The So-Called Most Important Decision in Life

The first to open formal negotiations with Xu Ling's team was, once again, the domestic brand Li-Ning. This time they raised their offer to sixty million dollars over four years, showing once more a sincerity that was frankly startling. When the Li-Ning representative calmly named that figure across the conference table, a brief silence fell over the room. Even Leon Rose, who had seen his share of big scenes, could not quite hide his surprise—not only did the offer far exceed what any ordinary draft prospect could command, but even measured against the whole history of Chinese business deals, it might count as an unprecedentedly bold contract. What drew even more attention was the side-by-side comparison: on that very same day, Nike had just officially announced an endorsement deal with Kevin Durant, another of this year's draft headliners—seven years, sixty million dollars. Averaged out, Durant's annual figure didn't even reach ten million. Li-Ning's offer to Xu Ling was not only richer in total; it carried a kind of trust and expectation that came close to breaking with precedent altogether. Xu Ling himself felt a jolt. He'd expected a substantial offer, but he hadn't imagined a brand from his homeland would show such astonishing nerve. Roderick Craig, sitting beside him, nearly came up out of his chair. Lowering his voice but unable to hide the excitement in it, he said into Xu Ling's ear, “Bro, four years, sixty million! What are we waiting for? Take it!” Leon Rose, however, recovered his composure quickly after the initial shock. Folding his hands on the table, he fixed sharp eyes on the other side's representative, then turned slightly and, in a tone where reason clearly outweighed feeling, laid it out for Xu Ling. “Eli, this really is an unbelievable offer, and Li-Ning's sincerity is genuine. But we have to look at it coolly. Li-Ning is strong in the Asian market, yet in the NBA and the wider international basketball market, its influence and distribution channels still fall well short of global giants like Nike and Adidas. The amount in this contract is very high, but whether the brand itself—its international platform, its basketball DNA—is enough to carry your influence out to the world, that's what we have to weigh.” Xu Ling agreed with Rose's rational analysis, but his gaze drifted back to that astonishing number on the contract, and he sighed quietly. “Still, it's a great deal of money, isn't it?” “Yes. Beyond a doubt.” Rose nodded. He knew perfectly well that he could offer professional advice, but the final decision always rested with Xu Ling. Xu Ling turned to the Li-Ning representative, his tone sincere and steady. “Thank you very much for showing such enormous sincerity. I'll admit I'm truly tempted. This offer isn't just a contract; it's a weighty trust, and my team and I feel it deeply.” “Out of respect for that trust, and out of responsibility for the overall planning of my career, we still need to complete the meetings we'd already agreed to with the other sports brands. But I can promise you here and now: if the other brands' final offers don't surpass Li-Ning's proposal, it will be my great honor to sign with Li-Ning and set out on this road together.” The Li-Ning representative expressed understanding of Xu Ling's answer. They had every confidence in their own offer—a figure like that was enough to bury the vast majority of competitors. What level of offer was this? It was all but equal to the staggering hundred million dollars Reebok had once put in front of LeBron James, a contract that had shaken the league. Yet when the representative thought of that precedent, a shadow crept unbidden over his heart. Because James had turned that contract down in the end. It had been Reebok's all-in gamble to reverse its fortunes, and the outcome was that James joined Nike's elite camp, while Reebok itself was swallowed by Adidas a few years later. “No, this is different,” the Li-Ning rep shook his head inwardly, trying to shake off the unease. “There shouldn't be another offer that matches this one, let alone tops it.” This wasn't doubt about other companies' financial strength; it rested on the industry's internal rules and its balance. What Li-Ning had put on the table for Xu Ling was already superstar-level pricing. For giants like Nike and Adidas, a deal like Durant's—seven years, sixty million—was roughly the ceiling for what could be invested in a draft prospect. To give better terms to a prospect who hadn't yet been tested by the NBA would inevitably stir resentment among their many established stars, and once the internal salary structure and endorsement hierarchy were broken, the chain reaction that followed was something no brand wanted to face. So no. It wouldn't happen. He told himself so over and over: this was practically a sure bet. Four Seasons Hotel, Midtown Manhattan Lawrence Norman, Adidas's global executive for basketball affairs, stood at the window of the suite looking down at New York's uneven skyline. His mood was nowhere near as open and bright as the view. As the man steering Adidas's basketball business, he understood better than anyone the bind the company had fallen into in the new century. Though Adidas and Nike stood as the two poles of the sporting goods world, on the contested ground of basketball, Adidas was giving way step by step. On paper they held a fine hand—the celebrated “Adidas Five Tigers.” But beneath that brilliant constellation lay flaws no one could hide: McGrady's glass body meant he'd never reach the peak everyone expected of him; Arenas's brilliance mostly stopped at the regular season; Duncan and Garnett could not escape the commercial