Coach: Coaching the Grizzlies at the beginning, playing the bantam

The morning sunlight streamed through the towering glass walls of the Barclays Center, slanting across the empty training hall floor.

The sounds of sweat dripping onto the wooden boards, the dull echo of basketballs hitting the floor, and the squeaking of sneakers rubbing together formed the background noise of a training day.

Current head coach Atkinson stood on the sidelines with his arms crossed, his gaze sweeping over the figures moving across the field.

"Beep--"

A sharp whistle suddenly broke the vibrant noise.

All the players instinctively stopped moving and looked in the direction of the sound.

The heavy stainless steel door of the training hall had been pushed open at some point, and brilliant light poured in, outlining a familiar figure standing at the intersection of light and shadow.

No signature suits or ties, just a simple black Nets retro logo T-shirt, dark sweatpants, and his hands casually in his pockets.

Her silver-gray hair swayed slightly in the backlight, and she wore a gentle and familiar smile.

"Coach Lu?!"

Exclamations came and went.

Atkinson's cold expression melted away like ice, his eyes suddenly shining brightly. He grinned and, almost instantly, burst forth with a speed far exceeding his usual sideline roars, charging forward in a large stride.

The players snapped out of their shock and surged toward the door like a rising tide.

“Teacher! It really is you!” Atkinson opened his arms and gave Lu Yong a nearly suffocating, powerful bear hug, his voice trembling slightly.

He patted Lu Yong's back hard, "God, you've finally come back to see us! Those guys have been talking about you so much, I'm practically sick of hearing it!"

Lu Yong smiled and patted Atkinson on the back, feeling the surging force and long-lost enthusiasm: "Kenny, take it easy, my old bones can't take your strength in positioning under the basket."

The players behind them had already surrounded the two.

Durant, Mitchell, Brunson, Griffin, Rose... faces with genuine smiles or traces of sweat crowded at the front.

"Coach Lue!" Durant's voice was genuinely warm as he squeezed forward and extended his hand.

Lu Yong grabbed it, and the familiar, powerful yet exceptionally stable feel warmed his heart: "KD, that fadeaway just now, the angle was too tricky, I felt like my arms were too short to block you."

Mitchell and Brunson stood side by side, the young man beaming, his white teeth particularly striking: "Coach Lu! We watched all your commentary! Your comment about Thibodeau being 'iron-blooded to the point of being stingy' was spot on!"

"Yes! It felt so good!"

"Griffin! Lower your defensive center of gravity a bit more!" Lu Yong glanced at "White Beast" and raised his chin.

The veteran, now relegated to the bench, grinned broadly, straightened his back, and snapped to attention: "Yes, next time it will definitely be lower!"

Ross stood slightly behind the crowd, his warm smile carrying the composure honed by years of experience. He nodded slightly to Lu Yong, his silence speaking volumes.

"Coach Lu!" An excited high-pitched voice pierced through the crowd.

Zhou Qi and Ding Yanyuhang struggled to push past their tall teammates and squeezed to the front row, their eyes filled with undisguised admiration and excitement, like fledglings returning to their nest.

"Hello, Coach Lu!" shouted the young Dort, Bain, and Isaiah Joe, who were standing nearby, with great respect.

"Everyone looks great!" Lu Yong smiled and looked around at everyone, his gaze lingering on Zhou Qi and Ding Yanyuhang for a moment. "Zhou, is your arm alright? You were really tough protecting the rim at the end of that derby! Ding, you've improved on those fakes and mid-range jumpers against the Lakers yesterday!"

His rounds of calls to action and his precise evaluations made the young players blush with excitement.

Zhou Qi scratched the back of his head and grinned foolishly, while Ding Yanyuhang straightened his chest and assured him in a strong voice, "Coach! I'll get even better!"

Atkinson looked around, then raised his voice with a smile: "Alright, alright! Line up! A warm welcome to our eternal captain—Coach Lu Yong—to inspect the work and guide the training!"

Applause and whistles erupted instantly like a tidal wave, almost lifting the roof off the training hall.

Atkinson turned to Lu Yong, his smile sincere and warm: "Coach Lu, no matter how much time has passed, there will always be a place for you in this locker room!"

He paused, his eyes filled with respect, and turned to point to the special stand on the sidelines where the head coach kept his tactics board and signs—which now bore the words "Coach Atkinson".

He strode forward and, to everyone's astonishment, unhesitatingly took down his gleaming white tactical board, held it out with both hands, and solemnly handed it to Lu Yong.

