Zhao Dong's sharp gaze swept across the track. Liu Yumin, noticing his focus, smiled and leaned in.
"That's a 110-meter hurdles prospect we just scouted from Shanghai," she said. "Name's Liu Xiang. The man next to him is his coach, Sun Haiping. I've heard good things—this kid's got real potential."
Across the training field, Sun Haiping caught sight of them. But it wasn't Liu Yumin he noticed first—it was the tall, athletic figure beside her.
Zhao Dong. How could he not recognize one of China's most iconic basketball players?
"Wanna go over and say hello?" Liu Yumin asked casually.
Zhao Dong smiled. "Sure, let's check it out."
As the group approached, Sun Haiping walked briskly over to greet them.
"Director Liu, welcome. And you must be Zhao Dong?" he said, extending his hand enthusiastically. "It's an honor. Huge fan."
After the introductions and pleasantries, Liu Yumin turned to Coach Sun.
"You've been training here for a little over two months now. How's the experience been?"
"Fantastic," Sun Haiping answered without hesitation, giving a big thumbs-up. "Let's start with the trainers—they've brought in concepts we'd never even considered before. We were way behind when it came to strength training."
He pointed at the state-of-the-art equipment behind him. "This gear? It's next level. Professional to the core. In just two months, we've already seen massive gains."
He grew more animated. "Take the underwater treadmill, for example. Incredible. It reduces stress on joints like the knees—it's a game-changer for athletes."
"It's just too expensive…" Liu Yumin said, nodding but then sighing.
Zhao Dong chuckled. "Those machines cost a fortune. I spent tens of millions to produce only two units. Right now, only elite athletes get access—they've gotta wait ten days just to use it once."
Sun Haiping nodded in frustration. "Liu Xiang got to use it once… then never again."
Zhao Dong added, "That treadmill's still in the experimental stage. It's from a Japanese lab I acquired last year. Each unit runs about $300,000 USD."
"300K?!" Liu Yumin and Sun Haiping exclaimed in unison, eyes wide.
At the time, their combined monthly salary and subsidies barely reached 2,000 yuan. The idea that a treadmill cost more than 2 million yuan blew their minds.
Zhao Dong laughed. "It's a research prototype, not on the market yet. And since I'm the lab's owner, I'm not selling it to outsiders. Some patents are still pending, and even if someone offers big money, I'm not budging."
CRASH!
The sudden sound of hurdles clattering made them turn. On the track, Liu Xiang had just clipped one and broken his rhythm. The next few hurdles went down like dominos.
"Focus!" Sun Haiping yelled across the field.
"Got it!" Liu Xiang shouted back, clearly flustered. His eyes kept darting toward Zhao Dong. The NBA superstar's presence had clearly thrown him off.
After a few more minutes of chatting, Zhao Dong and the others excused themselves.
"Let's not disrupt training any longer," he said politely.
Once they were gone, Liu Xiang ran over to his coach, eyes bright.
"Coach! That was Zhao Dong! Why didn't you call me over?! That's my idol, man!"
Sun Haiping rolled his eyes. "You think Zhao Dong knows who you are? Get your head back in the game. Train harder—maybe you'll get another shot on that underwater treadmill. He just said he's considering ordering another batch."
"Seriously?!" Liu Xiang's face lit up.
He had loved that treadmill the first time—part workout, part full-body massage from the flowing water.
---
Later, as they walked through the rest of the facility, Zhao Dong greeted several familiar athletes, chatting with each one. By the time he completed the tour, it was already noon.
He stayed for lunch at the base and then headed straight to the General Administration of Sport in the afternoon.
There, a major announcement awaited him—he'd officially been chosen as one of the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games ambassadors. Alongside him were big names like Jackie Chan, Gong Li, Yang Lan, Sang Nan, and table tennis legend Deng Yaping.
---
July 5, Early Morning
Zhao Dong had just gotten out of bed when his phone rang.
"Yo, I just landed," said the voice on the other end.
"Alone?"
"Nah, with Yu Fei. Hehe."
