Zhao Dong shot an endorsement commercial for Hummer, and it wasn't just any shoot. Aside from his solo spotlight, there were scenes with another man and a woman. And get this—Hummer went all out and brought in the so-called "most famous" Hollywood actress to star alongside him.
But Zhao Dong? He wasn't hyped at all. Hollywood actresses didn't move him. In his eyes, nobody—not a single one—could outshine Lindsay. Unless it was Audrey Hepburn rising from the grave, he wasn't impressed. So, he didn't even bother to ask who the female lead was.
That is, until he showed up on set and saw the name: Sharon Stone.
"How you feelin', Zhao? You satisfied with your leading lady?" Rock Wallace, the big boss of Hummer, beamed as he introduced her like he was handing over a damn Oscar.
Sharon Stone walked up with that signature sexy smile and elegance, stretching her hand out to him. "Zhao Dong, I'm a big fan. It's an honor to be your leading lady."
Now, 1995 was Sharon's peak—she'd just won the Golden Globe for Casino and got herself an Oscar nom. She was straight-up killing it in Hollywood these past couple years.
But Zhao Dong? Man wasn't having it.
"Sorry, ma'am, I'm kinda in a rush," he nodded politely, not even shaking her hand, then turned to Wallace. "Yo, Mr. President, we gotta talk. Got a few things to clear up."
Sharon just stood there, hand hanging in the air like she got hit with the freeze frame. Her smile stiffened, her mood nosedived, and she hissed under her breath, "What the hell? So damn rude. Are all Chinese people this disrespectful?"
The crew, media, and even a New York Times reporter caught her outburst. Only her agent reacted—everyone else? They just shrugged. It's Hollywood. Fame talks. Respect? That's currency. And right now, Zhao Dong's bank account was loaded with global influence.
Sharon Stone might've been an A-lister, but front-page New York Times coverage? She'd be lucky to sniff it once a year. Zhao Dong? Bro was there every damn week. That's how far apart they were.
"Sharon, girl, chill. Watch your mouth," her agent Karen Sellars whispered urgently. "If he calls you racist—hell, with his worldwide clout? You're cooked."
Sharon's face turned pale. She glanced around and locked eyes with the NYT reporter who looked way too excited. Yeah, she knew she messed up. And if this went public? Career suicide.
"Karen… can you help me explain it to him? Please tell him I didn't mean it like that," Sharon begged, gripping her agent's arm.
Karen just looked tired. She thought to herself, Sharon, who do you think you are? If Zhao Dong didn't give a damn about your looks—and trust, she'd seen what he liked—then she couldn't help.
"If he's got any… special conditions, do you want me to agree on your behalf?" she whispered on the low.
"I get it. Just agree to whatever," Sharon muttered back, biting her lip but honestly? She looked kind of excited.
"And maybe go talk to Director Scorsese," Karen added. "See if he can pull some strings."
"Yeah, yeah, that's smart."
Sharon dashed off toward Martin Scorsese, the legendary director who'd been hired for this commercial. Hummer had dropped major cash to lock him in—dude was one of the top ten directors in the game.
Meanwhile, Zhao Dong was laying it out for Wallace.
"You don't like her?" Wallace blinked, a little caught off guard but already knowing the vibes.
"She ain't it for me," Zhao Dong shrugged. "You got other options? Show me a few, I'll pick one."
Wallace nodded quick. "Bet. John—go get the director."
At that moment, Sharon was trying to plead her case to Scorsese when John, the assistant, pulled him away. The director gave Sharon an awkward nod and left.
He wasn't gonna save her. If Zhao Dong had caught wind of what she said? It was a wrap. No major studio would touch her again. Even her agency might cut her loose. Scorsese had his own plans too—he was trying to pitch a real Iron Man movie based on Zhao Dong's shooting incident. No way he'd blow that for Sharon.
"Mr. Wallace, Zhao Dong," Scorsese greeted politely when he arrived.
"Hey, Director."
Zhao Dong smiled as Wallace laid out the request. They needed a list of first-line Hollywood actresses. Scorsese grinned. "That's easy. I got a list right here. None of them got racist heat on them. They're all open to any filming terms you throw at 'em."
With Zhao Dong's reputation? Everyone expected some "playboy" perks.
Zhao Dong smirked, "So, this that unspoken rule type deal?"
He looked through the list and picked Dazui. She was ten years older, but who cared? It was just business.
"Get her on set ASAP. Full conditions," Wallace ordered, then pointed across the room. "And let the other one go."
"Got it," John replied, already on the move.
Not even two minutes later, that NYT reporter pulled up to Zhao Dong.
