LRAB Chapter 7 Headline
Chapter 7 Headline
2008年10月30日，上午9:00。
Luxury apartments on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, New York.
Li Xiangbei was awakened by a series of rapid vibrations.
He reached for the bedside table. Last night, to avoid the harassment from those socialites and models, he had deliberately turned off the phone's silent mode, but the numerous missed call notifications on the screen still seemed to be accusing him of his "crimes" last night.
The last message came from Knicks General Manager Donnie Walsh.
The content was brief, yet it was like a silent imperial edict:
"We're heading to Philadelphia tonight. Stephen (Marbury) is resting due to 'back soreness.' This is your stage, don't mess it up."
Li Xiangbei stared at the text message, a playful smile curving his lips.
In the NBA, "back pain" usually indicates one of two things: either you're genuinely getting old, or the management is preparing to make changes. Clearly, last night's 32-point debut, coupled with Scarlett's kiss, finally convinced the hesitant management to conduct a "stress test"—how far can Li Xiangbei lead this team without Marbury?
He got up and went to the living room, where a copy of the latest New York Daily News was already lying on the carpet by the door.
Even though he was mentally prepared, Li Xiangbei was still taken aback by the cover.
It was a high-resolution image that took up the entire page: Scarlett Janssen standing on tiptoe, her red lips pressed against his cheek. At that moment, the spotlights in the background seemed to transform into a celebratory salute for this perfect couple.
The title, written in huge, bold font, reads: "SEALED WITH A KISS".
The subtitle is: "The Knicks' New King Ascends the Throne, and Hollywood's Goddess is Crowned."
Li Xiangbei opened his laptop; Twitter was in complete chaos.
#LixiangBei_Kiss unsurprisingly topped the trending searches across the United States.
David Lee posted an emoji in the team's group chat with the caption: "Bro, you're now public enemy number one for all men in America. I heard Durant smashed his phone at home because he didn't even get to drink Scarlett's bathwater, while you went straight to home run."
Li Xiangbei smiled and shook his head, just about to take a shower, when the doorbell rang like a death knell.
As soon as the door opened, a middle-aged, overweight man in a cheap suit, sweating profusely, rushed in. This was the agent he had temporarily hired before the draft, Michael Brown—a third-rate agent who had only represented players from overseas leagues before.
"Li! We're going to be rich! We're going to be rich!"
Brown waved a stack of documents in his hand, his fat face trembling with excitement. "Look at this! Nike! It's Nike! They sent an offer this morning! Three years, $5 million! My God, that's an astronomical sum for a second-round pick! Sign it, we'll get back to them right now!"
The smile on Li Xiangbei's face vanished instantly. He didn't take the contract, but went straight to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water.
"500 million over 3 years?" Li Xiangbei unscrewed the bottle cap, his tone as cold as ice water. "Michael, is that all you've got?"
"What?" Brown was stunned. "Lee, don't be ungrateful! You were only the 35th pick! That's the treatment a first-round lottery pick gets!"
That was yesterday.
Li Xiangbei turned around, and the aura that even Wade felt on the court instantly enveloped the entire living room.
"Do you really think that a New York team that can get Scarlett Johansson to kiss them, can score 30 points in a single game, and has the backing of the world's largest Chinese market is only worth $160 million a year?"
Li Xiangbei walked up to Brown, snatched the contract from his hand, and without even glancing at it, stuffed it directly into the shredder next to him.
"Sizzle sizzle—"
The sound of paper tearing was particularly jarring in the quiet living room.
"You're fired, Michael." Li Xiangbei patted the stunned fat man on the shoulder. "Turn left when you get out. Don't bother seeing me out."
"You...you'll regret this! You arrogant fool..."
"roll."
Li Xiangbei only said one word. Brown looked at the scraps of paper scattered on the ground, and finally, under Li Xiangbei's cold gaze, he slunk away.
……
12:30 PM. Four Seasons Hotel, Executive Lounge.
Having driven away the flies that only cared about petty gains, Li Xiangbei welcomed the real sharks.
Sitting opposite him was a middle-aged white man with refined manners and wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
Bill Duffy.
Top NBA agent, the mastermind behind Yao Ming and Steve Nash.
"Li, I was very impressed with your performance." Duffy took a sip of his black tea and got straight to the point. "That Michael Brown is an idiot. Nike's current offer is just a test; they want to lock in your future commercial value with a bargain price."
"That's why I came to you, Bill." Li Xiangbei cut his steak with an elegance that belied his rookie status. "I don't need a nanny; I need a partner who can see the bigger picture."
Duffy pushed up his glasses, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes: "Tell me your thoughts."
"Postpone all negotiations for sneaker contracts." Li Xiangbei put down his knife and fork, his eyes blazing. "Signing now would at most bring in a few million a year. I want to wait until around the All-Star break."
"You're gambling," Duffy said bluntly. "You're gambling that you can keep playing like you did last night, gambling that you can make the All-Star team, gambling that your value will increase tenfold. But it's very risky. What if you get injured, or hit the rookie wall..."
"Risk is always proportional to reward."
