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

5:40 a.m.

When Lin Hao parked his car in the training facility's underground garage, he saw that Nelson's beat-up pickup truck was already there, and one parking space further on was Thibodeau's black Ford SUV. The two cars were parked side by side, like two gatekeepers.

"These two old men live here?" Lin Hao muttered, picked up his backpack, and got out of the car.

All the lights in the corridor were on, and the green light of the emergency exit was flashing at the end. Before even reaching the training hall entrance, I could hear voices coming from inside—not chatting, but the kind of voices that sound like they were arguing.

"Seven seconds! I said seven seconds! From the time you inbound the ball from the backcourt to the time you shoot from the frontcourt, seven seconds!" Old Nelson's voice was extremely penetrating.

"I don't care about a few seconds." Thibodeau's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail. "My defensive principle is—the opponent can't score. I don't care how fast you run, but you have to get back in position after you're done."

"Positioning? Once you're running, there's no such thing as positioning!"

"Then your run-and-gun offense can only be played in the regular season."

Lin Hao pushed open the door and saw two old men standing in the center of the field, two meters apart, like two old bulls facing off. Old Nelson had an unlit cigar in his mouth, while Thibodeau had his arms crossed, his glasses reflecting the light. A tactical board lay on the ground between them, half-drawn on it, with red and blue markers each holding their own interpretation, neither giving way.

Zhao Dabao squatted on the sidelines, holding a cup of coffee. When he saw Lin Hao come in, he winked at him and lowered his voice: "These two old men have been arguing since five o'clock, forty minutes now, and they're still not done."

"Go ahead and practice. Once you start, you won't pinch anymore." Lin Hao threw his bag on the bench and began to change his shoes.

At 7:00 sharp, everyone had arrived.

Richardson walked in yawning, and upon seeing the expressions on the two coaches' faces, he instantly sobered up. Payton, with a toothpick in his mouth, leaned against the wall, his eyes darting back and forth between the two old men. Arenas paused in tying his shoelaces, glanced at Lin Hao, but Lin Hao ignored him and continued wrapping his ankle brace.

Old Nelson spoke first. He picked up the tactical board from the ground, dusted it off, and walked to the front of the team.

"Today's training includes offense, defense, and shooting. We'll practice all three together."

He turned around and drew a line on the whiteboard from the backcourt to the frontcourt: "Attack, seven seconds. From inbound to release, within seven seconds. If you exceed that, even if the ball goes in, start over."

Thibodeau walked to the whiteboard, took the pen, and drew a few arcs on the opponent's half of the court: "Defense, switch everywhere. Switch on pick-and-rolls, don't push through, don't go around. If you switch too slowly, the opponent will shoot, and the whole team will have to run back and forth."

Dell Curry emerged from the corner, holding a stack of printed papers, handing one to each player. Each paper contained only a shooting chart, with red areas marking each player's "hot zones"—Lin Hao at the top of the arc and the right 45-degree angle, Richardson at the baseline, and Van Exel at the left 45-degree angle.

"Shoot from your hot zone." Dell Curry's voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. "A shot outside your hot zone is a turnover."

Three coaches, three tactical boards, three colors.

Looking at the heat map in front of him, Lin Hao suddenly had a thought flash through his mind—this is a three-dimensional system. Offense is one dimension, defense is another, and shooting is yet another. It's not an addition, but a fusion.

"Just do it." He folded the heat map twice and stuffed it into his wristband.

First training session: Five-on-five on the court, with the offensive team having a seven-second shot clock and the defensive team switching on any available defense.

Lin Hao led the starting lineup, while Payton led the substitutes.

As soon as the whistle blew, Dampier won the jump ball, and Lin Hao received it. Payton didn't wait for him in the attacking third, but instead started marking him closely from the back – this was Thibodeau's instruction to press him across the entire field.

"Old Pei, at your age you're still pressing the whole court?" Lin Hao trash-talked while dribbling the ball.

"Stop talking nonsense." Payton's hand clung to Lin Hao's waist like a leech.

Lin Hao changed direction to get past Payton and rushed to the three-point line. According to Don Nelson's seven-second rule, four seconds had already passed, and he had to shoot. But the defense switched—Dunleavy came over from the weak side, Arenas blocked the driving route, and Foyle collapsed in the paint.

There was no room for maneuver.

Lin Hao passed the ball to Richardson in the corner. Dunleavy immediately pounced on him, but Richardson didn't shoot and passed it back to Van Exel at the top of the key. Arenas switched and Van Exel passed it back to Lin Hao.

The ball has been passed four times, and there is still one second left on the attack timer.

Lin Hao received the ball, and Payton was already right in his face. He leaned back and forced a shot.

"Bang!"