Zhao Dong laughed. "Nice. You two settle in, and I'll treat you guys to lunch."
"You got it!"
---
Noon — Beijing
Zhao Dong met up with Hu Weidong and his fiancée, Yu Fei, a retired soldier with a bold, lively personality. Zhao Dong had grown up in a military compound, so Yu Fei's vibe felt instantly familiar.
He grinned. "I'm calling you sister-in-law starting today!"
Yu Fei laughed. "Sounds good to me!"
Hu Weidong chimed in. "We've set the wedding for National Day. After that, Yu Fei's coming with me to the States."
"Congrats!" Zhao Dong said, raising his glass.
Then Hu dropped a bomb.
"Wells called me—said the trade's done. Once the freeze lifts, I'm gone."
Zhao Dong perked up. "For real? Which team?"
"Wizards."
Zhao Dong nodded. "Not the best squad, but definitely a solid opportunity. What's the deal like?"
Hu grinned. "Three years, plus one player option. $26.1 million total."
Zhao Dong did some quick mental math. "After taxes, you'll walk away with about $15 million. Not bad. Oh, and by the way—Storm Fund gets redeemed next month. With principal and interest, you should be seeing around $3 to $4 million."
"Yo, that's huge!" Hu's excitement bubbled over. "But wait, didn't Storm shut down?"
"I'm setting up something new in Beijing—an investment bank," Zhao Dong explained. "This time, no more pure finance. It's gonna be real industry investment. China-focused."
"You're opening a bank?" Hu clapped him on the back. "Man, you're insane. But in the best way."
Zhao Dong leaned back in his chair and explained, "This is a closed-end investment fund—medium to long-term. There are three terms: ten years, fifteen years, and twenty years. You can't pull your money out before maturity."
Hu Weidong chuckled, "No problem. Just give you the money. If I lose it investing in China, I'll just call it contributing to the motherland."
Right then, Zhao Dong's phone rang. It was Wells.
He answered casually, "Yo, Ringo, any updates?"
"Zhao Dong, the Bulls are making a move for Daba. Not a bad offer—2+1 deal with a player option. Total value's $6.54 million. That's pretty much late-lottery range," Wells reported.
"Alright, let him go," Zhao Dong said without hesitation.
"Oh, and Karl Malone just re-signed with Philly. Big deal—3+1, worth $76 million."
Zhao Dong scoffed, "Who cares? He's washed."
After a few more lines of small talk, the call ended.
Zhao Dong turned to Hu Weidong. "Daba's headed to the Bulls. Two plus one, player option, 6.54 million. Big guys are in demand—better than your first deal."
"My total was $3.05 million—barely half of his. Being a center's definitely more valuable," Hu grinned.
Zhao Dong laughed. "Neither of you went through the draft. Signing straight with a team gives you leverage."
---
Two days later, Wells got Zhao Dong a few boxing coaches and sparring partners. His training started at the Dongcheng base—three hours each morning, focused on technique and real combat. Afternoons were for rest and recovery.
Meanwhile, Lindsay finalized the revised investment plan. Her top team had flown into Beijing, ready to establish a full-fledged investment bank in the capital.
On July 8, Zhao Dong's father, Zhao Zhenguo, was officially transferred from the public security bureau to become the Executive Deputy Director of the National Development and Reform Commission.
---
July 9 — Noon
Zhao Dong had just wrapped up his morning boxing session and taken a quick shower when he spotted his younger brother, Zhao Dacheng, waiting.
"Bro, come with me," Dacheng grinned. "Got a dinner lined up. Some friends want to meet you."
"In the compound?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Of course," Dacheng nodded.
They were both born in the Beijing compound. After their grandparents retired, the family moved out, but most of their core social circle remained within the compound. And as old-school Beijingers, their connections extended beyond that bubble—but within the capital's elite, the compound still reigned supreme.
The compound was its own little world—food, drinks, gossip, even politics all looped inside. Kids born there rarely mingled with outsiders. In China, they were essentially aristocracy.
