Zhao Dong leaned back on the couch, sipping a drink as he listened to Chenglong speak in a disappointed tone.
"There's really no way to help him out?" Chenglong asked, clearly frustrated.
"It's not like that," Zhao Dong replied with a calm smile. "I can arrange for someone to protect Arong and keep the paparazzi off his back. But that's just treating the symptoms, not the disease. Sooner or later, he's gotta go back to the entertainment scene. He can't hide out in the States forever."
"You're right," Chenglong admitted with a sigh. "It's not sustainable."
"I really don't want to bother Brother Zhao Dong," Zhang Guorong said with a gentle smile. "I've gotten used to this kind of environment anyway."
"No! Didn't Zhao Dong just say there's a way?" Mei Yanfang cut in urgently.
"Oh, right!" Chenglong suddenly perked up, turning toward Zhao Dong. "Come on, man, don't play with me. Arong's been through a lot lately. We all want to help him, but there's only so much we can do. The media and paparazzi are relentless. He's almost on the edge of depression. Please… help him."
Zhao Dong chuckled. "I never said I wouldn't help."
"Then who's behind it? Which media outlet's giving you trouble?" he asked, leaning forward.
"Pingguo," all three replied at once, their expressions darkening.
Zhao Dong nodded thoughtfully. "Got it. Arong, you stay in the U.S. for a while. I'll take care of this Pingguo situation. Once I'm done, you can head back."
"Wait, how exactly are you gonna handle it?" Chenglong asked in a rush.
"I heard this media outlet is planning to go public soon," Mei Yanfang added, worry creeping into her voice. "That would only make them more powerful."
"Going public?" Zhao Dong laughed. "Even better."
He looked at them and grinned. "If it wasn't going public, it'd be a little tricky. But now? It's perfect."
The three stars stared at him.
"This kind of tabloid isn't worth much, even if it goes public," Zhao Dong continued. "A few hundred million Hong Kong dollars at most. I could buy them out without blinking."
"Buy them out?" Chenglong's eyes widened.
"Seriously?" Mei Yanfang gasped.
"You're just gonna acquire them?" Zhang Guorong asked in disbelief.
"You really are a big boss now," Chenglong muttered.
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Honestly, I don't think they're worth that much. Probably less than a hundred million."
"Just tens of millions?" Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow. He hadn't paid close attention to Pingguo's actual scale yet. In the future, Next Media's valuation would shoot up to billions, so this seemed like a bargain.
But in his heart, Zhao Dong had already made up his mind. This was his opportunity to cut off the venomous reach of Pingguo and clip Li Laogui's wings.
"I don't handle this type of stuff personally. But don't worry—Lindsay will take care of it."
"Lindsay?" Chenglong said, laughing. "Isn't that like using a missile to swat a fly?"
"She's the best for this kind of thing," Zhao Dong replied, waving his hand. "Precise and deadly. Minimal effort, maximum impact."
After dinner, when Zhao Dong heard that paparazzi had followed them all the way to New York, he quickly arranged hotel accommodations for Zhang Guorong and the others. Two of his personal bodyguards escorted them safely.
Later that night, once he got home, Zhao Dong brought it up with Lindsay.
"There's this media company, Pingguo," he began. "Owned by a guy named Li Laogui. They've been going after Arong hard."
Lindsay's eyes turned sharp.
"Just acquiring that company won't solve the root issue," she said coolly. "If we don't go for the kill, he'll just open a new one somewhere else. We need to bankrupt him. Ruin him. Lock him up. That's how you put an end to a man like him."
"What do you have in mind?" Zhao Dong asked, curious.
"I need to dig into his financials and history. Once I know where the rot is, I'll set the hook. The greedier he is, the easier it'll be to bring him down," Lindsay said with a cold smile.
It was morning in Hongcheng. Lindsay immediately contacted the head of the Storm Fund's local branch and ordered a full investigation into Li Laogui—his background, finances, everything.
Once the call ended, Zhao Dong leaned back and looked at her.
"Eve, China's applying for WTO membership," he said seriously. "I think within three years they'll be in. Once they join, their economy's gonna skyrocket. We need to be ready. We need to build our own industrial group."
