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

The morning sunlight in September poured in like a golden waterfall, making the newly hung "2003-04 Season Training Camp" banner shine brightly.

The air was filled with the smell of new paint and a faint smell of disinfectant, mixed with a sense of tension as a major battle was about to begin.

Head coach Musselman stood on the sidelines, holding a tactical board in his hand, but did not call a meeting with the players as usual. He turned his head and looked at Lin Hao, who was tying his shoelaces, with a complicated expression.

Last night, General Manager Mullin had a long talk with him. The message was clear: the offensive direction of this team will be temporarily handed over to Lin Hao. Musselman will be responsible for defensive discipline and rotation, while on the offensive end, he will listen to Lin Hao.

"Lin," Musselman walked over, his voice a little hoarse, "It's the first day of training camp today, so you'll talk about our offensive strategy. Everyone's waiting."

Lin Hao tightened his shoelaces, tied them into a neat bow, and looked up at the whole team. Richardson, Arenas, Payton, Dell Curry, and a bunch of substitutes, dozens of eyes were all fixed on him.

Without saying a word, he took the tactical board from Musselman's hand, tore off the old blueprints with a "rip," crumpled them up, and threw them into the trash can.

This action silenced the entire room instantly.

"From today onwards, our Warriors' offense will no longer employ those slow, convoluted tactics." Lin Hao drew a large circle on the new whiteboard with a marker to represent the backcourt inbounds point, and then drew a straight line straight into the frontcourt basket. "Just one word: fast."

He drew a "7" between the circle and the basket.

"Attack, only seven seconds." Lin Hao tapped the whiteboard, his voice soft but like a hammer blow to everyone's hearts. "From the inbound pass in the backcourt to the shot in the frontcourt, keep it under seven seconds. If you exceed that, even if it's a basket, it doesn't count, you have to practice again!"

"Seven seconds?" Payton frowned. As an old-school defender, he was used to playing in the half-court and slowly grinding the ball down. "Kid, you can't even get the ball up the court in seven seconds? That's insane."

"Uncle Glove, you're getting old." Lin Hao grinned, revealing a set of white teeth, his straightforward Northeastern style kicking in. "This isn't the 90s anymore. In basketball these days, you have to run to get ahead. The seven-second rule means you have to start running the moment the ball is inbounded, not wait until it reaches the frontcourt before getting into position."

He turned to Dell Curry and said, "Uncle Dell, you're in charge of incorporating the 'Northeast Sniper' shooting techniques into these seven seconds. We're not looking for aimless running; we're looking for open spaces to take the shot."

Dell Curry nodded and added a few more three-point line landing points on the whiteboard: "Got it. Lin, I'll make sure everyone finds their most comfortable shooting spot within seven seconds."

"Richardson, Arenas," Lin Hao called out, "You two are the spearheads. Once you get the ball, charge forward. Don't look back, and don't wait. If you get blocked, pass the ball to Payton, then Payton passes it to Murphy, and finally the ball must return to me, or to an open shooter. Remember, the ball is in the air, but you have to run on the ground. Always be one step ahead of the defender."

This tactic combines the all-out run-and-gun philosophy of Don Nelson with Lin Hao's own "Northeast Sniper" precision strikes. Speed ​​is the skeleton, accuracy is the soul.

Musselman watched from the sidelines, his heart filled with mixed emotions. He knew this style of play might dominate opponents in the regular season, but in the playoffs, if the shooting faltered, it would be disastrous. But he didn't say anything, just silently took notes.