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

The most popular Northeastern Chinese stew restaurant in Oakland's Chinatown had its second floor booked by the entire Golden State Warriors team.

The goose in the big iron pot was bubbling away, the aroma of soy sauce mixed with the salty fragrance of Northeastern soybean paste filling the entire room. Richardson and Arenas were playing drinking games shirtless, Zhao Dabao was handing out a box of canned yellow peaches from table to table, and Mullin was clinking beer glasses with Dale Curry. The whole room was as noisy as if it were New Year's Day.

Only the table in the corner was unusually quiet.

Gary Payton sat with his back to the crowd, a bowl of untouched goose meat in front of him, and a newly printed Warriors jersey with the number 20 in his hand. His fingertips repeatedly rubbed the rough fabric, the number "20" becoming hot from his touch.

He tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful of ice-cold beer. The icy liquid slid down his throat and into his stomach, but it couldn't suppress the turbulent emotions churning inside him.

The scenes from the training hall during the day replayed in his mind like a movie: Lin Hao slipping past his tight defense like an eel, those passes that were like guided missiles with anticipation, and that slam dunk after forcefully stealing the ball from his hands. When the final buzzer sounded, the score of 120-100 stung his eyes.

"I've been playing basketball for 16 years, when have I ever suffered such humiliation..." Payton muttered under his breath, then took another swig of his drink.

He recalled his prime years in Seattle, when he was the most feared perimeter defender in the entire league, the nickname "The Glove" striking fear into the hearts of any point guard. He had won Defensive Player of the Year, been an All-Star, and led his team to the NBA Finals. But all he lacked was that damn championship ring.

For a ring, he set aside his pride and joined the Lakers, forming the F team. This summer, the Bucks bought out his contract. At 35, he was nearing the end of his career. He had originally planned to just find a team, play for a year, and then retire with dignity. Until Lin Hao called.

"Come to the Warriors, let's win the championship together."

At the time, he just thought this kid was crazy. A second-year rookie, leading a team that was eliminated in the first round last season, actually dared to say he could win the championship? He came to Golden State with the mentality of watching the show, wanting to teach this arrogant kid a lesson.

As a result, he got a lesson.

He lost in a one-on-one fight, but the five-on-five defeat was even more devastating. His defense, which he was so proud of, was as fragile as paper in front of Lin Hao, and his organizational skills, which he relied on for survival, seemed clumsy and outdated in the face of Lin Hao's fluid "Northeast Sniper" system.

"I'm really getting old..." Peyton sighed and buried his face in his hands.

"Are you drinking alone here all by yourself?"

A familiar voice rang in his ears, and Payton suddenly looked up to see Lin Hao walking over with two beer glasses in his hands.

Lin Hao placed a glass of beer in front of him, pulled out a chair, sat down, picked up his chopsticks, took a piece of goose meat, and put it in his mouth. He mumbled, "The goose in this restaurant was found by Zhao Dabao. It's free-range from Northeast China, and it's incredibly delicious. You should try it, don't just drink."

Payton didn't touch his chopsticks, but just stared at Lin Hao. Under the light, this 20-year-old Eastern boy had the spiritedness of youth on his face, but his eyes were as calm as those of a veteran general who had fought for many years.

"Kid," Payton said, his voice hoarse, "tell me the truth, didn't you already know I was going to stay? From the day you called me, you knew I was going to stay."

Lin Hao put down his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and looked at Payton seriously: "Yes and no."

"I know you want a championship. The whole league knows that." Lin Hao picked up his beer glass and lightly clinked it against Payton's. "Gary, I'm not lying to you. I didn't call you here to be my backup. I don't need you to play 30 minutes every game to compete with those young guys in terms of speed and stamina."

"Then what do you need me to do?" Payton pressed.

"I need your defensive experience." Lin Hao's tone was extremely serious. "Richardson has good physical attributes, but his defense is rash and he's easily faked out; Arenas has no problem on offense, but his defense is a sieve. And that kid Arenas, he's bursting with talent, but all he sees is the basket. They need someone to teach them how to defend, how to anticipate passing routes, and how to play with their brains."