"I got something for you," the reporter said. "Sharon Stone made a comment—pretty racist. I'll give you the scoop if you give me an interview."
Zhao Dong remembered how Sharon acted in his last life—cold-blooded, especially after that Wenchuan earthquake. She tried to walk it back, but the Chinese people didn't forgive her. She got blacklisted, banned from China. In this life? Same energy. He didn't buy her act one bit.
"Ms. Sharon Stone clearly has racist thoughts," Zhao Dong said flatly to the reporter. "People like that make me sick."
Just one sentence. One for one. She said one; he gave one.
But damn if that line didn't blow up.
The morning of the 3rd, the quote was plastered across the front page of the New York Times. Within a day, the whole world knew.
"I'm done…" Sharon muttered, holding the paper with trembling hands.
Her agent Karen just shook her head. "Can't save you now."
The shoot finally wrapped up that afternoon.
Zhao Dong didn't even acknowledge Sharon again. And as always, he kept it clean. Lindsay trusted him. Never asked about what he did outside, never doubted. He wasn't gonna mess that up.
That evening, after filming, Zhao Dong headed home. When he walked in, Lindsay greeted him along with Mrs. Dolores.
"Zhao, I got my husband to pull a few strings," Mrs. Dolores said with a warm smile. "He put together a heavy-hitting legal team to help you sue that Manley guy."
"We gotta teach those dudes a lesson. You ain't somebody they can just mess with. If they got beef, they gotta handle it through the proper channels—no shady backdoor stuff," Mrs. Dolores said seriously.
"Appreciate you, Mrs. Dolores," Zhao Dong replied quickly.
She added, "This ain't just about people like Manley. They're just pawns. Behind the scenes, it's the big dogs—Adidas, Nike, Puma, Reebok. This lawsuit? It's crucial. We gotta win, and win clean."
She paused, eyes sharp. "Only if we win, will they back off and stop tryin' to shut you down over your skin color or where you came from. That's how you get real justice in this league."
Zhao Dong nodded hard, feelin' the weight of it. "Thanks, for real," he said again.
Even though he was a reborn baller with knowledge of the future, legal stuff wasn't his lane. He had to admit, Mrs. Dolores saw things clearer than he did.
May 3rd, evening — Game 5: Rockets vs. Jazz
The Houston squad, still reppin' the Rockets Center, was up against the Jazz in a win-or-go-home battle. Whoever took this one was moving on.
But man, tough luck again—Karl Malone and the Jazz came ready, while Charles Barkley was falling apart physically this season. The dude missed 14 games in the regular season and only started 41. He put up 15 and 11, which wasn't bad, but come playoff time, his body said, "Nah, I'm out."
Since Game 1, Barkley came off the bench, averaging just 9 points and 5 boards. And for G5? Man couldn't even suit up. He sat there in a suit, watchin' the season end from the pine.
When the final whistle blew, Barkley buried his face in his hands. The man broke down. His shot at a ring? Slippin' away fast.
His deal with the Rockets was also expiring. Now he had to choose—run it back with the Dream and chase that elusive ring one more time… or walk away?
As he walked out the tunnel, kinda spaced out, he bumped into Rockets GM Carol Dawson in the hallway.
"Charles, don't bounce," Dawson said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Alexander wants you back. We're lookin' to upgrade the squad, still locked in on a championship. We just need you to take a vet deal so we can open cap space and sign some stronger support."
Zhao Dong, if he'd heard this convo, would've just laughed. In his mind, Alexander never gave a damn about titles—dude just wanted ticket sales and jersey revenue.
In the NBA, franchises got three goals: win chips, sell out arenas, or find that sweet middle. The Rockets under Alexander? All about that money.
Alexander lucked out when he copped the team in '93. That squad was already title-ready. Just like how James Dolan got gifted the Knicks' moment—both dudes won only 'cause MJ retired. Two chips fell in Alexander's lap, but the long-term vision was always: profit over rings. Same vibes all the way through Yao Ming's time.
So them wanting Barkley back? Just more ticket sales, using what value he had left.
"Sir… I need a little time to think on it," Barkley said quietly, frustration written all over him.
"Sure," Dawson nodded. "Take your time. Enjoy the break."
"Break?" Barkley muttered, the word bitter in his mouth.
To him, "vacation" meant watching other dudes chase rings while he was stuck fishin'. And he hated that.
May 3rd — First Round's Over
The whole first round wrapped up. Here's what the second round looked like:
East:
Pacers vs. Bulls (Pacers got home court)
Knicks vs. Heat (Knicks got home court)
West:
Jazz vs. Sonics
Lakers vs. Spurs
The NBA was in a rush to roll out some new rules before May 5th, even though time was tight. David Stern had the league pushing hard on the changes.
