The West pushed the ball up. Shaq and Kobe both called for it, but Payton dished it to Garnett on the left wing.
Zhao Dong was guarding with his eyes, chillin' like he ain't pressed. Garnett saw his shot and drove straight into the paint.
Mutombo clocked that and thought, "He tryna dunk on me?"
Nah, Mutombo wasn't having it. KG was still a young buck, and this was Mutombo's chance to flex his shot-blocking game.
"Bang!"
KG went up for the jam—and got swatted clean.
Zhao Dong grabbed the rock and started pushing the pace. By now, MJ, Grant Hill, and Penny were already sprinting down the court.
Zhao Dong slowed it down, bringing the ball up with that calm predator vibe.
Then MJ and Kobe broke out to the left wing. MJ suddenly slowed up, letting the rookie fly past him.
Kobe saw it, hit the brakes, and spun back.
But that was exactly what MJ wanted—he turned on the jets, blew past Kobe, and cut hard to the rack.
While slicing in, he gave Zhao Dong a look—You gonna pass that or nah?
If Zhao Dong didn't give it up, MJ wasn't gonna beef, but he also wasn't tryna be this dude's background prop either. Might as well hit the bench and avoid lookin' dumb.
Right on cue, Zhao Dong fired a long dime over the top—and MJ took flight.
"Bang!"
MJ snatched the ball with one hand in mid-air. Perfect height, perfect timing. He pulled back like he was drawing a bow and hammered it home with a vicious tomahawk dunk.
"YEAH!"
New York went nuts. Jordan's still got mad fans in the Garden. His sneakers fly off shelves every year, so the crowd was rockin'.
"Pah pah pah…"
On the sideline, Commissioner Stern was clapping. That connection between Zhao Dong and MJ? That's the highlight reel he dreamed of.
Zhao Dong didn't really wanna pass it to MJ—but he wasn't trying to look like a black hole either. Plus, he needed those dimes tonight, so he had to dish it when it mattered.
Last year, MJ dropped a triple-double in 26 minutes—the first ever in All-Star history. Zhao Dong wasn't here for an encore. He wanted to set a record no one's touched before and fight for that GOAT of the All-Star Game crown.
Back on defense, Zhao Dong locked in on Karl Malone.
Grant Hill had been guarding the Mailman last possession, but as soon as Zhao Dong came over, Hill peaced out and switched to Garnett.
"Yo, Mailman, gimme the rock! What, you scared to post up? You ain't got the guts?" Zhao Dong barked from behind Karl Malone.
"Pfft!"
Shaq and Mutombo cracked up under the basket.
"Hmph!"
Karl Malone just grunted and called for the ball from Payton.
"Bang!"
Just as Malone was about to catch it, Zhao Dong eased up a bit on his defense, tricking Malone into shifting his weight back. In that moment, Zhao Dong lunged in and snatched the ball clean.
"Damn it!"
Malone was heated. Weren't you tryna bang in the post? Liar!
"Go, go, go!"
Zhao Dong took off down the floor and shouted at the wings to run.
MJ, Grant Hill, and Penny Hardaway took off at full speed.
Penny had the best angle—he was dead center and closest. Payton was trailing, not fast enough to catch up. Penny lost him, burst past the arc, and broke into the paint.
Zhao Dong's pass was slick—zipped right past Penny's head. He caught it in stride, took two steps, and punched it home with authority.
"This dude's passing is on a whole new level!" MJ squinted, nodding to himself.
That pass? That was elite. Point guard material, for real.
Zhao Dong's court vision was evolving. With that kind of dime-dropping, his assist numbers were gonna skyrocket. He was showing more of his playmaking bag this season—stronger than last year.
MJ knew winning the title this time was gonna be even tougher—but he wasn't worried. The Bulls were deeper this year, and he was still the king.
Fifth minute in—West came down again. Kobe had the ball at the right wing three-point line.
"Better stay on your feet, Mike, or I'll drop you!" Kobe barked, full of rookie swagger.
Kobe, just a first-year in the league, already trash-talking MJ like he wasn't the GOAT.
He faked left, then hit a between-the-legs crossover to the right.
But MJ wasn't new to this. He stayed in front, kept his feet down, and cut him off.
Then Kobe hit a sudden spin back left—clean move—and broke Jordan.
That was the result of a summer grinding. Kobe's left-hand game leveled up big-time.
Once he blew past MJ, his confidence went through the roof. He locked in, adrenaline poppin', and charged straight toward the paint, where Zhao Dong and Mutombo were waiting.