“Teacher,” Atkinson’s voice echoed in the suddenly quiet arena, “this team, from its very bones, from its very blood, from every breath we take, carries your DNA, bears the championship mark you forged. You have left the coaching bench, but your shadow has never left this place. This championship team will forever bear your name first and foremost!”

At this moment, there was no extra sound.

The only sounds were the sunlight trails across the floor and the players' collective, held-up breathing.

Every Nets player, from superstars like Durant to up-and-coming talents like Bane and Joe, stared at Lu Yong.

This is an undeniable fact—Lu Yong built the core structure of this championship team. He personally selected Mitchell, Brunson, Porzingis, and even the talent scout who signed and nurtured Zhou Qi and Ding Yanyuhang from the CBA league.

Lu Yong looked at the tactical board that Atkinson handed him. The smooth surface of the board seemed to still bear the marks of countless fierce arguments, flashes of inspiration, and ultimately proven victories.

A barely perceptible glint of moisture seemed to flash in his eyes, which then transformed into a deeper, gentle smile.

Without hesitation, he extended his hands, those with distinct knuckles that had spent countless nights reviewing videos and drawing battle plans, and steadily took the heavy tactical board, his fingertips brushing against the cold edge of the board.

"You brat," Lu Yong's voice was filled with indulgent laughter and a mutual appreciation that only the two of them understood, "Stop being so sentimental."

He casually raised his hand and flicked his finger lightly on Atkinson's tactical board stand, making a crisp "clang" sound. "This is your territory, Kenny. I'll just be a tourist, grab a coffee, and watch the show."

That being said, the moment the tactical board belonging to the legendary coach fell into Lu Yong's hands, an invisible, awe-inspiring aura quietly spread out.

Veteran Ross's gaze deepened, while rookies Bane and Isaiah Joe instinctively straightened their backs.

Durant's eyes also changed, showing a genuine recognition of his creator and mentor.

Atkinson's eyes gleamed with smugness; he knew his teacher was buying it. "Please, have a seat! We'll immediately conduct a live-fire exercise of the latest Tactical Number Three. You can give me your feedback!"

Lu Yong did not walk to the comfortable coach's chair on the sidelines.

His gaze swept over every face filled with anticipation or tension, finally settling on an old, mobile tactical vehicle that had been idle for a long time and was covered in a little dust in the corner of the venue.

This was once a symbol of his era.

He walked over calmly, gently brushing away the fine dust from the surface of the tactical board with his fingers, a gesture filled with nostalgia.

Then, he raised his hand, took off the whistle hanging around his neck—a small thing he would occasionally hold between his fingers while commentating after retiring, and a symbol deeply ingrained in his coaching career—and put it steadily into his mouth.

Without hesitation, without announcement.

That all-too-familiar, sharp, and piercing whistle—"Beep beep! Beep beep!"

Two short and one long!
The sound was like an invisible electric current, instantly striking all the players on the court who were wearing Nets practice uniforms.

It is more direct than any slogan and more authoritative than any sermon.

Mitchell, Brunson, Durant, Porzingis... all the veteran players who experienced Lu Yong's coaching era, their bodies tensed up instantly at the moment the whistle blew, almost out of a primal muscle memory!
"gather!"

Durant's voice rang out first, crisp and clear.

Wow!
Like a well-trained army receiving a unified command, all the players on the court, no matter what they were doing just now—dribbling, preparing to shoot, rebounding, practicing footwork—stopped their movements in an instant without any hesitation or delay. Like a surging tide returning to its trough, they rapidly converged and lined up in the direction of Lu Yong's tactical board!
In just a few seconds, three neat rows of people had been lined up.

The speed and order were so great that even Atkinson himself might not have been able to achieve that level of speed when he was in command.

The entire training ground was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, with only the faint, suppressed breathing sounds from the intense running.

The newly added young center, Mitchell Robinson, was clearly a step behind, squeezing into the back of the line with slightly clumsy steps.

Durant's stern gaze immediately swept over him, and Robinson shrank back, quickly straightening his posture. Lu Yong didn't rush to speak.

He stood with his hands behind his back, quietly watching the team before him—a team he knew intimately yet was now slightly different with the addition of fresh blood—like a general inspecting weapons he had forged himself.

That silent scrutiny is more stressful and unsettling than any words.

Ding Yanyuhang, who was in the front row of the line, couldn't help but secretly swallow.

Sunlight fell on his graying temples and the smooth surface of the tactical board, creating a bright and tranquil scene.