Lindsay turned to him, listening closely.
"Finance is virtual," Zhao Dong continued. "If we go too deep into it, it turns into a bubble. We can't just play with capital—we need both legs on the ground. One leg in finance, one leg in real industry."
"I get it," Lindsay nodded. "If finance becomes too dominant, it'll suck up all the talent, the money, even the policy support. That's already happening here in the States. Just look at college students—more of them are majoring in finance than ever before."
Zhao Dong smirked. "Exactly. If this trend keeps up, U.S. manufacturing will keep moving overseas. It'll get worse every year."
He pointed at the table for emphasis.
"Once China joins the WTO, with their labor force and low wages, manufacturers will flock there. Think about it—what happens when America loses its factories and becomes fully dependent on outside supply?"
Lindsay looked at Zhao Dong in surprise.
"Wait… honey, are you saying American manufacturing is gonna shift to China?"
Zhao Dong nodded calmly. "Of course. Didn't I just say China's accession to the WTO is a once-in-a-century opportunity? Think about it—this country has over a billion people. Once our economy takes off, just imagine the scale of consumption and production we're talking about."
Lindsay smiled. "Alright then… let's build an industry."
Zhao Dong leaned back. "Before 1949, China only had around 70,000 engineers. That's it. A country this big only had that many. But after 30 years of development, by the end of the 1970s, we had nearly 3 million engineers. And in the past two decades, that number has multiplied several times. Now, we've got tens of millions."
He looked at Lindsay. "You know what that means?"
She tilted her head.
"It means we've built the backbone of a massive industrial machine. Even at the peak of the U.S. industrial era, they didn't have this many engineers."
Lindsay's eyes widened slightly, taken aback.
Zhao Dong continued with a slight smile, "And don't forget—our huge population is the foundation for scaling up production. Once the U.S. started deindustrializing and turned to ruling the world with finance, the writing was on the wall."
"You mean the future belongs to… China?" Lindsay said, still stunned.
Zhao Dong gave a small nod.
"Yeah."
---
That night, the NBA Playoffs raged on.
In the East, the Philadelphia 76ers bounced back and took Game 2. But in a surprise twist, the Miami Heat fell to the Orlando Magic, tying their series.
Out West, the Phoenix Suns dropped Game 2 to the Dallas Mavericks, also tying the series, while the Portland Trail Blazers surged ahead with a 2-0 lead over the Sacramento Kings.
May 11th. Madison Square Garden.
Game 2 between the New York Knicks and Detroit Pistons tipped off, and once again, Zhao Dong put on a show—dropping a 30+ point triple-double and leading the Knicks to back-to-back wins.
That same night, teams like the Spurs, Lakers, and Knicks handled business, all going up 2-0 in their respective series.
But over in Chicago, things weren't so pretty.
The Bulls, heavily favored, got shocked by the Atlanta Hawks, losing 95–93.
Dikembe Mutombo turned in a monster performance—logging 48 minutes with 19 points, 27 rebounds, 2 assists, 1 steal, and a jaw-dropping 8 blocks.
No Hawk scored over 20, but the entire starting five hit double digits, and they had another bench player doing work too. It was a total team effort—and they took down the mighty Bulls.
Inside the Bulls' locker room, it was a whole different vibe.
McGrady, still a young gun, clearly felt the playoff pressure. After a shortened season, his stamina tanked. He went 1-for-10 from the field and lost all confidence to shoot.
Down low, Rasheed Wallace got absolutely owned by Mutombo—blocked four times. In the 9th minute of the fourth quarter, frustrated and out of control, Wallace started barking at the refs, got hit with a tech, and was ejected.
With the Wallace tossed, the aging Patrick Ewing couldn't hold it down inside. Charles Oakley fought hard, but he couldn't carry the frontcourt alone.
Meanwhile, McGrady completely collapsed on the wing, and the Bulls fell apart.
Michael Jordan did his best, dropping 35 points. But he missed the game-tying three in the final seconds—and even the GOAT couldn't drag them out of the hole.
