Generation Z Artists

Chapter 173 Sweet Dreams
Among the luxury brands that managed to persevere to the end despite Kadokawa's unreasonable and disruptive tactics, only LV and Cartier remained.

It's not that there's less, it's that there's more.

Fang Xinghe was quite surprised.

"Wow, two companies are willing to accept such demanding conditions. Kadokawa-kun, you're incredibly reliable!"

The BOSS's malicious joke made Kadokawa beam with joy.

He gave a deep bow and immediately began acting alongside Fang Xinghe.

"Hey! I worked really hard, thankfully I didn't delay Your Highness's grand plan!"

Even now, there's no affection left, but the ties of mutual interests have deepened and become more complex, so he's naturally become more and more shameless.

"Your Highness, shall I report the details?"

Fang Xinghe lay half-reclined on the sofa, waving his hand lazily: "No rush, let's wait until I come back from America."

"Hi! I wish you a resounding victory, instant success, a world-shaking achievement, and glory for Asia! I will cheer you on."

Fang Xinghe and Wang Charlie exchanged a glance, chuckled softly, and turned to walk towards the bedroom.

Everything in Japan and South Korea is still going strong. I have to go to the talent show, travel around Southeast Asia, and then go home to take the college entrance exam. I'm going to be very busy from now on.

The next morning, Fang Xinghe brought his photo album shooting team and documentary filming crew, plus security personnel, a total of about 50 people, and chartered a plane, which roared to New York.

New York in 2001 can be divided into two periods: before September and after September.

It's before September, just the beginning of summer, so the weather isn't very pleasant, but the streets are very vibrant.

Fang Xinghe landed on the morning of the 26th. He and his team drove around the city and found the best angle next to the Statue of Liberty to take a few photos.

Background? What background? Don't make baseless accusations!
Ms. Hua really wanted to use the Statue of Liberty as a creative element to create a set of photos with a freedom theme, but Fang Xinghe rejected it.

Charlie Wang conveyed the BOSS's philosophy in this way: "In the United States, the BOSS only shoots one theme, called Conquest. I will take you into the venue of the talent show, and you decide how to shoot it. Whether the result is usable or not is decided by the BOSS."

Mika Ninagawa, who has yet to speak a single word to her idol, bit her lip and nodded vigorously, vowing to take good photos.

In the afternoon, the group returned to the hotel, and Fang Xinghe began trying on clothes.

LV and Cartier brought all their products, both available for sale and not available for sale, for you to choose from.

The endorsement agreement has not yet been finalized, but they have already decided to sponsor all of Xinghe's clothing needs as a long-term sponsor.

As for whether to use it or not... that's up to Brother Fang.

On the evening of June 27th, the highly anticipated 2001 NBA Draft finally commenced at Madison Square Garden in New York City.

Unlike other struggling newcomers, Fang Xinghe arrived at the venue in a limousine, driving arrogantly to the entrance. Eight burly men in black suits got out of the cars in front and behind him, separating the media before he entered the venue amidst the crowd.

"Wow, cool!"

The media gasped in surprise, and flashbulbs went off, but they couldn't stop him for a moment.

"Fang, Fang! Could you please do an interview?"

"Star River, keep it up!"

The players' exclusive entrance was not only crowded with media, but also with a group of spectators holding banners—most of whom were there for Fang Xinghe.

The New York fans' stance was questionable, but a middle-aged man in a suit shouted, "Star River, come to New York! You should be the king of New York!"

Fang Xinghe even took half a second to recall the New York team's draft position this time, and damn, they were way off.

Another woman with a large bust was jumping around frantically waving small pieces of paper, shouting, "Call me, and Fuck me!"

Great, New Yorkers are very welcoming.

But no amount of shouting could stop him. In the eyes of the public, he seemed to have a goal all along, completely ignoring everything else and just moving forward.

The live broadcast cameras kept focusing on him until his back was no longer visible. Only then did the hosts in the studio begin to talk about him with great enthusiasm.

TNT, NBC, and ESPN are the three television providers that will be broadcasting the show live this year, with approximately 200 million viewers expected to tune in today.

—Or perhaps more, after all, Fang Xinghe remains a highly popular and mysterious figure.

Will the first-ever Chinese champion be born today?

this is a problem.

What kind of amazing sparks will Fang Xinghe and Jordan create?
This is also a problem.

That really makes me curious...

Once inside the venue, the noise seemed to come and go, sometimes near, sometimes far.

The draft area is crowded with media and live audiences, while the waiting areas are quieter, such as the so-called "green room".

The room, neither too big nor too small, accommodated about 20 rookies and their families.