"Report!" Durant suddenly stepped out of the line, his voice loud and clear, echoing in the quiet arena, "Coach Lue! There's an emergency I need to explain to you! Our number three playboard..."

A perfectly measured stern expression crossed his face. "The tactics board has been scribbled on by the newbies! Preliminary investigation indicates it's Ding and Zhou!"

With a "boom," the players, who were trying to suppress their laughter, instantly erupted into a commotion.

All eyes immediately turned to Ding Yanyuhang and Zhou Qi in the third row.

Ding Yanyuhang and Zhou Qi both shrank back at the same time, their faces instantly turning bright red.

Zhou Qi instinctively tried to hide what he was holding behind his back.

"Oh?" Lu Yong raised an eyebrow, his face showing no anger whatsoever, but rather a barely perceptible, amused smile. His voice was deliberately drawn out in a questioning tone, "Did you ruin the painting? What did you paint? Is it a portrait of me? I'm wondering if I should ask them for portrait copyright fees?"

"It's not a drawing of you!" Ding Yanyuhang was provoked by the teasing. He didn't know where he got the courage, but he straightened his neck, suddenly stepped out of the line, and shouted loudly with a red face.

Zhou Qi, standing next to him, seemed to be influenced by him and also stepped forward, albeit with a stiff upper lip, but his voice was noticeably softer, muffled: "Coach Lu...we..."

Under Durant's "stern" gaze, Zhou Qi finally made up his mind and took his hand out from behind his back—what he was holding was a small tactical board with its edges scribbled with all sorts of circles, crosses and scribbles!
That was none other than a piece of paper—a partial diagram of tactical number three that Atkinson had printed out to prepare for tonight's training session!
"Reporting to Coach Lu!" Ding Yanyuhang's voice was filled with a desperate urgency and an irrepressible enthusiasm. "We didn't mean to sabotage it! It's just... it's just that we looked at this weak-side attack plan after the arc screen... and felt that there might be... there might be problems on the defensive end! So we... we just thought about it privately for a bit!"

Zhou Qi nodded vigorously, pointing to the "painted" splint for Lu Yong to see: "It was...it was something we came up with together! We just wanted to try...if the opponent sets a screen, could Caleb and I delay the ball handler a step ahead here?"

He pointed to a spot on the paper marked with a thick red circle, "Ding can quickly get around to this passing lane..."

He pointed to a green arrow, "It feels like this... will force their weak-side offense into Griffin's or Mitchell's strong-side help defense area! It's...it's safer! We...we've given it a name!"

His voice trailed off, tinged with a mixture of shyness and anticipation.

Ding Yanyuhang took a breath, puffed out his chest, his eyes shining brightly, and added loudly, "Call it 'China's Great Wall Double Delay'!"

"Double delays at the Great Wall?!"

His resounding name and his somewhat reckless, treasure-presenting manner finally broke the tense atmosphere of the team.

Mitchell, sitting in the front row, chuckled, and Brunson next to him grinned as well.

Even Rose, sitting in the back row, couldn't help but smile with a forgiving expression.

Atkinson was initially taken aback, then a subtle expression flashed across his face, a mixture of helplessness at the audacity of these young men and a slight smile infected by their reckless enthusiasm.

Lu Yong smiled too.

It wasn't a hearty laugh, but rather a deep curve at the corners of his lips, and his eyes sparkling with an extremely bright, approving light, as if he were seeing a rough gem finally shine after being polished.

“Great Wall… Hmm, what a great name!” Lu Yong exclaimed, his laughter rippling like a pebble thrown into a lake, creating a wave of joy.

Without any hesitation, he stepped forward and snatched the tactical board clip, which had been painted with various colors, from Zhou Qi's hand. His movements were so fast that Zhou Qi couldn't react in time.

He lowered his head and examined it carefully, his fingers moving along the scribbles of red lines, green arrows, and simple player designations, his gaze sharp as a scalpel.

All the players, including Atkinson, are waiting for the judgment of this creator.

Zhou Qi and Ding Yanyuhang were so nervous that their fingers curled slightly as they watched every subtle change on Lu Yong's face.

Half a minute of silence, with only the sound of breathing.

Lu Yong suddenly raised his head, not looking at anyone, his gaze fixed directly on the tray containing the markers.

He strode over, picked out the thickest red marker, and with a "snap," unscrewed the cap.

He didn't care at all whether the small splint had been "painted" with flowers. The thick red lines fell like dragons and snakes, covering up many of the details that Zhou Qi and Ding Yanyuhang had painted on before.