---
Postgame at the United Center.
A reporter raised a mic. "Michael, if you guys don't win it all this year… will you retire again?"
Jordan's face froze. His eyes locked on the reporter like a hawk, the tension suffocating. The reporter looked away, visibly shaken.
Jordan let out a slow breath.
"I don't retire after failure. Never."
---
Back in the locker room, the tension was thicker than ever. No one dared leave.
Jordan entered, and it felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees. The king had returned. And everyone braced for the storm.
He made a beeline for McGrady.
The rookie flinched, shoulders stiff, not daring to look up.
"What are you scared of?" Jordan said, his voice cold and sharp.
"I… I…" McGrady stammered, barely audible.
"Why didn't you shoot when you were wide open at the end? They weren't even guarding you!"
McGrady's hands twisted together nervously. He still didn't look up.
Jordan stared at him, disappointed. The kid had talent—no doubt. But his willpower? Nowhere near guys like Kobe or Iverson.
Even though McGrady had improved a lot with the Bulls, Jordan wasn't seeing the fire he wanted. Meanwhile, Kobe was already grinding in L.A., and AI had Philly on his back.
Jordan turned and locked eyes with Rasheed Wallace.
Wallace's eye twitched. He sat upright, squaring up his shoulders like he was ready to stand his ground.
"What're you looking at?" Jordan growled.
"…You," Wallace muttered, his tone defiant.
Jordan nearly laughed. "You know Danny Fortson played 35 games this season and only got hit with four techs? You played 44 and racked up 19 technicals, got ejected four times, and were suspended for three more games. You're a damn liability!"
Wallace's mouth opened, and he shot back, "Fortson got neutered by Zhao Dong. I'm not tryna be like him."
Jordan's jaw tightened.
"Oh really? Well, you might be heading to New York next season. Let's see how Zhao Dong handles you there."
"You wanna trade me for Fortson? You think I'm not as good as him?" Wallace stood up now, full-on challenge mode.
Jordan wasn't backing down. "Fortson hasn't gotten a single tech this postseason. He's averaging 14 rebounds, only 3 fouls and 1.5 turnovers a game. What about you?"
Wallace fired back. "I defend better than him, cover more ground, score more, and I'm just as valuable to this team!"
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Then start acting like it."
Wallace snapped. "Why are you always on my ass? You think I'm the problem?"
Things were getting out of control.
That's when Oakley stepped in.
"Mike…" he said calmly, stepping between them. "Cool it."
Jordan didn't move, but his eyes stayed locked on Wallace.
Oakley continued, voice firm, "We blow up in here, and it's over. We're not winning anything with a split locker room."
He just couldn't wrap his head around it.
Both Jordan and Zhao Dong were top-tier superstars in the league, so why was there such a massive difference in the locker room vibes between the two?
Jordan's Bulls locker room had always been chaotic. Back when Horace Grant was around, Mike couldn't stand him. When it was Scottie Pippen and Dennis Rodman, there was always tension brewing. The conflicts just kept piling up. If Jordan hadn't been so dominant back then—and if guys like Larry Bird and the Bad Boys hadn't started to decline—the Bulls dynasty might not have even happened.
But Zhao Dong? His Knicks locker room was solid—like a brick wall.
Whether it was the players or management, everyone was on the same page. No unnecessary drama. Just straight business. Word around the league was that even Latrell had settled down in New York this season and started acting like a model citizen. That's the kind of influence Zhao Dong had. They didn't call them the New York Gentlemen's Team for nothing.
Of course, Zhao leading the crew into big-money investments was part of it too. But more than that, he wasn't strict or overbearing like Mike. His leadership style didn't drown you in pressure. Instead, the energy in the locker room was always balanced—never too tense, never too loose. He inspired confidence rather than bark orders.
He motivated guys. He didn't break 'em.
"Charles, what are you trying to say?" Jordan asked, turning back.
"Mike, don't go comparing your teammates to others—just like I never compare my bank account to Zhao Dong's," Oakley said with a smirk, his tone sincere. "No matter how strong someone else is, they're still your opponent. But no matter how flawed your teammates are, they're still the guys helping you."