curse that big men don't sell shoes; as for Billups—Norman gave a wry smile; no need to say more. And the truly fatal blow had come at the turn of the century, when Kobe went over to Nike. That meant not only the loss of a superstar but the complete collapse of the competitive balance. Nike now had a near monopoly on the NBA's perimeter superstars, an empire built so solid it could hardly be shaken. Adidas had corporate strength in plenty and every desire to use it. What they desperately needed was a superstar who could conquer the market and carry epoch-making influence. Was Xu Ling the man Adidas had been waiting for? Time would have to answer that, but in his heart Lawrence Norman was convinced: Xu Ling had not only the ability to surpass Yao Ming and become the new generation's basketball totem for Asia, but, more importantly, as a perimeter player, he was highly likely to pry the Chinese market wide open with unprecedented influence and claw back for Adidas the single most important slice of share from inside Nike's encirclement. On that alone, he was already the most commercially valuable draft prospect in this class. Xu Ling and his group walked into the suite. Lawrence Norman rose and shook hands all around with professional warmth. Then, without a moment's dawdling, he cut straight to business, his tone steady and confident. “Eli, first allow me to set out Adidas's position,” Norman began, direct and forceful. “In basketball, we grant that Nike currently holds a slight edge. But ‘competition’ is the cornerstone of a healthy industry, and Adidas has every platform any superstar needs to succeed on a global scale: top-tier supply chains, a distribution network spanning the world, engineering and research centers at our German headquarters. Our hardware strength is beyond reproach.” Then his tone shifted slightly, with a trace of annoyance he didn't quite manage to conceal. “We've made mistakes. We were too fixated on finding ourselves a ‘Jordan heir.’ But history has proven that great brands are never born of imitation—they're born of creation. What we care about now is not ‘the next so-and-so,’ but a one-of-a-kind star of tomorrow.” Hmm. Xu Ling had heard the story from Leon Rose, the one about Kobe falling out with everyone over Vanessa. It sounded frankly bizarre, since there was no way Adidas could have had anything to do with it, and yet that was how it had happened. Norman then showed Xu Ling a sample shoe, claiming it was built from the most advanced materials available today and incorporated all sorts of scientifically proven design features—things Xu Ling naturally knew nothing about. He was, however, satisfied with Adidas's design sense. It was a handsome basketball shoe. The talks moved quickly to the contract. The Adidas side readily agreed to nearly every term Leon Rose put forward, from rights to a personal logo to bonuses for on-court performance, showing enormous flexibility. On the point that mattered most—the endorsement fee—the two sides parted ways sharply: Adidas offered seven years and fifty million dollars. Rose had clearly come prepared for this. He calmly drew another document from his briefcase: the letter of intent Li-Ning had provided, four years and sixty million dollars. Rose slid it quietly across to Norman's side. “We hold Adidas's brand strength and sincerity in high regard,” Rose said steadily. “But the foundation of any commercial partnership is equal value. Look at this. That is the reality we're facing.” Norman's eyes swept over the figure on the page, and his expression turned grave in an instant. The air in the room seemed to freeze along with him. After a stretch of silence, Norman neither refused outright nor argued. He picked up his phone and said to the room, his face serious, “Give me a few minutes. I need authorization from headquarters on this.” A few minutes later he came back over, beaming. “Headquarters agrees.” Xu Ling said nothing, only nodded to Rose. Leon Rose spoke for the whole team. “Lawrence, your company's sincerity and resolve have left us with a deep impression. We genuinely feel Adidas's sincerity. But out of respect for every party at this table, and in particular for the commitment we gave Nike in advance, we have to hold tomorrow's meeting. I can assure you, though—it will be the last one.” Norman would have preferred to put pen to paper on the spot, but he understood this professional code completely. He nodded. “No problem. We'll wait for your final decision.” The moment they stepped out of the Four Seasons, Roderick Craig blurted out the question in his head. “Do we really still need to see Nike? Could they possibly come up with better terms than that?” “Most likely not.” Leon Rose smiled faintly. “Then why waste the time?” “Hey, Rock,” Xu Ling cut in this time. “That's Nike. If only to satisfy my own curiosity, I want to see with my own eyes what kind of ‘invitation’ they've put together for me.” The next morning, in the conference room Nike had reserved. The atmosphere could not have been more different from Adidas's eager pursuit. Nike's negotiating team had two members: Thomas House, a senior director for basketball affairs from the Beaverton, Oregon headquarters; and Maverick Carter, LeBron James's close friend and business confidant. Since both LeBron and Xu Ling were represented by Leon Rose, Carter's attendance was nominally “to help communication,” but it read more like a display of posture. Carter had already met Xu Ling during a private meeting with James, and his somewhat ostentatious manner—that of a man leaning on a superstar friend's standing—had left Xu Ling with a less than favorable impression. From the opening moments, Nike's side projected an almost