After wrapping up their West Coast games, the Knicks didn't bother flying back to New York. Instead, they went straight to Philly to get ready for their matchup with the Sixers.
Not long after landing, Lin Yi's phone buzzed—it was his agent, Zhong Muchen.
"Yo Lin, big news!" Xiao Zhong said, practically shouting through the phone. "Nike's planning to drop a signature series for you. They're calling it… wait for it… the Death series."
Lin blinked. "The what series?"
"Death, referring to your number you wear,4 which means death or bad luck in Chinese culture. You cool with that? If not we can change it. Plus, they want to know if you've got any input—like logo ideas, stuff you like, anything personal?"
Lin scratched his head. "Am OK with the name. And for the second, man, I used to just buy sneakers based on what looked cool. I don't know jack about design."
Zhong laughed. "Figures. So you're saying leave it to the pros?"
"Exactly. I know where my lane is, and it's not shoe design."
"Alright, I'll pass the message along."
Zhong hung up and called Nike's lead designer, Augustus Caesar, who was already hyped beyond belief. His team had been assigned the Lin Yi project, and now they had free creative rein? Jackpot.
With Lin blowing up and that monster contract hanging over things, Nike was ready to strike while the hype was sky-high.
Caesar breathed a sigh of relief—thank God Lin wasn't one of those stars who micromanaged every inch of the design. NBA players had their aesthetics, and let's just say... not all of them were good.
...
Back on the team bus, Lin had barely put his phone away before the Knicks pounced.
"Nike's giving you your line?!" Gallinari practically shouted, eyes wide.
"Bro, what's it called? I need a pair when they drop, promise me that," said Lou Williams, bouncing in his seat.
Danny Green slumped in the back, quietly bitter. Just last year, he thought of Lin as some lanky kid from Davidson. Now the dude had a sneaker line, and Danny was still stuck babysitting the Gatorade cooler.
Coach D'Antoni and the rest of the staff congratulated him, too. This kind of endorsement meant Lin wasn't just a player anymore—he was a brand. The Knicks had a rising star, and their momentum was off the charts.
Lin leaned back and muttered, "Did my agent seriously say they're calling it the Death series? I've got so many nicknames now, I've lost track."
" That's sick!" Gallinari said. "You have to put something personal into the design, though. Like… dragons or some Matrix shit."
Harrington quietly got up and walked away. He was too old for this drama.
Lin shrugged. "I dunno, man. I'm not a designer. I'll let the creative guys handle it. I just want to hoop."
Everyone nodded at him.
...
2009 Rookie Chat Group
Lin Yi humbly sent the news to the guys.
"Yo! Just heard from Nike—they're launching a signature line for me. It's official."
Typing…
Curry: "…"
Harden: "…"
DeRozan: "…"
Everyone: "…"
Lin Yi kept twisting the knife.
"C'mon, don't leave me hanging. Y'all better step it up too! Oh, btw, third round of All-Star votes is out. I'm in!"
Lin checks the NBA site.
Lin Yi:
"450,102 votes?! What the heck? That's less than the second round!"
"Yo, Steph! Show a brother some love."
...
No replies.
Lin Yi, seeing no replies, knew the boys were ducking him. Having his fill of showing off, he left.
Thirty minutes later…
Curry:
"Yep. Feel more at peace after muting Lin in this group."
Harden:
"Who hasn't muted him yet? Can someone screenshot what he just said?"
DeRozan:
"Not me! I'm working on my dunk contest moves. Ain't nobody got time for Lin's humble brags."
Lin Yi:
👀
These traitors!
Suddenly, Blake Griffin popped online.
Griffin:
"Hold up, you're getting your sneaker line already?!"
Griffin again:
"Bro! You've already broken the rookie All-Star voting record—now this? You're doing this on purpose to mess with us!"
Meanwhile, Curry and Harden were unfazed.
Curry:
"Yup, see Blake losing his mind? This is why we muted Lin."
Harden:
"Fr. You got games tomorrow? If not, let's squad up. Oklahoma's dead boring. No nightclubs, no life."
Flynn:
"We're up against the Kings. Their fans still think Rubio's gonna come in next year and turn them into title contenders like Lin did."
DeRozan:
"Please. There's only one Showtime, although squinty eyes is getting big for his shoes. Muted his ass!"
Everyone:
"Facts! Muted!"
Lin Yi:
😤
"I will remember this slander…"
Lin Yi silently turned off his phone. He didn't even bother replying.
On the other side, Blake Griffin sat there, absolutely shell-shocked. He'd meant to mute Lin like the others, but somehow... he forgot. Rookie mistake.
Now he was just sitting there, taking psychic damage in real time.
"Damn it…" Blake muttered, dragging himself toward the dumbbells. He needed to lift something heavy, fast. Anger curls, maybe. Anything to take his mind off how Lin had hijacked the spotlight.
This was supposed to be his year too.
Back in college, they'd been neck and neck. Now Lin Yi was everywhere—highlights, interviews, freaking shoe lines. Meanwhile, Blake was stuck watching from the sidelines.
And as if that wasn't enough, the team doctors had told him he wouldn't return until next season.
"Don't worry, you're still eligible for Rookie of the Year next season," they said.
Yeah, great. A whole year on pause while Lin Yi was out here writing his own NBA mythos.
Griffin sighed, stared at the wall, and quietly vowed:
"Next year… I'm coming back. King-style."
..
By the time the third round of All-Star voting results dropped, most fans already had a solid guess at who'd be in the starting five.
But Lin? Lin broke the damn system.
He officially smashed Dwight Howard's previous vote record like it was nothing. Sure, being the All-Star vote leader was just a shiny accolade, but it meant something—it meant you were that guy.
And Chinese fans—especially the ones in New York—showed out for him.
Pride, passion, posters in Chinatown. Social media campaigns, merch resellers gearing up, sneakers getting listed before the release date. The buzz was insane.
So, when Nike dropped the bomb that Lin Yi was getting his signature series?
Fans lost their minds.
Forums exploded. Threads popped up like:
"How much will the fan edition cost?"
"Will there be limited colorways?"
"Is there a China-exclusive launch ?"
This—this was exactly the kind of ripple David Stern had been dreaming of.
Yeah, Lin Yi's performance had started the fire, but now? Now he was the hottest name in basketball. Every talking head on TV couldn't shut up about him. ESPN, CBS, TNT, CCTV from China, late-night shows—it was Lin-sanity, LinMania.
The NBA was ready. They had the plan lined up.
Marketing push? Check.
Endorsements? Check.
Media rotation? Already cooking.
And when the hype started to cool off? They had a whole bench of experts and influencers ready to bring the heat right back.
...
Meanwhile, over in Philly…
The Knicks had just rolled into town, and the Sixers were… well, trying to keep the vibe together.
Allen Iverson's return had sparked some hope, no doubt. Since he came back, the team went 9-12. Not amazing—but not a dumpster fire either.
Still, the Sixers' front office wasn't thrilled. They knew exactly what kind of season this was turning into.
Respect aside, Iverson wasn't the long-term answer anymore—he wasThe Answer, sure—but time had caught up.
The locker room still worshiped him. But upstairs?
They were already preparing for the next chapter. Cold, calculated front-office logic:
"Even if we go on a run, playoffs are a long shot."
"This kind of mediocrity just traps us in no-man's-land."
And so, quietly, the countdown had begun.
Iverson's farewell tour wasn't official yet, but everyone could feel it.
Time was ticking.