These guys were visibly nervous, barely moving, but there was a lot of chaotic chatting going on everywhere.

For players who truly aspire to make it in the NBA, today may be the most important day of their lives. The draft position and the team they are selected by will directly determine their entire career.

No one could remain calm in such a situation. Some were silently and anxiously picking at their nails, some were talking incessantly like chatterboxes, some were pretending to be calm but glancing around aimlessly, and some eccentric parents were even making a lot of noise.

But when Fang Xinghe entered the room, the volume dropped sharply, and the environment suddenly became quiet for a moment.

"That's Fang?"

This is probably the most common question at this moment.

Various whispers broke the silence, and when he sat down at the front and center round table, hostility surged forth.

Oh, so the neighbors next door are Kwame not fragrant and unlucky Jefferson.

The former immediately gave Fang Xinghe a strong "baptism of fire".

"Hey, SR, don't get cocky! Compared to me, you're nothing!"

Is this guy really that brainless?
Fang Xinghe only knew that many people felt sorry for Kwame, believing that he was a promising talent whose potential was ruined by Jordan's tyranny. But after getting to know him personally, he realized that this guy's big mouth was even bigger than his own.

Jefferson next door was even funnier.

He said fiercely, "Fang, you ruined my trial training. We'll see!"

As soon as Fang Xinghe looked away, this guy immediately leaned back, creating distance before continuing to berate him.

"See you on the court! Real men let their skills speak for themselves; what kind of hero bullies others with kung fu?"

He may be timid in appearance, but he's not cowardly in words; he may look foolish, but he's not stupid at heart, right?

Fang Xinghe gave him a look of pity for someone with intellectual disabilities, and gestured for Wang Chali and his senior brother Huang to move aside and separate the two idiots.

Afraid of infection.

While sitting upright, Master Huang asked in Chinese, "Do you need me to give him a little nudge quietly? My soft palm strike to the ribs is really effective!"

Wang Chali quickly scolded, "Stop fooling around! Master and the others are watching!"

Yes, CCTV-5 is broadcasting this talent show, and countless viewers across the country are watching.

For the United States, it was just an interesting draft, but for Asia, it was their first time broadcasting a draft.

It could also be the only time.

The pre-show starts at 7 p.m. New York time, and the official audition begins at 7:30 p.m. Summer time corresponds to 7 a.m. Beijing time, which is very convenient.

On Wudang Mountain, Master Zhong was indeed watching the program, surrounded by a group of fellow Taoists from the Taoist Association and his neighbors from the mountain.

He pointed at the television and chuckled, "My disciple is full of rebellious spirit, always wanting to break through and kill. Instead of inheriting the proper Sanfeng School of martial arts, he insists on playing basketball. What a joke, what a joke!"

"Cough cough... Ptooey!"

One of the Taoist priests coughed twice and spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the floor. Suddenly, everyone caught a cold and kept spitting.

Master Zhong was greatly surprised: "Huh? Could it be that you also have a rebellious disciple who has stirred up trouble?"

The coughing stopped abruptly, but the grinding of teeth began.

Heavenly Venerable One, this scoundrel is really showing off!

Master Zhong wasn't the only one showing off.

In Nong'an County, Old Wang was visiting some neighbors in the Education Bureau's residential area.

Brother Dashan, carrying liquor, peanuts, and braised pig's head, went to find his old nemesis, the principal of No. 2 Middle School, early in the morning. Nobody knew what he wanted to do.

Thirteen Eagles gathered a group of his underlings at the billiards hall next to the lab. The most powerful campus bully and the most beautiful campus goddess in the county loved to play with them, making the billiards hall packed with people.

In the capital, Liu Zhenyun, who was sleeping soundly, was inexplicably dragged out of bed by Yu Hua and taken to Shi Tiesheng's house to watch a live broadcast.

Yunyun struggled desperately: "I'm not interested in basketball!"

"Oh my, this is such a big deal, are we supposed to watch the news instead of seeing it live?"

Feng Yuanzheng, on the other hand, stayed at home obediently. He wasn't one to show off, but today he planned to work flexibly—if he won the top prize, he would go to the theater; if he didn't, he would practice at home.

In Tianjin, Mao Xiaotong and her mother turned on the television together.

In Shanghai, Tangtang arrived at school at 6:30.

In South Korea, official fan cafes can receive 300 new replies per second.

In Japan, the sponsors, who were still a little short of finalizing the terms, stared intently at the screen.

In the United States, the number of viewers gradually climbed from 1.8 million to around 3.5 million, achieving the best data in eight years.