"Come on then!" Mutombo hollered, but he slid out the way, leaving the paint for Zhao Dong to handle.
Oh, you think you gonna dunk on me? Zhao Dong smirked and got ready to clap that weak stuff.
Kobe took off, ball tucked in his chest, not even bringing it up yet.
Zhao Dong caught that. He ain't gonna shoot. He's tryna fake me, hang in the air, and slide by like me or MJ would.
But here's the thing—Kobe's hands weren't big enough to palm the ball mid-air like that.
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong didn't even jump. He just timed it, slapped the ball—and Kobe's hand—out of the air.
"Agh!"
Kobe winced in pain. The ball went flying.
Zhao Dong scooped it, hit the jets, and ran the break.
"Go, go!" Kobe hollered at the ref, begging for a call.
But he wasn't getting that whistle. He was still a rookie, and Zhao Dong? That's the league's golden boy. The ref didn't even blink and took off down the court.
Grant Hill shook off Garnett, broke free, and cut straight to the cup. Zhao Dong's pass was right on time, soft and easy.
Grant caught it in rhythm, took one stride, and BOOM!—flushed it.
By the ninth minute of the first quarter, Zhao Dong had racked up:
3-for-3 shooting
6 points
3 boards
4 dimes
2 steals
1 block
Then he got subbed out by Coach Nelson.
The fans in the Garden gave him a loud ovation as he walked off.
"Coach, put me back in for the second half," Zhao Dong told Nelson on his way to the bench.
Old Don just nodded. He knew the drill. The second half was when the defense got serious. Zhao Dong was probably tryna pad his defensive stats.
Zhao Dong sat down, checked his box score, and frowned a bit at the lack of blocks.
But hey, if Karl Malone didn't wanna post up, there wasn't much he could do.
That's why he usually didn't even want to play the first half. It was all about the flash—scoring, dunks, highlights. He didn't wanna kill the vibe.
At the end of the first half, the score was 55-60, East up by five.
Jordan played 15 minutes, went 5-of-9 from the field, hit 1-of-1 from deep, and dropped 11 points—game's leading scorer so far.
Halftime was packed with star power.
The league brought in the Backstreet Boys—yeah, that boy band that's been blowin' up since last year—to perform "Quit Game," a track that's been sittin' at number two across the charts for weeks. Madison Square Garden was lit.
Second half kicked off with the East rolling out Zhao Dong, Shawn Kemp, Reggie Miller, Jordan, and Glen Rice. The West countered with Duncan, Karl Malone, Garnett, Eddie Jones, and Stockton.
Coach Don Nelson knew Zhao Dong was gonna be the floor general, so he didn't even bother putting a point guard on the floor.
The West was stacked with bigs and lacked true wings, so Garnett slid down to the four.
Zhao Dong brought it up, stopped just beyond the left wing three.
Even though the second half of All-Star Games gets more serious, nobody rushed him with a double. Karl Malone took the assignment solo.
"The Mailman's toast if he tries to guard Zhao on the perimeter," Shaq said courtside with a grin.
"If he tries to guard him in the post, he's still getting cooked," David Robinson chimed in. "His elbows don't work on Zhao Dong. Without 'em, he's just a lion with no bite."
Back on the court, Zhao Dong suddenly took off, left Karl reaching, hit the brakes—Malone slipped and hit the hardwood with a loud thud.
"Ohhh! The Mailman's on the floor!" the commentator hollered.
Zhao didn't waste a second. He blew past him down the wing, heading straight to the rack.
"Damn it!"
Malone, red-faced on the ground, punched the floor in frustration.
Under the rim, Duncan was locked in on Zhao.
Last time they met, Zhao embarrassed him. But Duncan had that Jordan-type mental toughness—shook it off and came back stronger.
Thanks to the timeline shift, Duncan had even learned some rebounding tricks from Zhao himself. Dude was stronger now than in the OG timeline, and the numbers proved it.
Zhao Dong attacked. As he approached Duncan, he scooped the ball off the floor and tossed it high off the glass.
"Wrong angle."
Duncan tried to contest, but his timing was off—he couldn't even jump.
Then he realized it wasn't a shot—it was a setup.
Zhao had already cut to the rim. The ball bounced off the board perfectly toward him.
He elevated, snatched it with both hands mid-air, spun 360, flew to the right side of the rim, curled his core in, pulled back, and BOOM—double-handed slam.
BANG!
