"Rio?"
Chen Yilun looked at Director Zhang in surprise.
The invitation genuinely caught him off guard. After all, as a professional manager, while he could certainly offer valuable support in business and operations, when it came to the Olympics, his contribution to the national team wasn't much greater than Shaquille O'Neal's grandmother's.
The only real reason Director Zhang would extend such an offer was to try to firmly tie Chen Yilun to the national team.
"Who wouldn't want to go to the Olympics?"
Chen Yilun laughed but gave no answer.
"But the timing's just not right. I've got too much on my plate with the team right now. The draft list isn't finalized, contract renewals still need negotiating, and free agency is packed with things to deal with. I honestly don't have the time."
He pressed his palms together in a gesture of apology.
"Really, I'm sorry."
"No problem, no problem. Work comes first."
Seeing Chen Yilun decline, Director Zhang felt some disappointment, but didn't show it.
For the domestic side, keeping good relations with Chen Yilun was ideal. But he wasn't indispensable. After all, he had received a complete Western basketball education—he wasn't truly one of their own.
"We've got games this summer, so a friendly match isn't possible. But you'd better save us a spot next year."
In truth, both Chen Yilun and the domestic side welcomed the idea of a friendly. Just one game could benefit both parties greatly.
As the group wrapped up their discussion, evening had fallen.
"Tonight's game is a must-watch,"
Chen Yilun said comfortably, lounging on the sofa with a cup of tea.
"The Cavs-Warriors showdown never disappoints."
"Work hard—next year we'll be watching you in the Finals,"
Yao Ming joked cheerfully beside him.
"Of course. Oh! The game's starting!"
It was Game 5 of the Finals. The Cavaliers were on the brink, facing elimination. The Warriors, impatient to wait any longer, were eager to finish things on their home court and claim the championship.
But as the game unfolded, the Oakland crowd's excitement began to fade.
LeBron James and Kyrie Irving, playing like men possessed, shredded the Warriors' defense.
Irving, in particular, suddenly erupted—relentlessly targeting Golden State's defense and hitting one impossible shot after another.
"Kyrie's scoring ability is just unbelievable."
Tang Zhou, sitting upright on the edge of the sofa, couldn't help but sigh. "It's like he was born for the big stage. Even those completely unreasonable shots go in."
"Look closely—this is championship-level intensity."
Chen Yilun pointed at the TV screen. "If we want to win a title, we've got to raise ourselves to this standard."
In the end, the outcome matched history: James and Irving combined for 82 points to secure the win.
The inertia of history reappeared—down to the exact numbers.
"The Cavs took this one. The series just got interesting again."
Yao Ming, ever the veteran, immediately sensed the shift in momentum.
"Interesting? It's still 3–2."
Director Zhang turned to Yao in disbelief.
"Not quite," Yao Ming shook his head. "After falling behind 3–1, today was the Cavaliers' toughest hurdle. Now that they've survived this, Game 6 in Cleveland will be much easier."
"With home-court advantage and a shift in psychology, if they defend their court in Game 6, then Game 7 could go either way."
The story played out just as Yao predicted. Two days later, the Cavaliers returned home and played suffocating defense, fighting desperately to force a Game 7.
But the direction of the story began to turn strangely surreal.
The referees took over, blowing one bewildering call after another, turning what should have been a classic into chaos.
First, Harrison Barnes and Kevin Love mirrored each other's struggles. Barnes missed three wide-open threes early, finishing 0-for-8. On the other side, Love was whistled for three fouls within two minutes, limiting him to just 12 minutes total—wandering aimlessly, completely out of rhythm.
Yet in that bizarre game, the Cavaliers pulled out another win, carving a narrow path to survival.
For the decisive Game 7, Chen Yilun managed to get an insider ticket thanks to his personal ties with Steve Kerr.
Tickets to a game of this magnitude were priceless, and the fact that he secured one spoke volumes about the Warriors' interest in luring him.
In the stands, Chen Yilun wore a mask and sunglasses, hiding in a corner like a thief, watching quietly.
As the fourth quarter wound down, he glanced at the clock. One minute remained.
Kyrie Irving took the inbound pass, moving toward the right elbow. JR Smith stepped up with a ball screen, pulling Klay Thompson—the original defender—away.
Now standing in front of Irving was the unanimous MVP: Stephen Curry.
After a series of crossovers, Irving stepped sideways, squared up against Curry, and fired without hesitation.
"Swish!"
The ball dropped cleanly through the net.
"Beautiful shot!"
The Cavaliers' bench erupted, players linking arms on the sideline, praying for the finish.
Irving's bucket pushed the score to 92–89. The Warriors trailed by three.
On the next possession, Golden State set up a pick-and-roll, leaving Curry isolated against Love.
But Love threw everything he had into the stop, sliding his feet furiously, denying Curry any space. Curry was forced into a rushed shot at the buzzer—and bricked.
Then came the iconic moment.
As LeBron James soared for a thunderous dunk, Draymond Green made a split-second decision. He brought James crashing hard to the floor, denying what seemed like a sure highlight.
James split his free throws, and Curry's final desperate three clanged out.
And so, the NBA's one and only 3–1 Finals comeback was complete.
The entire basketball world went into chaos. This series, filled with legendary moments and improbable turns, was destined for the history books.
Chen Yilun watched as the Cavaliers celebrated in delirium on the court, while Oracle Arena fell silent. He rose quietly and slipped away.
Even after everything, history's inertia remained overwhelming. The series had unfolded exactly as he remembered.
"Congratulations, LeBron."
He whispered the words, audible only to himself.
With the Finals over, a new era had truly arrived. That grand new age beckoned to all.
And Chen Yilun, steering his own ship, gazed forward.
"I am the storm!"