"Ideas are good seeds!" Lu Yong's voice was not loud, but every word clearly reached everyone's ears.

As he quickly sketched, the red ink spreading decisively and smoothly across the paper, he explained rapidly: "Xiao Zhou, your and Caleb's positioning for delaying the ball is okay, but the timing requirements are too demanding. Against a top point guard, it's an open shot! You need to change it! See—"

The red pen swished across the original spot: "You should initiate the delay after this half-step! Dort! See this spot? This is the key area for your quick cover and interference with the pass! Make sure your footwork is completely blocked!"

Without looking up, he called out names. Dort, whose name was called, instinctively jolted, stood up straighter, and shouted, "Understood, Coach!"

“Xiao Ding’s idea, going around to the front is fine,” Lu Yong continued, his pen suddenly turning to draw a very clear, tricky-angled pressure arrow on the weak side of the paper, his gesture carrying an unquestionable authority, “but the time difference isn’t enough! We need to leave space for Oubre to come back from the strong side to help defend! Bane!”

His voice suddenly turned to the young three-point shooter, Bane, "Your rotation time must be half a second faster than usual! You, Rose, and Griffin are the last 'bricks' of the Great Wall, understand?"

"Understood!" Griffin replied steadily. Rose nodded slightly, while Bain straightened his back forcefully. "Yes, Coach!"

"Whoosh!" The final stroke was flicked out, forming a powerful defensive circle, like an open animal trap.

Lu Yong then turned around abruptly, facing all the players, and raised the tactical clipboard that was completely covered in red, brand new yet retaining the original plan's framework, but with details that had been revised to be incredibly sharp and feasible!
The red ink on the white board was burning hot, like a solidified battle order!

"—This is the 'Great Wall'! It must be as concise, sharp, and decisive as this red line!" Lu Yong's voice was firm and resolute, like a heavy hammer striking an anvil, echoing throughout the empty training hall. "Get your positions locked tight! Keep up with the pace! Lock your eyes on the target! Don't let your guard down for even a moment!"

"Yes! Coach!"

This time, whether it was the absolute core players like Durant and Mitchell, or the young players like Zhou Qi, Ding Yanyuhang, and Bane, or even the assistant coaches under Atkinson who were watching from the sidelines, they all burst out with a unified and heartfelt roar as if by conditioned reflex!

The sound waves swept across the cold training hall floor, even making the chandeliers above vibrate.

Lu Yong put down his marker, no longer looking at the newly revitalized red "Great Wall," his gaze sweeping over the faces that were slightly flushed with focus and excitement.

He casually shoved the splint back into Zhou Qi's hands, who was still in a state of shock and confusion, as if he were holding a hot potato, the movement as natural as handing back a pen.

Then, he crossed his arms, and that familiar, slightly mocking smile reappeared on his lips as he turned to Atkinson, who had been standing quietly with a smile on his face.

“Now, Kenny,” Lu Yong said casually, as if discussing the Brooklyn weather, “you can begin your third tactical drill. Let’s see what this team with your teacher’s name on it looks like.”

He paused deliberately, his smile deepening, "Do they still have the ability to defend the new 'Great Wall' they themselves have drawn?"

Atkinson took a deep breath, his face devoid of any joking expression, only pure, soaring fighting spirit remaining.

He stepped forward, his piercing gaze sweeping over his battle-ready soldiers. Suddenly, he raised his arm high, his roar louder than ever before, filled with power and certainty:

"Did you hear that?! Red Team, Blue Team! Combat training—begin! Let me see the 'Great Wall'!"

"Roar--!"

His response was a roar even more ferocious than before, like a trapped beast bursting from its cage!
The whistle blared again, and footsteps thundered!

Sweat quickly splattered back onto the floor, and the air was torn apart and ignited by the intense running, fighting, shouting, and whistling.

Lu Yong did not return to the sidelines.

He stood quietly a few steps away from Atkinson, watching the ever-changing offense and defense on the court.

Those eyes, weathered by countless storms, reflected the new coach's powerful gestures and composed commanding figure; reflected Durant's elegant and unstoppable pull-up jumper; reflected Mitchell's pass after tearing through the defense; reflected the "China Red" wall, like a rock, beginning to take shape, that Ding Yanyuhang and Zhou Qi jointly built at the top of the arc.
A quiet, contented smile, like watching seedlings grow tall, always graced the corners of his mouth.

The sunlight seemed even more intense, casting long shadows of the two generations of Nets head coaches standing side-by-side on the sidelines. (End of Chapter)