The rim bent with the force. Photogs on the baseline were shook.
"YEAH!!"
MSG exploded with hype.
"YEAH YEAH YEAH—"
The live announcer lost his mind. "That's a monster jam by Zhao Dong! 360 spin into a two-handed smash! Rookie No. 1 pick Tim Duncan got treated like a traffic cone!"
On the sidelines, the All-Stars and legends stood clapping.
"The Mailman just caught another L. You think Zhao would smack him if he threw an elbow today?" Payton joked.
"Nah, Malone ain't dumb. This is the All-Star Game," Shaq replied with a smirk.
"Yo, his Silver Demon kicks are fire," Nick Van Exel said suddenly.
"Straight flames. Performance is wild too," Kobe added.
"You copped a pair too?" they all asked at once.
"Nah," Kobe shook his head quick. No way he'd admit that—not with that 6-year, $48 mil Adidas deal.
But deep down, he figured they all secretly copped a pair just like him.
He loved the Silver Demon 1s—cold, mysterious, straight savage vibes. They felt like magic. And honestly? Way better than his Adidas kicks.
West's turn.
Stockton brought it up, got a screen from Malone. Zhao Dong switched onto him.
Stockton looked surprised. Zhao had never switched on pick-and-rolls with him and Malone before. It caught him off guard.
In Utah, he'd get help screens from other guys, but this was the All-Star Game—no real chemistry out here.
He tried to get it to Malone, but Zhao's footwork and lateral quickness were nasty. He stuck on him tight. No passing lane. Stockton had to reset.
"Yo, where the hell is Glen Rice? Ain't he supposed to switch?" Zhao thought, annoyed.
Screw it.
Zhao turned up the pressure and pressed Stockton hard. His speed, strength, and perimeter D were just too much. Stockton got pushed back.
Now, Stockton had some nasty dribble craft—he was known for cheap shots, stepping on feet, little elbows. That's how he earned the title "one of the four dirtiest players."
But against Zhao? Nah.
Dude had already been embarrassed by him and saw him beat the brakes off Malone in the ring. There was trauma there. No way was he tryin' any slick moves.
Stockton couldn't shake free and had to dump it off to Eddie Jones.
But the moment he let it go, Zhao read it like a book, stretched out that ridiculous wingspan, and snatched it mid-pass.
"Ohh! That's a clean steal! Zhao Dong just picked Stockton like a pocket!" the commentator yelled.
Zhao hit top speed, coast to coast. Nobody on Earth was stopping this break.
Two dribbles, then he broke in from the left wing. He curved into the paint like a missile.
Pulled the ball up, raised his left like he was gonna jam...
Then—switched hands under the crotch mid-air—and banged it home with his right.
BANG!
The rim rattled again, MSG straight up lost it.
"OH MY GOD! A between-the-legs dunk! Power and finesse in one! Zhao Dong's putting on a show!"
CCTV's Sun Zhenping couldn't contain himself either.
"Zhao Dong's out here showing off big time tonight!"
"This is his home court, and he's newly married. No way he's not hyped!" Zhang Heli chuckled.
Back on the floor, Tim Duncan caught the rock, squared up at a 45-degree angle, and banked it in clean over Shawn Kemp—barely any cheers.
Stern frowned. That ain't the type of energy he wanted on this stage. Quiet buckets? He was already wishing someone would get Duncan off the floor.
Zhao Dong brought the ball up on the left wing. He spotted Shawn cutting in from the right and zipped a one-handed bullet pass to him.
Shawn jumped, caught it mid-air, and BOOM—two-handed slam straight through the rim. The basket rocked hard.
"Oh man! That was brutal! Two monsters just hooked up for a nasty alley-oop!" Marv Albert's voice boomed through the arena.
The East was dunking everything in sight, turning up the heat and stealing the show. The West was getting tense. No way they were gonna let the East shine like that without a response.
So they subbed out Duncan—quiet style—and brought in the big fella.
"Oh yeah, y'all already know what time it is. The West still gotta ride with me!" Shaquille O'Neal shouted, dancing his way onto the court and getting a thunderous ovation.
BANG!
Next possession, the West fed Shaq in the post. He spun around and threw down a vicious two-hand dunk that sent Shawn Kemp flying under the basket.
"YEAH!"
The crowd ate it up. That kind of raw power? Fans live for that.
"Kemp trying to guard Shaq? Man, come on now," a few NBA stars courtside cracked up.