Now, between Zhao Dong and MJ, Stern naturally leaned toward Jordan—dude was American, the face of the league. But at the same time, Zhao Dong was blowin' up. He was the future, especially with the NBA trying to go global. So Stern played it neutral.
The new rule changes? Might lowkey mess with Zhao Dong, but it was just how the league moved. Jordan had that same treatment back in the day. Now it was Zhao Dong's turn to carry the crown and feel the weight.
May 4th — Knicks Announcement Incoming
Early morning, the Knicks dropped an announcement: there'd be a press conference tomorrow at 6 PM with Zhao Dong. No details yet, but the media was hyped.
Later that night, round two tipped off. Two games ran side-by-side—one East, one West.
Zhao Dong was watchin' both, but his eyes stayed glued to the Bulls. That was the target.
Sure, the Lakers and Spurs had potential, but unless the Jazz slipped up, those squads weren't hittin' the Finals. Their rosters weren't quite there yet.
All season, MJ had still been cookin'. Dude averaged damn near 30 again. But Ewing on the other hand? He'd been sluggish. In round one, Ewing played just 20 minutes a game and barely took shots.
Zhao Dong watched closely. Last year, he clamped up Pippen in the playoffs. Outside of MJ, no Bull stepped up. But this year, Kidd and Ewing might flip the script.
Jason Kidd made it easier for MJ to get buckets. And even though Kidd wasn't a killer scorer, he had enough juice to keep defenders honest.
Zhao Dong kept it real with himself—this year's Bulls weren't a cakewalk. Beating them? It was a 50-50 shot.
And with the league likely tweaking rules before the Eastern Finals, who knew how things would shake out?
11 PM — Game 1: Bulls vs. Pacers
Bulls took the W on the road in Game 1.
MJ went nuclear: 15-for-25 shooting, 0-for-1 from deep, 9-for-10 at the line—finished with 39 points.
Kidd dropped a balanced line: 6-for-15, 1-for-3 from three, 4-for-5 on FTs. He ended with 17 points, 6 boards, 13 dimes, 4 steals, 3 turnovers, and 2 fouls.
Ewing? He was efficient: 6-for-10 from the field, 3-for-4 at the stripe, 15 points in just 25 minutes.
Zhao Dong zeroed in on Ewing. No doubt—dude was holding back. He hadn't turned it up yet. His minutes were chopped up too, no rhythm.
Kidd's impact was loud. He was finding MJ on all kinds of off-ball actions. Jordan cut to the rim 11 times and scored on 9 of them. Kidd racked up 7 assists just off those cuts. That connection? Deadly.
Of course, that worked mostly 'cause the Pacers had no rim protection. Try that soft defense on the Knicks, though? They'd get smacked.
Out West?
The Lakers got the jump on the Spurs, taking Game 1.
In this season, after the league finally enforced that no-bullshit collision zone rule, Shaq's scoring numbers got a solid bump—dude was putting up 2.1 more points per game than last year, and his field goal percentage climbed by 2.7%. His offensive bag definitely got deeper.
But that also meant one thing—while the Big Diesel turned it up on offense, his defense started slipping a bit. Overall? The man's energy just balanced out.
At 10 a.m. on the 5th, Ernie Grunfeld got a call that damn near made him throw his coffee across the office. Insider info straight from league HQ—some new rules were about to drop. And spoiler alert—they were aimed right at Zhao Dong.
Ernie wasted no time. He called up every bigwig, coaching staff, and Zhao himself.
Old man Nelson rounded up everybody for a tactical sit-down—players, coaches, management, all hands on deck. The evening game was creeping up, and shit just got real.
Truth was, Nelson and his staff had already sensed something brewing. They'd been preppin'.
By 11 a.m., Zhao Dong rolled into headquarters and jumped into the strategy meeting. Everybody was already seated—even the owner, James Dowland. You could feel the tension in the room.
When the door clicked shut, Ernie Grunfeld stepped up, voice dead serious. "It's official. The league is bringing back the anti-isolation rule. It's already locked and loaded—just waiting for the green light."
Oakley, posted up next to Zhao, leaned over with a grin. "Zhao, my guy, congrats. You're the next Jordan."
Zhao smirked. "Nah, I ain't Jordan 2.0—I'm the only Zhao Dong. And this rule? I bet it's gonna be a whole different beast than what MJ got hit with."
Grunfeld raised a brow and nodded. "Right on. You nailed it. Some stuff has been rewritten. This ain't the Jordan Rule anymore—this one's all you. Call it the Zhao Dong Rule. Or hell, maybe the Iron Man Rule."