Blacksmithing.

Thibodeau blew his whistle: "Time to attack. Make a run back."

Old Nelson stood on the other side, smoking a cigar, and said nothing.

Lin Hao ran back after finishing his run, panting, and looked at the lines on the whiteboard. He suddenly understood—Old Nelson's seven seconds wasn't about shooting randomly, but about finding the best shooting opportunity within those seven seconds. Thibodeau's switching wasn't about switching haphazardly, but about being able to return to your original position after a switch.

This is the three-dimensional system. Offense doesn't hinder defense, and defense doesn't slow down offense.

For his second attack, Lin Hao changed his strategy.

Instead of passing to the outside, he lobbed the ball directly to Dampier in the low post. Dampier backed down Foyer, took two steps, turned, and hooked the ball in. Six seconds had passed.

Thibodeau's whistle didn't ring. Old Nelson's stopwatch stopped.

"Okay." Old Nelson nodded.

The defense was on offense, and Payton dribbled the ball across half-court. Lin Hao switched onto him, but Payton didn't force a drive and passed the ball to Arenas. As soon as Arenas received the ball, Van Exel closed in—not waiting for Arenas to start moving before defending, but starting to close in the moment he received the ball.

Thibodeau shouted from the sidelines, "Don't let him turn around!"

Arenas was forced to the sideline, jumped, and the ball was stolen by Van Exel.

"Snapped!"

Lin Hao picked up the ball, didn't dribble, and passed it directly to Richardson, who was already running down the court. Richardson caught the ball and slammed it down with both hands.

"Clang!"

From steal to dunk, three seconds.

Old Nelson took the cigar out of his mouth and smirked.

When the training reached the second set, a problem arose.

The defense's constant switching began to work. No matter how the offense passed the ball, the defense always managed to switch in immediately. The ball went through five hands, and with only two seconds left on the shot clock, Lin Hao was forced to shoot under double coverage from Payton and Dunleavy—and he missed the target entirely.

"Stop." Thibodeau's whistle was shrill.

Everyone stopped and watched Thibodeau walk to the center of the field.

"What are you guys doing?" Thibodeau's gaze swept over the five offensive players. "Every time you switch, you pass the ball once. Every time you switch five times, you pass it five times. Did you even look at the basket when you passed the ball?"

No one speaks.

Thibodeau walked up to Lin Hao and yelled, "You're the point guard! When they switch on defense, you either shoot or drive. What are you doing passing the ball outside?!"

Lin Hao was stunned for a moment.

He was indeed passing the ball, constantly passing it. Not because his passes were bad, but because he was dodging—dodging Payton's close marking, dodging Dunleavy's help defense, dodging every physical contact.

Thibodeau saw through him.

"Again," Thibodeau whistled.

On the third attack, Lin Hao had changed.

He received the ball, and Payton closed in. Lin Hao didn't pass it out, but dribbled once and pulled up for a jump shot. Payton's hand blocked his face, and the ball flew past his fingertips.

"Whoosh."

Hollow-core netting.

Old Nelson glanced at the stopwatch: five seconds.

Lin Hao landed and looked at Payton. Payton took the toothpick out of his mouth, broke it in two, and threw it off the court. He didn't say anything, but his eyes changed—it was a look that said, "You're serious, kid."

The intensity of the subsequent training sessions will double.

Lin Hao began to actively seek contact. When Payton guarded him closely, he used his body to push against Payton and drive in. When Dunleavy helped on defense, he changed direction and broke through from the other side. When Foyle collapsed the defense, he pulled up for a jump shot.

During an offensive play, Lin Hao broke into the paint, and Foyle jumped to block the shot. Lin Hao caught the ball in mid-air and passed it under Foyle's arm to Dampier under the basket. Dampier caught the ball and dunked with both hands. The basket rim creaked as it was pulled down.

Old Nelson's stopwatch was stopped at six seconds. Thibodeau's whistle didn't sound.

Dell Curry was recording shooting data on the sidelines when he saw Lin Hao's shot. He wrote a line in his notebook: "Passing vision, A+".

At 11:00 AM, training was suspended and the whole team assembled.

Three coaches stood in front of the whiteboard, which was covered with lines of three different colors. Red indicated offensive routes, blue indicated defensive rotations, and green indicated shooting hot zones.

Old Nelson spoke first: "Offense, you ran well today. But you still held the ball too tightly. Lin, you had the ball for more than three seconds seven times in the first half."

Thibodeau continued, "Defense, your switching speed is good, but after the switch, you can't find your man. Foyle, in the second quarter, you lost your defensive assignment three times after switching."

Dell Curry concluded, "Shooting, overall percentage was okay. But I took nine shots out of the hot zone, five of which were from Richardson at the left 45-degree angle. Your hot zone is in the corner, remember that."

