NBA: Northeast China's spectacular dunks sweep the entire league.

Dampier opened his mouth wide, and the Warriors' already simmering soup was completely spoiled.

Lin Hao knew perfectly well that these days, it's no use beating someone into submission; you have to let everyone see you beat them into submission before you can set the rules.

Hide? Hide my ass. If you hide, it means you're guilty and in the wrong. Who in this team will take you seriously after that?

The air in the training hall was eight degrees heavier than usual in the morning. The usual pre-training banter and laughter were gone; everyone looked like wilted eggplants, heads bowed, afraid to get involved in this mess. Dampier, that big black guy, arrived the earliest. He sat in front of the locker, not even changing his clothes, just stiffening his neck and staring at the entrance, looking like a stone lion guarding a graveyard.

When Lin Hao pushed the door open, he brought in a gust of cool air from outside. He didn't look at anyone, walked straight to his locker, and threw his backpack on the ground with a dull thud.

"What are you all looking at?" Lin Hao glanced at his teammates who were shrugging their necks, his tone not very friendly. "Go practice, go run. This is none of your business."

Just then, Coach Musselman walked in, carrying his tactical board, his face scrunched up like a bitter gourd. Seeing this, Lin Hao's heart skipped a beat. He was, to put it nicely, steady and reliable; to put it bluntly, a master of smoothing things over. He walked up to Lin Hao, lowered his voice, and tried to be the peacemaker: "Lin, about... Dampier's matter, I think we should just let it go. They're all brothers on the team, let's not make a big fuss. I'll handle the media, let's focus on preparing for the game..."

"Preparing for the game?" Lin Hao, who was tying his shoelaces, stopped what he was doing upon hearing this. He looked up and glared at Musselman with eyes as sharp as knives. "Coach, you make it sound so easy. He's throwing mud at me, saying I'm dictatorial and that I'm suppressing veterans. If I pretend not to hear, do I have to apologize to him and beg him to play?"

Musselman was so choked up that his face turned red. He opened his mouth but couldn't say a word.

Lin Hao stood up, his 1.98-meter frame exuding an aura even stronger than Dampier's 2.1-meter height. Ignoring the coach, he instead raised his voice towards Dampier, "Big Tree! What are you pretending to be? Come here!"

Dampier jumped to his feet, his dark muscles taut: "What are you yelling about? Let me tell you, Lin Hao, I, Eric Dampier, have also been a top earner. Don't go too far!"

"Maximum salary?" Lin Hao chuckled, his smile devoid of warmth, filled only with sarcasm. "A maximum salary means you can act like a king? A maximum salary means you can stroll around the court, leave your man open on defense, and fumble on offense? That maximum salary you got was a scam from those idiot bosses in the 90s, and you actually believed it?"

That was such a scathing remark, it was practically a slap in the face. Some of the teammates around couldn't help but burst out laughing, then quickly covered their mouths.

Dampier was trembling with rage: "Lin Hao! Don't be so arrogant! If you're so capable, don't shoot threes, come inside and challenge me! You're just a coward who hides outside the three-point line!"

"Coward?" Lin Hao nodded, his expression unusually calm, a calmness that sent chills down one's spine. He took two steps forward, now just a step away from Dampier, the smell of sweat emanating from their chests. "Fine. Since you feel wronged and think I'm incompetent, let's settle this today."

Lin Hao turned around, facing all the team members, coaches, and staff in the training hall. He didn't have a microphone, but his voice clearly reached everyone's ears.

"We Northeasterners are practical when it comes to getting things done. The capable rise, the incompetent fall. You, Dampier, think I'm not good enough, that I didn't pass the ball to you properly, fine. In today's scrimmage, I'll bring the substitutes, and you bring the starters. Let's not get into any of that formality."

Lin Hao pointed at Dampier, his finger almost poking his nose: "Big Tree, I'll give you a chance. If you can score 10 points over me, I, Lin Hao, will personally feed you 5 points every game from now on. If you miss one, you can come after me. But if you can't..."

Lin Hao paused, his eyes instantly turning icy, like a Siberian wind: "If you can't get 10 points, you'd better shut your mouth. Go back to being a role player, set screens, box out, retrieve the ball, do whatever you're told. Don't fucking dream about All-Star treatment, do you even deserve it? In this league, besides me, nobody puts up with your stinking behavior."

What is this called? This is called killing someone by destroying their spirit.

Payton, standing to the side with a toothpick in his mouth, watched in stunned silence. This kid was even more arrogant than he used to be. Back then, Payton only talked trash on the court, but Lin Hao went all out, signing a death pact in the locker room. Payton's pent-up anger inexplicably subsided; he felt Lin Hao's actions were exactly to his liking. That's right, a strong team should act like a strong team; how can they tolerate this kind of constant complaining cancer?

Dampier was clearly taken aback by Lin Hao's move. He had assumed Lin Hao would at most retort or complain to the coach. He hadn't expected Lin Hao to flip the table and take it seriously.

"You...you're serious?" Dampier was a little hesitant. He knew his own skills best in the paint, and with his knees and footwork in this state, he might not be able to handle a monster like Lin Hao who was both fast and ruthless.

"I never lie." Lin Hao sneered. "What? You're scared? If you're scared, then get back to training and stop getting in my way."