"Zhao Dong! Get in the post and show Shaq what's up. Your boys can't hold him," Kareem Abdul-Jabbar stood up, shouting from his seat.
Plenty of people agreed.
But Zhao Dong wasn't having it. "Man, this is just the All-Star game. No need to flex on Shaq now."
He made a mental note, though. If he had to see the Lakers in the Finals, he'd need to be ready—bulk up those legs and get stronger. Then he'd battle Shaq for real.
Right now? He could still take Shaq. Same plan as before—drag him out the paint and cook him from mid-range. It worked. Not as efficient as banging inside, but still buckets.
He took the ball up near the left wing three-point line and threw up an iso sign.
Everyone cleared out. The paint was wide open.
Just as Zhao Dong was about to break down Karl Malone and drive in, MJ made a sneaky cut.
"Damn, you snatching my shine again?"
Zhao Dong sighed and tossed the lob.
He wanted that play. Breaking Malone off the dribble would've been light work.
BOOM!
Jordan caught it, did a mid-air pull-up, reversed under the rim and jammed it one-handed—crowd lost it.
"You're not young no more, you know. That move could snap a hip," Zhao Dong joked as MJ jogged back.
"Please. I'll still be doing that at 80. You'll be on life support with a catheter," Jordan clapped back.
"Man, apologize right now or I'm freezing you out the rest of the game," Zhao Dong shot back.
"Forget that, I'm outta here. I'm not here to run cardio!" MJ barked.
"Then take a seat, OG." Zhao Dong smirked.
"..."
Jordan was fuming.
"You disrespectful little punk."
Zhao Dong just grinned and threw in another jab that had MJ steaming.
Back on D, Shaq caught it again on the low block.
"Mailman's getting cooked out here. Shark, you better make a play!" Zhao Dong yelled, rotating over from the right wing.
Shaq backed Kemp down, shaking him with that massive frame—shoulders, hips, all of it. Kemp stumbled as Shaq spun into his dunk motion.
But then—SMACK!
Zhao Dong came flying in and swatted the ball clean outta Shaq's hands. Even though Shaq had both mitts on it, Zhao Dong's hand was there like a steel trap—ball went flying.
"OHHHHH!"
Crowd exploded as the block shook the whole arena.
"Damn!" Shaq muttered, diving for the ball—but Zhao Dong boxed him out like a beast and grabbed it clean.
YEAH YEAH YEAH!
The commentator lost it. "Zhao Dong with a monster block! He's taking off! But hold up—Shaq's chasing him down like a madman!"
BOOM!
At the top of the arc, Stockton tried to swipe it, but Zhao Dong hit him with a slick crossover and kept moving.
That slowed him down a little—and Shaq was now only two steps behind.
"Man, I swatted you once. Why you still chasing me like I stole your lunch?" Zhao Dong growled in his head.
Eddie Jones slid over to double, but Zhao Dong crossed him up too and blew past.
Now it was wide open.
Shaq was just a step back. Breathing heavy. But still coming.
"Yo, is the Shark really chasing him coast to coast?!" Matt Goukas screamed.
Zhao Dong kicked into overdrive—his top-end speed was no joke. Three hard strides and he had separation. As he hit the free throw line, he launched.
Ball in one hand. Whole arena watching in slow motion.
"RAHHHH!"
Zhao Dong screamed as he cocked it back.
BOOOOOOOM!!!
The dunk shook the rim so violently the backboard exploded. Glass rained down like a storm, the whole thing crumbled into pieces.
CRASH!
His body swing shattered the board completely.
"AHHHHHHH!!!"
Madison Square Garden erupted like it had just won a championship.
"HE DID IT AGAIN! ZHAO DONG DESTROYS ANOTHER RIM! HE'S A BACKBOARD-KILLING MACHINE!"
Marv Albert was standing up screaming, voice cracking from the hype.
The arena was in a frenzy. Nobody was sitting down. Fans were jumping, yelling, throwing hats.
This was the energy Stern lived for. Pure basketball chaos. Superstars going wild. Showmanship maxed out.
He glanced over at Duncan on the bench.
The No.1 pick, hailed as NBA-ready from day one, already playing like a seasoned vet. Even Zhao Dong admitted Duncan was a legit star.
But that quiet play style? Stern hated it. No flash, no swagger. That wasn't what brought in the fans.
Not like Zhao Dong, the Golden Tyrant of the East—pulling off blocks, coast-to-coast slams, and breaking backboards like it was nothing.
This right here... this was showtime.
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