The world was not greatly shaken by Fang Xinghe; the total number of people paying attention in Europe and America was less than 500 million. However, East Asia and Southeast Asia were indeed shaken by Fang Xinghe, and people who did not watch the live broadcast were also curious about the outcome.

The live stream camera would occasionally switch to Fang Xinghe.

TNT, NBC, and ESPN each had their own live media seating area and main studio, and everyone was talking about him.

"Sir Charles, do you think there's still any suspense in today's draw?"

Kenny Smith opened his mouth with a wicked grin.

Charles Barkley clutched his head in anguish: "No! That was supposed to be my line! I picked heads when we flipped the coin!" "But I asked it first," Smith said sternly, shaking his head. "For the sake of ratings, you should maintain the suspense, find some minor flaws in SR to prove he might not be the top pick..."

"Go to hell, you piece of shit!" Barkley gave him the middle finger. "I won't do it. Anyone with a brain knows SR will definitely get the number one pick!"

TNT is genuinely hilarious, and NBC is genuinely hilarious.

"Fang's talent is undeniable, it's obvious to the naked eye, but his personality is a huge problem. He'll fight with Michael, I swear!"

"Freestyle fighting or wrestling?"

"Mixed doubles, one punch today, one kick tomorrow."

"That Mike probably won't last long. He's strong, but he's not particularly durable."

"So, if I were in the Wizards' management, I wouldn't choose SR."

"Wow, are you serious?"

"Of course, their personalities are incompatible. Have you heard that rumor?"

"SR and Mike almost got into a fight?"

"YE, they almost came to blows. That's not a rumor; it's been confirmed by multiple sources. If the Wizards insist on betting on their tolerance for each other, then great! We're about to get some serious fun!"

They didn't talk about any serious topics; they just gossiped all the time, which is why they had the highest viewership ratings.

The only suspense surrounding whether Fang Xinghe can be the top draft pick is Jordan's opinion, a fact known to all media outlets. However, no one has been able to interview Jordan; he has disappeared, so the suspense remains.

Do you think Jordan will come to the draft?

I guess not.

As soon as he finished speaking, the host suddenly raised his hand to cover his earphones, and then a look of surprise appeared on his face.

"Wait a minute! He's already here, right next door!"

A gasp erupted from the crowd as the audience turned to look around, and the players in the small green room also stared intently at the screen.

The so-called "next door" is the talent show strategist's room.

Jordan is indeed here; he will be performing his final task as team president: submitting the draft envelope.

He sat imposingly in his seat, chewing gum vigorously, and laughed and cursed like a big boss: "Shit, these damn media!"

There were no media in the audition office, only staff and telephones.

He opened the envelope, took out the folded paper inside, glanced at it, and then casually tossed it back onto the table.

David helped him put the letter back into the envelope and asked in a low voice, "That's it? Aren't you going to reconsider?"

Jordan stared intently at the television on his right—there were two televisions in the room, one showing a live broadcast of the event, with the elderly Stern giving a speech amidst applause, and the other showing a special ESPN program.

"There's nothing to think about, I need him."

ESPN's programming remained as professional and responsible as ever.

"Hubi, have you noticed the problem? The Wizards' roster is about to become very unbalanced."

"Yes, after SR joined, shooting guard Richard Hamilton and he were a great fit, but the rest of the positions were terrible... terrible."

"Let's see who the small forward is?"

"Nobody's here." Hubie waved his hand indifferently. "It looks like there is, but there isn't. Don't worry about it."

“Okay, okay, you decide.” Mike spread his hands and continued, “So, power forward, Juwan Howard?”

"Mr. 100 million, his salary this year is equivalent to 10 SRs, but his immediate combat effectiveness is not worth that much money. He will lock up the Wizards' salary cap..."

Juwan Howard later became Yao Ming's bodyguard, known as Uncle Howard.

As a power forward who is only 206 centimeters tall, he has a decent mid-range shot and his offensive ability is passable, but his athleticism is too poor and his defense is very worrying.

His weakness in physicality made it difficult for him to compete with powerful inside players like Duncan, Malone, and Shawn Kemp, while his slow movement speed made it difficult to defend against skilled inside players like Garnett and Webber.

In short, high salary but low ability, strong offensive but weak defensive skills, a huge trap.

"So, what about the center?"

"The Wizards have a center?"

“They can trade.”

"Use Howard?" Hubie sneered. "Excuse me for being blunt, but these scoundrels won't get you anything in return!"

……

Jordan gently stroked the stubble on his upper lip, and as if talking to himself, emphasized again, "Yes, I need him."

David said nothing more and placed the envelope back on the table.

