Chapter One: Anything Would Have Been Better—Except Playing Basketball!

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In September of 1995, Chicago, known as the Windy City, was already losing its summer warmth—the temperature hovering around ten degrees Celsius was far from comfortable. Yet the entire city was ablaze with excitement, with crowds of jubilant, cheering people pouring spontaneously into the streets for impromptu parades and celebrations.

This was not due to any Black Lives Matter movement or rampant looting; today, the city was genuinely elated. Just hours earlier, the Chicago Bulls had held the league’s annual Media Day for the new season. Though dubbed “Media Day,” it was, in truth, the first grand reveal of every team across the league after a summer of rebuilding and reshuffling.

Chicago’s fans had good reason for their wild enthusiasm. Their god, the city’s hero and idol, the legendary Michael Jordan, had uttered a single sentence at Media Day: “This year, we are the champions!”

Just those words were enough to send the entire city into a frenzy.

Though Jordan had already made his much-anticipated return to the Bulls at the tail end of the previous regular season, famously declaring “I’m back!” and leading the team to an impressive 13-4 record, the playoffs had not been as kind. Rusty from his two-year hiatus pursuing an ill-fated baseball career, Jordan was unable to withstand the relentless assault of the young “Shaq” and “Penny,” and the Magic sent the Bulls packing with a 4-2 series defeat.

Despite the loss, everyone could see that neither the Bulls nor Jordan himself were at their best. Jordan, in particular, had managed to display little more than 70% of his former self. But as the most relentless competitor in NBA history, he ended his vacation less than ten days after the playoff exit and dove into a regime of grueling training.

The results of his efforts were immediately apparent at Media Day, from his perfectly sculpted physique to his vibrant energy and boundless confidence. The god of basketball had returned!

Thus, when he brazenly and defiantly challenged the entire league with his proclamation of impending victory, no one saw him as arrogant or conceited—every Chicagoan simply went mad with joy.

Two years! Did anyone know what Chicagoans had endured these past two years?

They’d had to watch Scottie Pippen, talented but never quite enough, take the reins as leader, only to see their team repeatedly thrashed in the playoffs by the likes of New York, Miami, Charlotte, Orlando, Indiana, Phoenix, San Antonio...

In short, Chicago had spent the last two years as the laughingstock of the league.

But what could they do? Jordan’s rivals were scattered across every corner of the NBA.

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Now, however, a 100% Michael Jordan was back! Suddenly, the team seemed flawless, and every member was more endearing than ever—Phil Jackson’s sly, fox-like grin, Rodman’s wild antics, Pippen’s perpetually dour face.

Even the new Asian rookie, whose delicate, almost cinematic good looks seemed more suited for the silver screen than the court, was now a figure of affection.

Yes, this year’s Bulls roster included a complete pretty boy of an Asian rookie. His name was Lin Tian, twenty-two years old, a native of China, and the Bulls’ fifty-second pick in the second round of this year’s draft.

Lin Tian had graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with a degree in psychology. As one of the eight prestigious Ivy League institutions, Penn’s psychology department was world-renowned—the first of its kind globally. When Lin Tian was admitted to this flagship program, he received a full scholarship.

To top it off, Lin Tian possessed strikingly handsome, distinctly Eastern features that could captivate countless women with a single glance, complemented by a perfect physique—191 centimeters tall, a 205-centimeter wingspan, and a... well, flawless build.

Having come to the United States for middle school, Lin Tian naturally had a solid family background. In this era, the astronomical cost of studying in the U.S. was not something ordinary families could bear. His parents were among the first wave of Chinese entrepreneurs, and with sharp acumen and a favorable environment, the Lin family had already amassed an eight-figure fortune by the early nineties.

By any measure, Lin Tian was a young man of talent and promise—family, education, looks, ability, and physique, all exceptional.

Ordinarily, a person like him would either shine in the field of psychology after graduation or return home to inherit the family business. Yet Lin Tian stubbornly chose the path of basketball.

It was as if Schwarzenegger had decided to quit movies for politics, or Shaq had taken up teaching kids how to shoot free throws and three-pointers.

Especially considering that Penn and its nearby namesake, Penn State, were worlds apart. Penn was an academic powerhouse, producing countless luminaries in government and business but utterly hopeless in sports. Penn State, on the other hand, was an NCAA juggernaut, a Big Ten powerhouse, and alma mater to many NBA players.

In short, Lin Tian, Penn, and the NBA—these things simply did not belong together.

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Yet Lin Tian responded to all doubts and denials with a single attitude: “Because I want to! Because I love it! None of your business!”

For four years at Penn, a school with neither basketball scholarships nor any real focus on the sport, Lin Tian poured himself into relentless training, shattering records and setting new team milestones in this basketball wasteland.

In his senior year, he even led his teammates to the school's first-ever appearance in March Madness. Although they were swiftly dispatched by UCLA in the first round with a lopsided score of 77 to 40, merely reaching March Madness was enough to immortalize Lin Tian's name in Penn's basketball history.

From certain perspectives, Lin Tian was now counted among Penn’s famous alumni, alongside the likes of Warren Buffett and Benjamin Franklin.

That senior year, Lin Tian averaged 22.4 points, 6.1 assists, 3.1 rebounds, and 1.2 steals per game—numbers that would be considered lottery-worthy. But these stats came from Penn, a basketball desert.

To scouts and NBA executives, his numbers paled in comparison to those of Damon Stoudamire, the much-hyped top guard from Arizona, who averaged 22 points, 7 assists, and 1 steal—worlds apart.

It was a stark reminder that similar stats from different teams and opponents could mean vastly different things.

And so, Stoudamire went seventh overall in the first round, while Lin Tian, after giving his all, was finally selected by the Bulls with the fifty-second pick in the second round—barely making it into the NBA.

As for why Lin Tian didn’t pursue a promising career as a doctor or the heir to a wealthy family, but insisted on playing in the NBA, the reason was simple—

This was Lin Tian’s second life.

He was a transmigrant.

And as a transmigrant, Lin Tian had a cheat. Unfortunately, it was a cheat that left him rather exasperated.