taken-for-granted sense of superiority. Thomas delivered a long and polished account of the brand, cataloguing Nike's glory alongside giants like Jordan and Kobe. “Eli,” House's closing summation sounded like the stating of a self-evident truth, “choosing Nike is far more than choosing a contract. It means joining a true elite club, becoming part of the most powerful, most illustrious empire in the world of sports. That's a pass most athletes dream about their whole lives.” Maverick Carter chimed in at once, favoring Xu Ling with a knowing smile. “Exactly. LeBron always says that here you get far more than a check—you get a kingdom. It's like being handed the key to legend.” Thomas House's words fell far short of Lawrence Norman's in their power to move anyone. He spent a great deal of time reviewing Nike's glorious past and hammering on the “honor” of representing Nike, while barely mentioning any specific, long-term plan for Xu Ling's own development or any investment in his brand. It left one clear impression: what they valued was not Xu Ling's own potential but the Chinese market he stood for. There was nothing wrong with that in itself—every brand's interest in Xu Ling came from the same place. The real question was how much they were willing to pay for that market. Xu Ling listened, then let a faint, unreadable smile cross his face and cut the brand narrative short. “Let's talk about the contract directly, Mr. House.” House seemed to have expected this. With an unhurried gesture he had an assistant pass a pre-drafted contract across the table. Leon Rose took the document, flipped quickly to the key page, and read the details. The additional clauses and bonuses were roughly on par with Adidas's. Then Rose's gaze rested a moment on the figures, and without any change of expression he turned the contract gently toward Xu Ling, his finger landing precisely on the amount. Seven years, forty million dollars. Xu Ling looked up from the contract to Thomas House and asked evenly, “I understand your company just closed an agreement with Kevin Durant: seven years, sixty million dollars. Is that right?” House seemed to have anticipated the question and nodded. “Yes. Kevin is unquestionably a very gifted young man. We have great expectations for where he'll go.” “Then,” Xu Ling said, leaning slightly forward, his eyes fixed on the other man, “could you clear something up for me? By almost every visible standard, my NCAA record is the stronger one. I took a team far less talented than the University of Texas to a national championship. More than that, I hit the shot that ended the game, from way out beyond the arc, in a straight-up matchup against Durant, over his defense. So why is it that having already proven myself the better player, I come out of here twenty million dollars lighter than he does?” The conference room went dead silent. Leon Rose said nothing, only watched House quietly and waited for his answer. Thomas House kept his professional smile in place. “Eli, when we evaluate a player, we're looking at his future possibilities, not merely his past honors. Our judgment of commercial value rests on a mature set of predictive models. They take in a number of dimensions: how much room there is to develop his physical gifts, whether his style of play can keep evolving, and—whether you can genuinely fit into and appeal to the mainstream North American market.” “Frankly, your NCAA achievements are dazzling, but they don't translate directly into NBA success, and still less can they be cashed in simply as commercial return. The offer on the table is precisely the value that rigorous system produces—it locates exactly where you sit right now. What Nike has always upheld is growing alongside athletes with the most professional, the most long-range eye, rather than chasing short-term heat.” Nike held an almost obsessive confidence in the precision of its talent evaluation, and this offer was the conclusion they had written out in contract figures: Xu Ling's future could absolutely not be spoken of in the same breath as Kevin Durant's. In that moment Xu Ling felt a familiar anger churning up in his chest—the resentment that had piled up during his workouts, when Portland and Seattle had dismissed and ruled him out on the vaporous grounds of “potential” and “future ceiling.” That feeling had already dissolved under Memphis's recognition; now Thomas House's arrogant, official phrasing lit it again, and hotter than before. Just as he was about to tell Nike to get lost on the spot, Maverick Carter—a man who had no business at this table and had forced his way in purely on the credentials of being “LeBron's brother”—cut in with a laugh, wearing the look of someone who understood everything perfectly. “Hey, Eli, give me a minute. Let's talk, just us two.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed off on his own to the seating area by the window. Xu Ling swallowed the words already on his lips and followed, face blank. Carter immediately put on an air of heartfelt candor, leaning in close, his voice low but unable to keep the excitement out of it. “Listen, bro, I get it completely. Money—who doesn't care about money?” “But you've got to look further out. Look at the bigger picture. Nike is the pass into the world of basketball, the pinnacle of professional basketball. The moment you put on that logo, every door opens for you—media, exposure, the top resources in the industry. LeBron's really looking forward to you joining us, too. He said it to me himself: ‘Mav, that kid needs to look further down the road.’” Carter leaned in closer, his tone turning even more earnest. “The money isn't off the table. If LeBron's willing to put in a word, the picture