Chapter 48: The King’s Invitation
“Has it started?”
“Not yet, but the Suns might be in trouble!”
Roderick Craig looked like he knew all the NBA rules.
“What trouble?” Daryl Dora, who had retired from the school team and was preparing for graduation exams and future career planning, asked curiously.
Craig saw his teammates looking at him with expectant expressions and couldn’t help but proudly show off his NBA knowledge: “In 1997, the Knicks and the Heat got into a brawl during the playoffs…”
“I know!”
Next year’s captain Martin Zeno jumped in: “Jeff Van Gundy was photographed hugging Alonzo Mourning’s leg during the conflict. I’ve seen that photo.”
“That brawl got multiple Knicks suspended, ultimately leading to their elimination. The league then introduced a rule that if chaos breaks out on the court, any bench players who leave their seats will be suspended.” Craig said with a smile, “I just saw Stoudemire and Diop leave their seats. They’re in big trouble.”
“But they didn’t fight…”
“That’s the rule.”
The group was skeptical, but the next morning, while Xu Ling was having breakfast, he learned through television that Stoudemire and Diop would be suspended for Game 5.
“This is truly a stupid, terrible, disgusting, garbage rule.”
Xu Ling discovered for the first time that he could say so many derogatory English words. No way around it—this was really too ridiculous.
First, consider the context: The Suns pulled off a huge comeback on the away game, tying the series score and regaining home court advantage; Horry, at a moment when the win was all but certain, maliciously knocked Nash flying; Little Stoudemire and Diop, in a rage, just stood up and took a few steps before being called back. And just like that, they were suspended.
“Exactly, that’s why people think NCAA is purer.” Craig laughed, “I guarantee you, if anyone dares to do that to you on the court, I’ll be the first to rush in and stand up for you!”
This statement revealed the crux of the NBA’s problem—or more accurately, it was a hidden danger sown in the Stern era, and his successor Silver was merely continuing these entrenched issues.
Under Stern’s orchestration, the NBA transformed competitive basketball into something else. It was still basketball, but like liquor diluted with a diluent—its innate wildness, its blood-pumping confrontations, all faded in the carefully designed commercial script. The league tried to weave a utopian fairy tale: here, the world’s top athletes must both battle on the court and maintain gentlemanly politeness; compete in skills while restraining the urge to shout; engage in fierce confrontation while keeping measure. Thus, the league became increasingly fake.
Returning to the rule itself, the more Xu Ling thought about it, the more he felt it couldn’t withstand scrutiny—it was too contrary to human nature.
Imagine if you were Little Stoudemire, or Diop. Of course you’d love teaming up with a teammate like Nash—he’s the soul of the locker room, the leader taking you to the Finals, the perfect partner in everyone’s eyes, the one who makes you grateful every time you step on the court. He’s giving everything for the championship.
As early as the first game, Nash’s nose was broken by an opponent; Bowen shoved and tripped him at every opportunity on offense, but he never stopped, and you all naturally followed in his footsteps. Even in Game 4, when the game was on the brink of collapse and the season seemed over, he still ignited your fighting spirit and dragged hope back.
Then, suddenly, an unnecessary flagrant foul sends him flying hard. You’re on the sidelines. Your body reacts before your mind—that’s your best teammate, curled up on the floor right now—you charge two steps toward the fouler before suddenly remembering the league’s ban: bench players must not leave their seats. So you retreat, watching everything spiral out of control. And 24 hours later, you’re suspended for your instinctive reaction as a teammate.
This is utterly absurd. What kind of league punishes a player for a normal human reaction after the team’s core is maliciously fouled? Yet the NBA is obsessed with crafting a fairy-tale utopia, trying to excise blood and instinct from players’ DNA—like some cruel chemical castration. How ironic, how tragic?
Xu Ling’s thoughts kept circling this incident, leaving him no time to feel disgust toward the Spurs.
Ironically, though he knew the Spurs won the championship that year, it wasn’t from following the team—it was because this Finals, as the historical footnote of “LeBron James’s first time leading a team to the Finals only to get swept,” was repeatedly mentioned across major media, making it hard not to know.
But look at these off-court moves the Spurs pulled—really, thank goodness for this era when public opinion was still somewhat pure; in a dozen or so years, in an age of highly developed social media, the Spurs’ treatment wouldn’t be much better than the Thunder’s in 2025.
Afterward, the Suns indeed never recovered from this incident. They lost Game 5, then Game 6, and were eliminated in the semifinals. Meanwhile, in the Eastern Conference, the Cavaliers, led by James, surprisingly defeated the Nets and advanced to the Eastern Conference Finals. This achievement alone was enough to place James in the Cavaliers’ hall of fame.
After all, the Eastern Conference Finals was the Cavaliers’ best historical record at the time.
Perhaps because they shared the same agent, James had been inviting Xu Ling to games recently, but Xu Ling was tied up with endorsement contracts piling up like snowflakes. It wasn’t until the day before the NBA Lottery Draft, which was also the day of Eastern Conference Finals Game 5, late in May, that he finally flew to Detroit with Leon Rose.
LeBron James sat on the sofa in the hotel suite, a stack of documents piled on the coffee table in front of him. These weren’t ordinary playbooks or player stats, but contract drafts from sponsors like Nike, Coca-Cola, and McDonald’s.
His hotel suite was completely different from the standard business rooms where the other Cavaliers players were staying. Ordinary players had simple, practical rooms; James had a luxurious top-floor suite. The spacious living room featured floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Detroit cityscape, with a custom massage chair and therapy equipment on one side.