Li Xiangbei interrupted him, leaning forward slightly—a gesture that indicated he was in control of the negotiation.
"Bill, you know that Yao Ming and I have the entire Chinese market behind us. But I'm different. I don't play center; I'm a guard. I'll shoot those three-pointers that even Curry... oh no, even Ray Allen wouldn't dare to shoot. My shoes will sell a hundred times better than center shoes."
"By February, I want executives from Adidas and Nike to line up with blank checks to see me."
Duffy looked at the young man in front of him and felt a surge of admiration.
An ordinary newbie would have been overwhelmed by a check for millions of dollars. But the ambition in Li Xiangbei's eyes was greater than that of any superstar he had ever met. He wasn't seeing a contract, but the beginnings of a business empire.
Duffy extended his hand, a genuine smile on his face—the most genuine smile of his career.
"Deal. Li, it seems I need to rethink my work priorities. Also, regarding Ms. Scarlett... should I arrange for a PR team to handle the publicity?"
"No need to force it." Li Xiangbei grasped Duffy's hand and smiled. "Maintaining a little ambiguous distance is the best way to generate buzz."
……
4:00 PM. The team bus heading to Philadelphia.
If the morning is a carnival of fame and fortune, then the team bus now represents the cold reality of society.
Marbury was not in the car.
The news spread like wildfire throughout the team. Although the official explanation was "rest," nobody was a fool.
The atmosphere in the carriage was somewhat strange. The veteran players were whispering among themselves, while the rookies sat upright.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
A deafening burst of hip-hop bass suddenly shattered the silence.
The sound came from the back of the bus, from the seats reserved for the "veterans".
Eddie Curry, the "Little Shark" who earns millions a year but is so fat he can barely run, has his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him, next to a huge portable speaker playing extremely jarring gangsta rap.
He was Marbury's best friend and one of the biggest troublemakers in the locker room.
"Hey! Turn the volume down!"
Chris Duhon, sitting in the front row, couldn't help but turn around and shout.
"Shut up, you weakling!" Eddie Curry snarled, clutching a half-eaten hamburger. "Stephen's not here, so you have no right to speak on this bus! I want to hear you!"
Du Hong shrank back, not daring to utter a sound. Gallinari and several other rookies even lowered their heads and pretended to be asleep.
This is a blatant provocation. Eddie Curry is asserting his dominance on behalf of Stephon Marbury; he's telling everyone: even without Marbury, this is still our "New York Gang" territory.
The music grew louder and louder, making people's eardrums ache.
Li Xiangbei had been listening to the Philadelphia 76ers scouting report sent by Bill Duffy with his eyes closed. At this moment, he slowly took off his headphones.
He stood up.
Several veterans who were observing the situation in the carriage—Quentin Richardson, Al Harrington—immediately stopped talking.
Li Xiangbei walked along the aisle, step by step, towards the back row. His pace was slow, but each step seemed to tread on the heartbeats of everyone present.
Eddie Curry glanced at Li Xiangbei as he approached and scoffed, "What? Our 'Hollywood star' wants to lecture me?"
Li Xiangbei remained silent.
He walked up to Eddie Curry's seat and looked down at the mountain of flesh.
Then, he reached out and grabbed the noisy speaker.
"You dare..."
"Sizzle—"
Li Xiangbei simply and decisively unplugged the audio cable.
The world fell silent instantly.
Eddie Curry slammed his hamburger to the ground, struggling to his feet, his flabby frame trembling: "Damn rookie! Do you want to die?!"
Facing the enraged burly man, Li Xiangbei didn't even blink.
[Bully Aura (Passive): Increases deterrence by 50% when facing low-IQ provocateurs.]
"Sit down, Eddie."
Li Xiangbei's voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet carriage, every syllable was frighteningly clear.
"We're going to Philadelphia to win. We're not going to party or see who has the biggest belly."
He casually tossed the audio cable into the trash can, his gaze sweeping across Eddie Curry's face.
"If you want to listen to music, fine. When you get to Philadelphia, you can take a taxi back to New York to listen. But on my bus, please keep quiet when I need to rest."
"My" bus.
This word is used in an extremely domineering manner.
Eddie Curry's eyes widened, his fists clenching and unclenching. He wanted to fight, but looking into Li Xiangbei's fearless, even murderous, eyes, he felt a sudden pang of guilt.
More importantly, he saw that the young key players in the front row, such as David Lee and Wilson Chandler, were standing up in unison, staring at him with hostile eyes.
The wind direction has changed.
Eddie Curry swallowed hard, muttered a curse, and finally plopped back into his seat like a deflated balloon.
"Hmph...you win."
Li Xiangbei clapped his hands as if nothing had happened, then turned and walked back to his seat.
As he passed Gallinari, the young Italian man cast an admiring glance his way.
"Thank you, Li."
Li Xiangbei put his headphones back on, closed his eyes again, and replied calmly:
"Let's rest. Philadelphia is noisy tonight, we need to save our energy for Allen Iverson."
The bus continued speeding along the highway, but the order inside the carriage had quietly changed.
The cancer of the old era is rotting away, while a new order is gradually taking control of the team's pulse, following the very breath of that young man.