Jordan blinked, stunned. He hadn't expected that kind of wisdom from Oakley—the same guy known more for throwing punches than dropping knowledge.
Oakley scratched his head, chuckling a little awkwardly. "Well… that's actually something Zhao Dong said."
"Man, don't bring his name up," Jordan muttered, annoyed.
Oakley laughed. "Hey, he's your boss now. Every game you play, you're makin' him money."
"Damn it," Jordan growled.
But thanks to Oakley, the tense atmosphere started to lift inside the Bulls' locker room.
---
April 12 – Playoffs, First Round Continues
That same day, the Knicks landed in Detroit.
That night, the 76ers swept the Pacers clean, advancing to the second round with serious momentum. At the same time, the Magic knocked out the Heat, taking their series 2–1.
In the West, both the Suns and the Trail Blazers suffered road losses, giving their opponents some breathing room.
---
April 13
The Bulls finally caught some rhythm on the road, putting down the Hawks and taking a 2–1 lead in the series.
Over in the West, both the Lakers and Spurs missed out on sweep opportunities, losing their road games and falling back to 2–1.
Only the Knicks kept the pressure on. They took care of business in Detroit, sweeping the Pistons. Just like the 76ers, they punched their ticket to the second round—and were now set to face off against them next.
---
April 14 – Back in New York
Zhao Dong spent the afternoon chilling at home. Mrs. Dolores had just flown in from Europe, and he and Lindsay had gone to pick her up. After catching up on family stuff, the conversation shifted to business.
"Zhao Dong, Lindsay," said Mrs. Dolores, "the return rate on Storm Fund has been unbelievable lately. Over the past two months, I've had multiple European funds reach out, hoping we'll expand Storm's scale. What are your thoughts?"
Lindsay turned to Zhao Dong. The overall direction of Storm was always his call. She handled the details—but big decisions? That was on him.
Zhao Dong leaned back and said calmly, "From April '97 till now—just 25 months—the Nasdaq has surged from 1,200 points to 4,600. That's nearly a fourfold increase. With all the global capital flooding in, the U.S. stock market's total value has exploded from $4 trillion to over $15 trillion. It's a full-blown capital feast.
"Our eight stable Storm funds alone have an average return of over six times. The venture funds? Even more aggressive. Storm's appeal is sky-high."
He paused, then added with a serious tone, "But here's my take: The Nasdaq's about to hit its peak. We're nearing a major reversal—a bear market is on the horizon."
Mrs. Dolores was stunned. Lindsay, on the other hand, stayed composed.
Zhao Dong continued, "The Nasdaq may still rise a bit more. This is our final window to switch from long to short. Lindsay, if we cashed everything out right now, what's our total capital under Storm?"
Lindsay replied smoothly, "We've got twelve funds in total—four venture capital and eight conservative. By year's end, we expect to wrap them all up. The projected total capital is $270 billion.
"The eight conservative funds alone hold $150 billion in U.S. stocks—that's around 1% of the entire market. All eyes are on us right now. We're standing right at the eye of the storm."
Mrs. Dolores smiled. "With that kind of capital, Storm isn't just some regular Wall Street fund anymore. You're on the level of investment banks—top-tier ones at that."
Zhao Dong shook his head modestly. "We're only comparable to first-class investment banks in terms of size. The top-tier ones? They play in a different league. Our business scope is still limited—mostly just pure investment. We don't yet have a meaningful impact on the real economy.
"Even among mid-tier investment banks, we're just a big player in a narrow field. We've got a long way to go."
Lindsay nodded. "Once we pull out all our funds, I plan to dissolve the entire fund system under Storm."
"What?" Mrs. Dolores expression froze.
She had just been talking about how eager Europe was to get involved with Storm—and now they were planning to shut it down?
Lindsay quickly added, "We're only dissolving the funds themselves. Storm as a company stays."
Mrs. Dolissa let out a sigh of relief.
Lindsay continued, "Last year, we distributed 30% of the profits—$36 billion—and reinvested the rest. This year, we'll distribute all of it. Total expected profit? $160 billion."
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