The 2016 free agency period was hailed as the wildest in a decade.
The salary cap had jumped from $70 million the previous year to $94 million!
That instantly gave every team the room to sign another max contract.
Suddenly, both front offices and players were thrown into a frenzy where money seemed to lose all meaning.
General Managers rushed into free agency waving stacks of cash, terrified that if they hesitated even a little, the good players would all be gone.
It was already common knowledge that once the new TV deal kicked in, the salary cap would keep climbing year after year. Whoever signed now locked players in.
And under those circumstances, the free agent market turned into a complete seller's market, leading inevitably to chaos.
Desperate GMs bared their teeth and threw out bloated, inflated offers.
That summer produced many of the notorious toxic contracts that would haunt the league for years to come.
"Boss, are we really not going to make a move?"
Peja sat in the office, nervously rubbing his hands.
"It's total chaos out there. If we don't act soon, I'm worried all the good players will be gone."
As the trade window neared, some major moves were already surfacing.
The biggest shocker came from Memphis: starting point guard Mike Conley had reached a verbal agreement with the Grizzlies—five years, $153 million!
The news rocked the league.
Conley was certainly a top-tier point guard, but $153 million was staggering.
"They've all lost their minds."
Chen Yilun, meanwhile, was fully focused on an annoying splinter in his finger.
"Suddenly flush with cash and they don't even know how to spend it. Best thing for us is to sit tight and let them wear themselves out."
Finally, he made up his mind, pinched the splinter between his nails, and yanked it out.
"Hss!"
The sharp pain jolted through him, forcing a loud hiss.
As he sat there grimacing, Peja quietly pulled out a nail clipper. "Boss, why'd you have to rip it out? You could've just clipped it."
The room fell into an awkward silence.
"You had that the whole time and didn't say anything?!"
Chen Yilun shot to his feet, furious.
"How was I supposed to know? I thought maybe you liked the pain or something!"
Peja looked completely innocent.
"Do I look insane to you?! Hurting myself for fun?!"
Collapsing back into his chair, Chen Yilun pressed his forehead in exasperation. His team—every one of them was stranger than the last.
"The market's too messy right now. If we get involved, we'll just be fighting other teams for toxic deals. Only an idiot would join that scramble."
He glanced at the tiny bloodstain on his finger with a wince.
"What you need to focus on is the upcoming draft."
"Sure, we don't have a high pick this year, but we can still grab a role player or a promising prospect to develop."
Peja tilted his head in doubt.
"But we've already got a legit championship roster. Do we really need to draft another rookie to groom?"
It was a fair question. Contenders often saw rookies as dead weight. That's why so many teams flipped their first-round picks for veterans to strengthen their immediate chances.
"We've got to think about both the present and the future."
Chen Yilun leaned back and explained. "Look at our roster—Jokić, CJ, Booker. They were all rookies not long ago. Their growth and development aren't something we can fully control."
"That's why we always need a backup plan."
"And besides, it's just a late first-rounder. The risk is minimal. Even if we tried trading it on the market, we wouldn't get much. Better to treat it like a lottery ticket and see if we hit."
"So you already have someone in mind, boss?"
Peja realized from Chen Yilun's tone that he must have targets lined up.
"There are a few names, but nothing set in stone yet."
Chen Yilun began ticking names off his fingers like he was reading a menu.
"For the late first round, I like Pascal Siakam and Dejounte Murray. In the second round, there are guys I like too—Ivica Zubac and Malcolm Brogdon would be solid. Shame we don't have any second-round picks this year."
As someone who loved digging up gems in the second round, Chen Yilun was genuinely frustrated.
Wanting to dumpster-dive with no trash to sort through—who could he even complain to about that?
"By the way, has the news about trading Porter been floated yet?"
Chen Yilun suddenly remembered and asked offhandedly.
"It's been out for a while, but not much response," Peja admitted, rubbing his temples.
"After all, we're looking to clear cap space. Porter's solid, but with only one year left on his deal, there aren't many teams eager to take him."
"Doesn't matter."
Chen Yilun shrugged it off.
"It's about clearing space. I'll take whatever we can get—ideally some future assets. Whatever filler we get back, we just buy out."
"I got it, I got it."
Peja nodded, piecing it together.
He could already see Chen Yilun's intent.
By moving Porter's contract and factoring in the salary cap spike, even with the natural raises in existing deals, Chen Yilun could still open up over $25 million in cap space.
With that much money set aside for one player, Peja couldn't help but wonder: who could possibly be worth all this maneuvering?
Just then, Chen Yilun's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, and his expression instantly grew serious.
"Yeah? Confirmed?"
After hanging up, he turned to Peja with a firm look.
"Pack your bags. We're going on a trip."
"Our cap space finally has a target."
Though as an assistant he knew better than to pry, curiosity got the better of Peja.
"Where are we going?"
"Oklahoma City."
Chen Yilun's confident grin spread across his face. "We're going to snatch Durant!"