By James’s side was core team member Maverick Carter. Carter was on the phone with the agent, his voice loud and confident. But James’s mind wasn’t on the documents or the call; he kept glancing at the closed door, waiting for a young man named Eli Xu to arrive.
He was curious about this player described in the scout report as “calm to the point of being almost cold”—what kind of person was he really? He’d seen too many young “geniuses” who shone sharply under the spotlight but always showed awe and a hint of nervousness when facing him.
The young king sat silently. The recent period had been a rollercoaster for him: when his team won, he was the one making his teammates better; when they lost, doubts rained down. He had nowhere to hide, because his destiny was to escape the Chicago ghost hovering over everyone’s heads.
Now, before a pivotal Game 5 that could decide the season’s direction, meeting a young talent about to enter the league and become an opponent was a rare diversion.
Wait, young?
James bit his nail. Am I not young?
The doorbell rang, and James’s mouth curved into a slight smile. He didn’t get up immediately but first raised a hand to Carter, signaling him to pause the call.
When the door opened, a tall, composed young man walked in. He wore a simple hoodie, his steps relaxed, eyes clear and indifferent. Behind him was a stocky young man who looked a bit uneasy. Then, the person connecting them—Leon Rose—entered as well.
By the time the door opened, James was already standing. His gaze passed over Rose and landed directly on Xu Ling—the young man who hit the legendary shot in the NCAA Finals, now standing right in front of him.
“Eli,” James flashed his signature smile and extended his hand, “we finally meet.”
Xu Ling shook his hand: “It’s an honor to be on the mind of the great ‘A King’.”
His tone was calm, neither the excitement of a fan meeting an idol nor the deliberate cool detachment—just like greeting an ordinary friend.
James paused for half a second, his smile still on his face, but a subtle ripple stirred in his heart.
A King? Not The King?
The words sounded like a compliment, but that extra article evoked another association. It acknowledged your strength but implied you weren’t one of a kind. Like saying—you’re just one of the kings. His hand unconsciously tightened, his smile even brighter.
Rose chimed in at the right moment: “LeBron’s wanted to meet you since March Madness.”
“Of course,” James smiled and gestured for everyone to sit, “That buzzer-beater LOGO shot over Florida—I must’ve watched the replay at least twenty times. Insane!”
“Hope it didn’t affect your playoff prep.” Xu Ling said half-jokingly.
“Quite the opposite,” a glint flashed in James’s eyes, “It reminded me basketball is always full of possibilities.”
At the other end of the room, James’s best friend Maverick Carter put down his phone and eyed Xu Ling sharply.
“Bron called you half a month ago.” Carter’s voice carried obvious displeasure, “I thought you weren’t coming.”
Hearing this, Rose smoothed things over: “Eli’s been tied up with commercial activities lately.”
“Understandable,” James interrupted Rose, giving Xu Ling a friendly smile, “Commercial activities are part of pro basketball. But you came at the perfect time tonight—our fifth game against the Pistons is about to start. Interested in watching live?”
“But LeBron… aren’t the ‘media passes’ for tonight already fully allocated?” Carter interjected coldly.
James shot Carter a warning look, then smiled at Xu Ling: “No problem, front-row seats are even better—clearer view.”
“Then I won’t stand on ceremony.” Xu Ling nodded, meeting Carter’s gaze calmly.
What followed was casual chat. James talked about the Cavaliers’ season journey; Xu Ling shared behind-the-scenes stories of the NCAA championship; Carter pretended to check his phone. Only Rose kept a professional smile, steering the conversation appropriately.
The meeting could be called “pleasant” overall. Finally, Xu Ling stood to leave: “We won’t disturb your prep then.”
James walked them to the door: “See you tonight. Hope you catch a great game.”
After seeing off Xu Ling and the others, Maverick Carter couldn’t hold back: “What’s with that kid’s attitude? Took him half a month to come see you! Thinks he’s a big shot?”
James’s affable face showed little extra expression, just saying: “Mav, I arranged this meeting for you.”
Carter looked at James in astonishment: “For me?”
In LeBron James’s camp core circle, there were four key figures, with James at the center and Carter one of the other three. As the bridge for his communications with Nike, Carter joined Nike in 2003, where he would learn everything he needed. Someday, James would have him do bigger things.
That was the reason for today’s meeting.
“I don’t care about some Eli.” James casually adjusted his cuffs, “But Nike wants to sign him.”
Carter scoffed: “Nike can sign anyone.”
“Right, money turns the world.” James laughed, “Remember? Reebok offered me $100 million, while Nike only gave $80 million.”
How could Carter forget? Reebok not only offered $100 million but an extra $10 million signing bonus—meaning if James signed, he could get $10 million on the spot.
But James chose Nike anyway. Because James knew it wasn’t about the money—Nike’s platform, shoe design, influence were unmatched by Reebok.
“Now it’s Eli’s turn to choose.” James’s voice sharpened suddenly, “Nike won’t offer the highest price, but they want him. They’ll send you to negotiate—for me and for Nike.”
Carter’s eyes lit up. He knew exactly what that meant—an prime chance to build capital inside Nike.
“What do I do?”
“Talk up our ‘friendship’.” James’s mouth curved in a sarcastic arc, “And emphasize Nike’s platform advantages.”
“Got it.” Carter said confidently, “Leave it to me.”
⑴Prime seats for media, often not fully occupied, so players invite friends to watch live.
