Lin Yi and his teammates chilled in the locker room for a bit after the ga before heading out.
When Steph found out Lin wasn't coming to dinner with the rest of the squad to celebrate, he looked a little bumd at first. But after Lin ntioned he had a pre-arranged dinner with Yao Ming, Curry imdiately gave him a pat on the back.
"Dude… that's sick," Steph grinned. "Tell the big guy I said hi."
After getting Curry's seal of approval, Lin Yi made his way to the restaurant Yao had booked.
In Lin's mind, Yao Ming had always been this humble giant. Even after becoming the head of the Chinese Basketball Association, you didn't see him chasing headlines.
But in person? Yao still had that easy, approachable vibe.
"You surprised , Lin," Yao said, smiling. "Didn't expect you to handle the ball like a guard."
Lin rubbed the back of his neck, a little shy. They chatted while waiting for their food, mostly about hoops, life, and what was ahead.
Yao didn't sugarcoat things. "Once you're in the league, train hard. Take your chances seriously. The NBA's got no patience. Even if you're a top pick—couple quiet seasons, and boom, forgotten."
Lin nodded. He got it. The league was stacked with talent. To stand out? You needed not just talent, but obsession-level work ethic.
"Also, don't blow your money on dumb stuff," Yao added, raising an eyebrow. "You'll make so early cash, sure. But rember, we're eating off a youth al. One injury and it's all over."
Lin gave him an assured smile. Honestly, Yao was really focused when he got all preachy—especially when he drifted into Rockets talk or started reminiscing about the Chinese national team.
"Wang Zhizhi was too honest," Yao sighed, chuckling. "Sun Yue's just lazy. He had money growing up anyway... Damn, ti flies. I'm about to hit 30."
Lin could tell the nostalgia hit Yao hard. He might've been a legend back ho, but Yao never felt like he'd done enough. The Rockets were doing okay that year, but McGrady had gotten hurt again. And deep down, Yao wasn't sure how far they could go.
Lin, on the other hand, knew this would be the best playoff run of the Yao-McGrady era. Artest didn't have T-Mac's offense, but the guy was a rock on defense. Brooks was a defensive liability, sure—but offensively, this was his best year yet.
Still, Adelman's system was brutal on Yao's body. A 7'6", 310-pound center running up and down the floor like a guard? That was a ticking ti bomb for his knees. Thirty-five minutes per ga in the regular season might've been manageable… but the playoffs? Whole different beast.
"Mr. Yao," Lin said seriously as they wrapped up dinner, "take care of your knees. From a fellow big to another—the taller you are, the more weight you carry, the worse it gets, especially for a man your size."
Yao smiled, a little touched. He didn't say much—just nodded and patted Lin on the shoulder.
"Oh right," he added, "if I get a chance, I'm catching one of your March Madness gas. Gotta see what those Wildcats are cookin'."
.......
When Lin Yi returned to Davidson College, the whole place had gone nuts.
The entire student body had pulled off a surprise celebration. For a school like Davidson, this kind of March Madness run was rare—and nobody was gonna miss out on the hype.
From the front gate to the gym, students lined the road cheering on the basketball team.
Unsurprisingly, Lin Yi and Steph Curry were the stars of the show. But even guys like Anthony Beasley and McMillan got their share of love and high-fives.
"Mr. Lin Yi! I'm the president of the Chinese Students Association at Davidson," a girl said, beaming. "Thank you for representing us!"
Lin Yi thanked her politely and accepted the flower garland she handed him.
Then—POP!
"WHAT THE—" Lin jumped as champagne sprayed all over him.
Steph stood there grinning, holding the bottle like a victorious Formula 1 driver.
"Oh, you're dead, Steph!"
Laughing, Lin snatched a bottle of his own from Anthony Beasley and returned fire.
The whole courtyard turned into a champagne war, with shouts, laughter, and celebration echoing across campus.
It was pure joy.
Even the professors and administrators who showed up couldn't bring themselves to stop it. So looked like they were itching to join in.
.......
anwhile, in a quiet hotel eting room, Lin's agent Zhong Muchen was locked in a serious conversation with Thunder GM Sam Presti.
"Mr. Zhong," Presti started, "I won't beat around the bush. We want Lin. We're asking that he skip all other team workouts before the draft and only train with the Thunder."
Zhong raised an eyebrow, all smiles. "Oh? Has OKC already secured the number one pick?"
It was a polite jab. Everyone knew Lin Yi was the top prospect. And unless the Thunder could guarantee they had the first pick, there was no reason for Lin to limit himself.
Presti chuckled. "You've seen our season. We've, uh… done our fair share of... 'tanking.' But I don't like that word. I prefer to call it 'laying the foundation for a dynasty.'"
He tapped his watch and leaned in.
"We've got a good shot at the top pick."
Zhong wasn't convinced. "But not a guaranteed shot. Even with one of the worst records in the league, you're not locked in."
Presti nodded. "You're sharp, Mr. Zhong. Lin's smart too. Knows his value. I get it."
He paused. "Alright. Cards on the table. If we don't get the top pick, we're willing to put up so people on the roster except KD and Westbrook to trade up. We even have a first-rounder from last year we can move."
Zhong stayed cool. "I'll let Lin know what you said. But it's his call at the end of the day."
The mont Presti left after delivering his pitch in the eting, Zhong limped over to the couch and rubbed his thigh.
"Damn… that hurt," he muttered. "Presti's no joke. Guy was staring straight through the whole ti."
Turns out, his secret to keeping a poker face? He pinched his thigh under the table to stay calm.
What Lin Yi would decide next… well, Zhong had no idea.
......
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