Zhao Dong hadn't been back in years, not since he left for the U.S. five years ago. Meanwhile, Dacheng stayed plugged into that scene.
He asked, "Who's showing up?"
"People from literature, film, and TV," Dacheng replied.
"Film and TV?"
Zhao Dong recalled that his older brother had started a film production company. But he had zero interest in the industry. In his past life, it was one of the most corrupted scenes imaginable—poisoning culture and social values. He shook his head. "Nah, maybe next time."
"Come on, not this again. I already set everything up, people are waiting! If you don't show, they'll think you're acting like some superstar. These are compound people, man. Don't burn that bridge."
Dacheng was clearly anxious.
Zhao Dong snorted. "I am a superstar. What, those entertainment folks think I'm not on their level? Please. Look at our parents' positions, and then look at theirs."
In the compound, hierarchy was serious business. Your status depended on your parents' ranks, and Zhao Dong had grown up steeped in that mindset.
Take Wang Su for example—another compound kid. His father was just a mid-tier staff officer, no real authority, so Wang's social ranking was average at best.
Later, Wang went into writing. A planner named Jin Lihong—also from the compound—wanted to publish his work. Her father had been higher up in the system, so Wang's dad was absurdly respectful toward her, even though she was younger. And she expected that respect like it was owed.
That's just how compound kids operated—social order carved in stone.
"You're talking too much," Dacheng snapped, and shoved Zhao Dong lightly from behind. "They're excited to meet you, boss. Let's move."
---
They exited through the main gate, only to be swarmed by reporters again. Zhao Dong paused to answer a few quick questions before hopping into the car.
"Why do we even let media inside the gate?" he asked, annoyed. "Every day, it's the same thing. It'd be quieter if they waited at the parking lot."
Dacheng, behind the wheel, sighed. "We didn't at first. But then the media started whining that we were 'out of touch with the people,' so we had to let them in."
"Bullshit," Zhao Dong said flatly. "Starting tomorrow, they wait outside. No exceptions."
"Fine, fine, you're the boss. Worst case, we'll loop around the back entrance next time—no press there."
"Who exactly are we meeting?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Ma Modu, Wang Su, Jiang Wen, Cui Jian, and Cheng Kai," Dacheng replied. "They're all older than us. Kai and Modu are from Dad's generation. You know them all."
Zhao Dong's expression turned cold. "Dad never respected those guys. Still doesn't. If he knew you were hanging out with them now, he'd lose it."
Dacheng nearly jumped out of his seat. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm not hanging with them. You know our family's level. Our strength now? They hang with me. Ever since I stepped into this industry, they've been riding my coattails!"
Zhao Dong grinned. "Now that sounds right."
Although the compound had always maintained a strict hierarchy, one thing had started to shift the balance—economic strength.
It wasn't like this in the past. But now, with China's reform and opening up, money talked louder than anything else. The social currency had changed; everything revolved around wealth.
Those who did well financially—regardless of their family's official rank—held real influence in the compound. Even if their elders had low-level positions, their riches gave them face.
On the other hand, those who weren't doing well financially, even if they came from national-level backgrounds or descended from old marshals, only had surface-level prestige. Sure, they could still eat and drink for free outside, coasting off their status, but inside the compound, people mocked them behind their backs.
Take Ma Modu, for example. He had publicly ridiculed several children of national-level leaders, claiming they had fallen so far that they relied on handouts for every meal.
But the Zhao family? They were on another level. The older generation had high positions and were also wealthy now. That combination gave them serious clout in the compound. When people saw them, they stood up straighter, made eye contact—no one dared look down.
So when Zhao Dacheng said that a bunch of people were now following him, Zhao Dong didn't even question it.
"Bro, how long you been running this film and television company?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Half a year. Opened it right after you left."
"Got any projects out?"
Zhao Dacheng's face twisted in frustration.
"Damn, I dumped money into a few films Wang Shuo pitched. Lost cash on all of them. But recently, Wang Su brought me something else—a new movie by Feng Xiaogang, called Endless. I invested five million. That makes me a main backer. Supposed to hit theaters during Chinese New Year."