Three coaches, three kinds of criticism, not a single word wasted.

Lin Hao stood in the group, listening intently. He noticed a pattern—Don Nelson criticized the offense, Thibodeau criticized the defense, and Dell Curry criticized the shooting. They each criticized their own things, without interfering with each other, but they were all criticizing the same person.

This is the three-dimensional system. It's not one person managing everything, but three people managing one thing. Offense, defense, and shooting—three dimensions, three coaches, one goal.

The training intensity was higher in the afternoon.

Don Nelson added a rule: if the offensive team doesn't shoot within seven seconds, the defensive team gets an immediate fast break opportunity, without it being considered a foul. This means that if the offensive team misses a shot, they not only give up points themselves but also give the opponent a chance to score.

Lin Hao was forced to show his ruthlessness.

Payton guarded him, but he blew past him in one step. Dunleavy helped defend, but he changed direction. Foyle collapsed the defense, but he pulled up for a jump shot. Arenas double-teamed him, but he passed the ball behind his back to Richardson cutting to the basket.

In one round, Lin Hao single-handedly tore apart the entire defensive line of the defense team.

From receiving the ball in the backcourt to shooting in the frontcourt, four seconds passed. The ball didn't bounce, didn't stop, and wasn't passed a second time.

Old Nelson's stopwatch stopped at four seconds. He took the cigar out of his mouth and said to Mullin beside him, "This kid's finally figured it out today."

Thibodeau didn't say anything, but he cut out the recording of Lin Hao's round separately and marked it as "Teaching Case · Chapter 121".

Training ended at 5 p.m.

Everyone was exhausted. Richardson lay on a bench, ice packs on his knees. Murphy rubbed his Achilles tendon. Van Exel took off his large gold chain and hung it around Dunleavy's neck; Dunleavy was too weak to take it off.

Lin Hao was the last to leave. He helped Zhao Dabao put the training cones back into the box and wiped the writing off the tactical board.

Dell Curry walked over and handed him a shooting information package.

"You made 30 of 37 three-pointers today." Dell Curry's voice was flat, but Lin Hao sensed something different.

"Eighty-one percent shooting percentage." Dell Curry turned to the last page of the report. "That's the highest single-day shooting percentage I've ever seen as a coach."

Lin Hao took the report, glanced at it, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his backpack.

"Dell," Lin Hao said.

"Um."

"It can go even higher tomorrow."

Dell Curry looked at him, and the corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but something more genuine than a smile.

It was already dark when Lin Hao walked out of the training hall. He stood on the steps and glanced at his phone. There was a message from Zhang Qingying: "Are you tired from training?"

Lin Hao typed a line: "Not bad. The first joint training session of the three-dimensional system was quite interesting."

After sending the message, he thought for a moment and added, "Are you busy at work today?"

The message "The other party is typing" flashed several times before finally replying with just one word: "Busy".

Lin Hao stared at the word "busy" for a few seconds, then put his phone in his pocket.

He opened the car door, got in, and started the engine. The headlights came on, illuminating the road ahead.

In the back seat, there was still more than half a box of canned yellow peaches that Zhao Dabao had bought extra. The tin cans clattered gently as the car bumped along.

Lin Hao glanced at the box of canned goods in the rearview mirror and stepped on the gas.

The car sped forward and disappeared into the Auckland night.

[Ding! The first joint training session of the three-dimensional system is complete!]

Offensive proficiency: 15%! Defensive proficiency: 12%! Shooting proficiency: 18%!

[A counterintuitive insight triggered: Lin Hao realized during training—run-and-gun offense isn't about running fast, it's about making your pace unmatched.]

[Current Progress: 3D System Proficiency - 15%!]

The brightly lit bay bridge outside the car window looked like a golden snake lying across the sea.

Lin Hao gripped the steering wheel, his mind still replaying the day's training. Payton's tight defense, Dunleavy's help defense, Foyle's collapse—every defensive move was as clear as if etched onto his retina.

He suddenly remembered what Thibodeau had said: "You're a point guard. What are you doing passing the ball around?"

It's not a problem with passing the ball, it's a problem with confidence.

He's been hiding. Hiding from confrontation, hiding from mistakes, hiding from taking responsibility.

But starting tomorrow, I'll stop hiding.

The car pulled into the apartment parking lot, and Lin Hao turned off the engine, remaining seated in the driver's seat. He looked at the streetlight outside the windshield, which was flickering on and off, and took a deep breath.

There's training tomorrow.

There will be more the day after tomorrow.

There will be more the day after tomorrow.

A three-dimensional system isn't built in a day. But with each day of practice, we get one step closer to that trophy.