
It’s not uncommon for second-round picks to be drafted but never signed.
Many international players, sometimes without even declaring for the draft, are inexplicably picked by an NBA team from thousands of miles away, and of course, they never end up playing in the NBA.
"Don’t be so pessimistic. Ma Long and Sabonis both retired. The Suns need bodies in their frontcourt; isn’t it perfectly normal for them to pick Mo Ke?" Su Jun retorted.
Xia Song glanced at Su Jun, his expression seeming to say, ’You probably don’t even believe that yourself.’
Xia Song was well aware of Mo Ke’s actual skill level.
After thinking for a moment, Xia Song said, "But being picked by the Suns is actually a good outcome. The Suns have Chen Yu, and Chen Yu’s connections with the Basketball Association and the National Sports Administration are unusually deep. So at least when it comes to the issue of releasing him, the Basketball Association won’t stand in the way."
The Mavericks have deep ties to China, but that’s based on the personal relationship between Xia Song and Old Nelson.
But Chen Yu is different. He has close ties even with the Sports Bureau.
It’s a whole different ball game.
"No, I have to contact Mo Ke right away." Without a second thought, Xia Song hurriedly stood up.
Mo Ke was still back in China, training with the National Team.
The draft came to an end. Deeply frustrated at having come away with nothing, Brian pulled Chen Yu aside and once again trotted out his "over-the-hill" team-building strategy.
"Chen, what do you think about Glenn Robinson?" Judging by his expression, this clearly wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea, but something he had been mulling over for a long time.
Chen Yu paused for a moment, then asked, "Is his contract up?"
’He did a quick mental calculation... it really is up.’
He entered the league with Hill in ’94. Who knows what gave him the audacity to ask the Bucks for a hundred-million-dollar contract right out of the gate.
That year, even Jordan hadn’t yet gotten his eye-popping thirty-million-dollar contract.
It led to countless veterans cursing him out; even O’Neal and Hardaway, who had entered the NBA the year before, caught a lot of flak because of it.
In the end, the Bucks’ management stubbornly went along with it, actually giving him a massive 10-year contract.
The very next year, the NBA introduced new regulations that established a rookie salary cap.
This year is ’04, which means it’s expiring right on schedule.
Brian nodded. "It’s up. He’s only 31, and last season with the Digital People he still averaged 16.6 points and 4.5 rebounds. Most importantly, he doesn’t have a championship."
Hill, who’s from the same draft class and a few months older, is still playing at a high level. With numbers like that, somebody is bound to want Big Dog.
"Forget it." Chen Yu waved his hand dismissively. "First, ask the Digital People if they’re even willing to re-sign him. Besides, at his age, do you really think he’d accept a veteran’s minimum contract?"
’The Suns’ current strategy is to lower payroll; how could we possibly give out another huge, high-paying contract?’
"Most importantly, how long has it been since the whole thing with Ma Long? Are you sure you want to make the same mistake twice?"
’The guy’s basketball talent is top-tier, of course. Otherwise, why would the Bucks have gritted their teeth and given him that 10-year contract?’
’But off the court, he’s nothing but trouble. Arrogant and conceited, he was traded by the Bucks to the Hawks. Then came the domestic violence against his fiancée and the alcoholism. The Hawks couldn’t stand it anymore and shipped him off to the Digital People, where he became teammates with Iverson, who also had his own domestic abuse issues.’
’Once he got to the Digital People, he didn’t exactly keep a low profile. Alcoholism, skipping practice, a string of minor injuries... Last season, he stumbled through just over forty games. In his current state, it’s highly doubtful the Digital People will want to keep him.’
’Signing a locker room cancer like him would only create more trouble.’
’The Suns have a harmonious locker room; we don’t need a hothead like him.’
Across the entire league, the Suns’ locker room chemistry is considered quite good.
After his major injury, Hardaway had mellowed out and wasn’t one to fight for the spotlight.
O’Neal was the type to be a clown and let loose, but he was smart and knew where to draw the line.
He was a world of difference from hotheads like Robinson and Ma Long.
The mention of Ma Long made Brian’s head ache. He waved a hand to stop Chen Yu. "Alright, just pretend I never said anything."
"I’m heading out."
Chen Yu waved and left the conference room.
Now that the offseason had truly begun, Chen Yu had a lot on his plate.
The first task at hand was the show.
Far away in Safford, inside the city’s only decent hotel, Durant and the other kids had just finished watching the draft.
Their faces showed nothing but envy.
"It would be amazing if I could be the first overall pick in the NBA three years from now," Harden said, his face full of longing.
He pointed to himself, struck a pose, and announced, "Gentlemen, standing before you is the second high school point guard in NBA history."
Unfortunately for him, Livingston had just beaten him to the punch, becoming the first high school point guard in NBA draft history.