"You know Feng Xiaogang? He rolls with Wang Su. Not from any big state-run studio, but he kicked off this whole New Year film craze. Dude's got talent. Huayi Brothers tried to jump in on the investment, but I got there first. That crappy company didn't even get a slice."
Zhao Dong nodded, thinking.
"Next year, Lindsay and I are pivoting our careers toward China. We'll be launching a bunch of projects. You wanna take on one?"
Dacheng thought about it for a second, then shook his head.
"Forget it. Your stuff's on another level. Big-time. I don't wanna hold you back."
Zhao Dong smiled and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
"That's fine. But if you're really gonna stay in the film and TV game, then don't half-ass it. Go all the way. Become the boss in this industry."
"You think I could pull that off?" Dacheng's eyes lit up.
"Why not? The entertainment world runs on money too. And we've got plenty."
---
While the Zhao brothers were chatting, over at the Beijing Hotel, a private room was buzzing with its own energy. Jiang Wen, Wang Su, Cui Jian, and Ma Modu were sipping drinks and talking about Zhao Dong.
"Zhao Dong's at least a generation younger than us," Cui Jian said. "We're half a generation behind his dad. Never had much contact with the kid, but word is he was a beast growing up in the compound."
"Those two brothers used to throw down all the time," Ma Modu added. "Dacheng trained in martial arts, but Zhao Dong? That guy was just wild. Big, strong, never backed down. One time he came over to the Air Force compound and beat the hell outta a bunch of guys. People scattered whenever they saw the Zhao brothers."
Jiang Wen laughed. "Come on, the Air Force guys are twigs. No wonder they got worked. They're lucky they didn't lose their service eligibility. Of course they ran."
"You can tell from the way he plays ball in the States. Dude fights. You see how often fights break out over there?" Cui Jian grinned.
"Even Tyson got wrecked. You think Zhao Dong's not fierce?"
"His brother's cool, always smiling. But kinda hard to read. Used to ignore us, honestly. Pretty arrogant."
Wang Su frowned, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Same as his dad—Zhao Zhenguo. Man carries himself like a lion."
The moment Zhao Zhenguo's name was mentioned, the group went quiet.
Zhao Zhenguo was half a generation older than Cheng Kai and Wang Su, and more than ten years ahead of Jiang Wen's crew. But the silence wasn't about age—it was about class.
Zhao Zhenguo didn't move in their circles. His friends were the sons of generals. After enlisting, he shot up the ranks and made Deputy Army Commander before demobilization. After retiring from the military, he transitioned straight into a Beijing-level Deputy Director position—with real power.
Compared to Zhao Zhenguo, these guys in film and literature were just... civilians.
He was the pride of the compound's elite children. Dignified. Cold. Distant. They didn't even exist in his world. He didn't need to look down on them—he simply never looked.
"Brother Zhenguo just moved into a Ministry post yesterday," Cheng Kai muttered. "He's not even fifty yet. Still got room to climb. Definitely a child of destiny."
"He'll probably get promoted at least once more," Wang Su added. "Maybe twice. First to full Minister... two steps up and we're talking State-level."
He shook his head, sighing in resignation.
"Let's drop that talk. Comparing to Brother Zhenguo is just depressing. Let's talk Zhao Dong. The kid really does have the right to be cocky. He's tall, strong, fights like a beast, looks good, and he earned his spot at a top American university. No nepotism. Just brains and brawn."
"Look at what he's doing now. I'd be proud too if I were him," Jiang Wen said with a dry laugh.
They were all proud in the outside world, sure. But in the compound?
No way.
In the compound, they kept their heads down. Here, the hierarchy was real. Pick a random guy walking his dog and he might have two generals for grandfathers. You couldn't act tough here.
Even someone like Wang Su, who strutted around the literary scene like a king, was humble in the compound. His novels overflowed with the rebellion of the weak—because that's how he felt in this circle.
He couldn't afford to be arrogant here.
He was a small figure in the grand system of compound royalty.
---
(End of Chapter)
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