Jordan was the only one who could have changed this decision, but he decided not to, so the die was cast.

……

Stern smiled and applauded himself, concluding his speech with the last sentence.

"Therefore, I hereby declare the 2001 NBA Draft officially open!"

The Wizards' management has five minutes left to decide who gets their number one draft pick.

The atmosphere suddenly became very tense.

In the little green room, Kwame suddenly put her fingers to her mouth and started biting her nails.

Jefferson knew he had no chance, so he quietly turned his head and secretly observed Fang Xinghe.

Tyson Chandler hugged his mother and whispered comfortingly, "Third pick is good, the Bulls are good, I like Chicago."

CCTV-5 did not have access to the small green room for interviews. Director Zhang stood next to the cameraman, his lips trembling, muttering something to himself.

The studios of TNT, NBC, and ESPN were buzzing with excitement, as were those of South Korea's KBS and Japan's HNK. Some were convinced, some were uneasy, and chaos reigned everywhere.

The long five minutes finally came to an end.

Stern received the draft results from his staff.

He stood on the stage, opened the envelope, glanced down at it, then looked up with a bright smile on his face.

"In 2001, the Washington Wizards selected... Fang Xinghe with the first overall pick in the NBA draft!"

As he spoke fluent and clear Mandarin, the camera immediately cut to Fang Xinghe in the small green room. The young man dusted off his clothes, calmly stood up, and walked to the front of the stage amidst enthusiastic applause.

He emerged from the passageway and waved to the audience.

He ascended the steps, went up on the stage, shook hands with Stern, and finally stood before the world.

The audience at the scene gasped in surprise, as did the television viewers – woow, he's so cool!

Yes, cool, not handsome.

To celebrate this momentous occasion of honor for the Chinese community and to showcase Fang's fashion sense, Fang Xinghe attended in full regalia.

He was wearing a 96 Spring Couture suit from LV. The reason he didn't choose this year's Couture was because they widely used silk fabric that year.

The lightweight suit fit him perfectly on his tall, well-built frame, the fabric draping beautifully and swaying gently as he moved.

The color is a standard royal red, code ED5736.

Emotionally speaking, this color resembles maple leaves in late autumn, carrying a strong Chinese poetic connotation.

These foreigners might not understand, but that's okay, your brother Fang is so sassy they'll scream nonstop.

He wore a white work vest underneath, which was close-fitting, tight, and accentuated his perfect muscle curves.

The characteristic of a work vest is that it exposes the entire collarbone. Fang Xinghe didn't leave this area empty and picked out a gemstone necklace from Cartier's high jewelry collection.

The Wilderness Treasures collection features large square diamonds and emeralds stacked in a simple V-shape on the chest, about two fingers wide, dazzling and eye-catching.

It was clearly a piece of women's jewelry, but it looked even more stunning when it hung around Fang Xinghe's neck.

He deliberately increased the range of his movements, walking with a powerful stride, his strong chest muscles and the abdominal muscles faintly visible under his vest fully displaying his masculine charm, and his newly dyed red hair was flamboyant and unrestrained.

He wasn't wearing makeup; he just had his eyebrows shaped like sharp blades.

Your brother Fang is not effeminate at all, but he is so unconventional that it's hard to describe.

Hundreds of millions of Chinese people were stunned.

The official Korean fan cafe was flooded with "Ashiba".

The Japanese [rebels] clutched their heads and wailed: We can't keep up! Fang Dian's rebellious madness is beyond our ability to keep up!
The fashion world was in an uproar, but they didn't have time to do anything. Only Mika Ninagawa bit her lip until it bled, taking pictures from every angle.

The old man Stern was overjoyed. He whispered in Fang Xinghe's ear, "Kid, enjoy your time. You will become the king of the NBA."

Is it implying something?
Fang Xinghe could not confirm.

He simply delivered a brief speech based on a pre-prepared draft.

"I am grateful to the Wizards for deciding to give me this honor under those circumstances. I am very grateful for Mr. Pollin's trust and Mr. Jordan's attention."

But this is just the beginning; there are still many things that we need to confirm together.

I don't know what I will ultimately bring you—strength, vitality, hope, or turmoil?

Fang Xinghe held the Wizards' team cap, but instead of putting it on his head, he lifted it up and pointed it at the main camera.

“But I know what kind of person I am—beat me and we’ll go on together, or obey me and I’ll lead you on together.”

He was like a raging flame, suddenly naming Jordan, the greatest miracle in American sports history, the god of the NBA.

"Mr. Jordan, thank you and sweet dream!"

Thank you, and sweet dreams.

(End of this chapter)