Zhao laughed. "I kinda like that."
Laughter echoed around the room. The mood lightened up for a sec.
But then—BAM. The conference room door swung open, and Grunfeld's assistant stormed in, holding a fat stack of papers.
"Sir, it's live. The anti-isolation rule's been officially announced. League faxed this over."
The chill vibe got snatched away real quick. Silence took over as Grunfeld flipped through the pages.
Zhao Dong broke the quiet. "What's meant to come will come. Honestly, I been waitin' on this. I always knew I'd reach a point where they'd try to cage me in. If the league ain't tryin' to tweak the rulebook for you, then you ain't really that guy."
He looked around, confidence solid as ever. "This anti-iso shit? It's the crown's rule. It's what gave Jordan his dynasty. So if they're hitting me with that same treatment… I'm cool with it."
Old Nelson grinned. "Exactly. That's the Law of Kings right there. It's that rule that made MJ the guy. Now it's your turn."
Clap clap clap.
Applause filled the room. The birth of a new king's law.
Grunfeld raised the documents. "Alright, here it is—let's break down the rule changes."
He glanced down, flipping to the first part. "There's 138 total. The first one: The offensive team can't stack more than three players on the weak side—including the top of the key."
Same old stuff. Just meant the strong side, the ball side, always needed at least two bodies.
Nelson jumped in to explain. "This speeds up defensive rotations and makes sure at least one help defender is already in position to double."
"Basically," he continued, "whoever's got the ball—yeah, they're gettin' swarmed faster."
Grunfeld nodded and moved on. "Second rule—when the ball handler's up high, above the free throw line, the offense can't have more than two players sinking into the paint."
Nelson broke it down again. "Outside of the ball handler, this limits who can cut or hang in the low post. If we got two guys chilling down low, the rest gotta stay up top. That kills our ability to run inside cuts or quick dumps off Zhao's pass."
He looked around, expression dead serious. "This means our only kick-outs are going to be to the outside. The floor shrinks. The defense? Easier reads. Zhao's double-teamed more. Assist numbers? Going down."
Ben Wallace and Fortson exchanged awkward glances—definitely looked like their minutes might be taking a hit. But let's be honest—who was stepping in instead?
Nelson kept it real. "Bottom line? Rule two is targeting Zhao's perimeter attack. They want to push him back inside. And yeah, he can cook down low—but his mismatch at the three is just lethal."
He rubbed his chin. "So, if we keep Zhao at small forward, only one of Ben or Fortson can start. We might even need Oakley to play outside to free up lane cuts."
They kept debating for a bit before Grunfeld pushed on through the stack of rules.
Then he paused, brows furrowing. "Rule 138—the big one. The brand new one."
He cleared his throat. "When the ball handler drives past the free throw line, into the dotted line, and goes one-on-one... if the defender is still in position and contact happens inside their cylinder, then boom—offensive foul on the attacker."
He looked up. "The league's dropping the whole 'cylinder' concept now. Everyone better get used to that."
Zhao Dong froze for half a second. Yeah—this one was aimed directly at him.
Dude built his outside game on bully-ball drives—straight-up bodying defenders, using his weight and brute force. This rule? It nerfed that entire piece of his game.
But he nodded slowly. He still had that crazy mobility advantage. The Paul dribble package. That first step from Grant Hill. Truth was, he didn't need to play bully ball anymore. Even MJ couldn't guard that Hill-style first step. Plus, those heavy drives drained his stamina.
But long-term? Zhao started thinking about other heavy-bodied wings coming down the line. Like… what happens when LeBron shows up? That rule might screw him hard.
Nelson chimed in, voice calm but heavy. "Zhao plays the 3, but he's a heavyweight. This rule's a shot at that strength advantage. It's pushing him back inside. But down low, spacing shrinks. The double-teams get nastier. He's not Shaq—he ain't gonna dominate the post like that."
He added, "Especially if the league brings in zone defense—man, that's a wrap."
Zhao raised a brow. "So Coach, this rule doesn't hit post-up plays, right?"
Nelson chuckled. "Nah. They're not nerfing post-ups, bro. That'd screw half the league. It's only when you're facing the rim."
He cracked a small grin. "If they ever do restrict post-ups, it won't be because of you—it'll be to save everyone else."
The rest of the meeting was Grunfeld and Nelson going deep into all 138 rules, dissecting every piece.
Zhao sat there, absorbing every bit of it. The league wanted to box him in—but history had shown, when the rules start changing for you, that's when you know you've arrived.
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