His comical pose and expression made the others double over with laughter.
Even Durant couldn’t help but snort with laughter. When he first met Harden, he’d thought he was quiet and reserved. But after getting to know him these past few days, he’d discovered Harden was actually pretty easygoing. Especially around friends, he wasn’t petty, knew how to liven up the mood, and would, without warning, do something you’d never expect.
Little Jordan, sitting nearby, was clearly more concerned with the money. He counted on his fingers, calculating, "A number one pick’s starting salary should be four million a year, right? After taxes, you probably take home half, so that’s two million. Two million dollars... I wouldn’t even know how to spend it."
"I’d buy a car. A Lamborghini," Holidays added quietly.
Griffin nodded in agreement. "I’m not into sports cars. I like big SUVs. That’s a real man’s vehicle."
He flexed his thick biceps.
Durant opened his mouth to say, "The first thing I’d do is buy my mom a big house."
His words instantly killed the conversation, and complex expressions appeared on the other boys’ faces.
Just as they were speaking, the door opened.
Presti walked in, along with the general manager of DeRozan’s team and a scout from the Raptors, Allen Tuck.
They told the boys to get some rest, because filming for the show would officially begin tomorrow, and with it would come the very first challenge.
At the mention of a challenge, Durant perked up.
Challenges were a way to earn salary cap bonuses, which would affect the final outcome.
"Alright, guys. Let’s give it our all." Though not the oldest, DeRozan was the most mature. He glanced at everyone and held out his right hand.
Harden was the first to put his hand in.
"Let’s do this."
Durant added his hand, and they all shouted together.
’It’s just like Presti said. An opportunity to achieve my dream is right in front of me. Just like when I first chose basketball, there’s no turning back. I just have to keep working hard and pushing forward.’
Early the next morning, the six of them set out for the gym, ready for the day’s filming.
But after arriving at the gym, they were all separated.
"Kevin, you’re aware that there’s a challenge today, right?" The field director assigned to Durant was a man named Stevenson. He wore narrow-framed glasses and always had a friendly-looking smile on his face.
Durant nodded.
Stevenson continued, "Actually, this is a ’bonus’ challenge. It’s very simple. If you succeed, your team’s salary cap will increase by 500,000."
Hearing it was a bonus, Durant relaxed a bit.
But Stevenson’s constant smile made him a bit suspicious, and he had to ask, ’Is it really a bonus?’
"Of course," Stevenson nodded without hesitation. "The task is for you to team up with two random passersby and win a 3-on-3 streetball game."
It sounded simple enough. As long as his opponents weren’t at a Professional Level, Durant was confident he could win, even while carrying two randoms.
He asked for a few more details about the task.
"So, I get to pick my opponents, and then James and the other guy will pick my teammates for me?"
Stevenson nodded. "You can head out in a minute. Go to a nearby streetball court and find your opponents. Of course, how and who you choose is completely up to you. There’s no shame in picking a weaker opponent."
Durant raised an eyebrow.
’Picking weak opponents on a streetball court? For a TV show that tens of millions of people are going to watch? I can’t afford that embarrassment.’
"Got it."
Without overthinking it, Durant immediately set off with the camera crew.
Meanwhile, Harden and Little Jordan received their tasks as well.
"So, I need to find someone with the last name Williams to help Kevin with his challenge? What exactly is the challenge?" Harden asked after glancing at the card he had drawn.
"That’s a secret," the field director said with a smile.
Harden just said, "Oh," and didn’t press the issue, immediately setting off with the camera crew.
In the United States, Williams was an incredibly common last name, just like Smith, Johnson, or Brown. Harden figured it would be easy to find someone.
But as he stood on the sparsely populated street, baking under the scorching sun, Harden felt lost.
For one, there weren’t many people around. For another, he had a bit of social anxiety. He worked up the courage to ask a few people, but no luck—none of them fit the bill.
As he walked, his eyes were drawn to a young, curvy woman standing in the shade in front of a distant shop. She was wearing a pink tank top and had her hair in dreadlocks.
Harden subconsciously glanced at the woman’s ample backside a few times before hastily looking away, lowering his head as he tried to walk past her.
But as he passed, the woman whistled at him and gave him a flirtatious wink.
Harden’s face flushed red, and on some bizarre impulse, he asked if her last name was Williams.
The woman paused for a second, then beamed. "That’s right, cutie. I’m the Williams you’re looking for."
Harden froze.
’Just like that? I found one?’
A dozen or so meters away, the field director was trailing him with a small camera. He was listening in via the microphone on Harden’s shirt. When he heard Harden invite the woman to participate in a challenge with him—mentioning a cash reward, no less—the director was instantly petrified.
’Is this dumb kid serious?’

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