could be completely different. But you've got to take that first step, show some sincerity and some vision, right? Don't let a little gap right in front of you block the road ahead. Trust me, signing this contract will be the best decision you make in your life. You know how many guys fight their hearts out and never get a shot like this?” Xu Ling looked at Carter's self-satisfied face, listened to the endless “guidance,” and the anger inside came close to burning straight through his reason. Oh? bro? I'm hardly worthy of the name. So the guy who only earns a seat at this table by virtue of a real brother has come to lecture me about my life in person? How touching. This “elite club” of Nike's had a fascinating entry bar: one moment, they used a contract twenty million dollars below Durant's to tell me precisely, “You're not worthy”; the next, they troubled you to come tell me what an incomparable honor it was. If LeBron's face really carried that much value, could it be converted straight to cash? “I get it. This is LeBron's idea, right?” Xu Ling asked with a harmless smile. “That's right.” Seeing Xu Ling bring LeBron up himself, Carter warmed to it further. “LeBron cares a lot about this. He's always treated you like his little brother.” “I see,” Xu Ling said, smiling, tone light. “Then I know what to do.” Xu Ling turned and walked back to the table, sat down again, and let his eyes pass over Thomas House and the still rather smug Maverick Carter. “Maverick is right,” Xu Ling said, his voice clear and level. “This may well be the most important decision of my life.” Xu Ling went on: “So, after careful consideration, the only figure I can accept is seven years, ninety million dollars.” “That is the only number that reflects my value and makes me willing to work with Nike—this so-called ‘elite club’ of yours.” The air seemed to be sucked out of the conference room, and everything froze. For the first time, the professional smile Thomas House wore like a permanent fixture died completely on his face. His pupils contracted violently. He looked like a man struck by an invisible hammer, mouth open, no sound coming out. The figure was so absurd that it went past his own authority—past the entire framework of everything Nike had ever invested in a draft prospect. “Th-that is absolutely impossible!” House's voice came out dry and hoarse, nearly cracking. “Eli! Do you know what this number means? It overturns the logic of the market completely! It's more than we offered LeBron to begin with! The board would never approve—” “Mr. House,” Xu Ling cut in evenly, “the market's logic is defined by the boldest buyer and the seller. Not by your budget committee. Li-Ning and Adidas have already rewritten it. Now it's your turn.” Just then, Maverick Carter moved. He didn't fly into a rage the way he had before. Instead something like “just as I thought” crossed his face, and then he put on a hypocritical smile mixing regret with a well-worn “I told you so.” “Bro, Eli, listen,” Carter's tone turned unusually “sincere,” as though he felt sorry for a kid who'd wandered off the right path. “I understand. Everyone wants a big contract. But have you really thought this through? Look at what you're giving up for this money.” Carter leaned forward and lowered his voice as if letting him in on a tremendous secret. “LeBron's friendship. The Nike empire tilting its resources your way. Countless chances down the line that will earn you far more than this contract. LeBron really wants you with us. But he also wants his little brother to be someone with vision, someone who understands the ‘big picture’—not someone staring at that little difference right in front of his nose.” He put deliberate weight on the word “difference,” as though a gap of tens of millions were a trifle. “Sign this contract and you get a kingdom. Turn it down, and you might... lose a lot.” Carter's smile took on a hint of something mocking. “Think about it. Later, in this league, who's going to be your most powerful friend? And who might... casually make your life difficult? Business decisions aren't always about money, bro. Sometimes being on the right side matters more.” It was a naked threat dressed up in the clothes of “brotherhood.” Coming from LeBron James's closest confidant, its weight went without saying. Leon Rose's expression darkened at once. He was about to speak when Xu Ling raised a hand slightly to stop him. For the first time, a clearly visible, utterly undisguised sneer appeared on Xu Ling's face. “Bro?” Xu Ling repeated the word and laughed mockingly. “So this is what your ‘brotherhood’ amounts to. First an insulting offer, then you, sent over to tell me that turning it down means failing to see the big picture?” “Your whole routine was calculation from the first minute. Start by using LeBron's connections to close the distance, then send you—the damn errand boy—to tell me that saying no to Nike means being difficult, means disrespecting LeBron. When you strip it down, you never had any intention of giving me the respect I've earned. You just wanted to buy me at the lowest possible price and make me one more piece on the Nike empire's board, and earn yourself some credit in front of James and inside Nike while you were at it. Have I got that right?” The smile vanished from Carter's face entirely, and his expression turned exceedingly ugly. He hadn't expected Xu Ling to be this direct, to tear off every disguise with such precision and drag all the under-the-table arithmetic out into plain view. “As for LeBron's friendship?” Xu Ling gave a light laugh, and there was no warmth in it. “If a real friendship requires losing tens of millions of dollars and accepting an insulting offer to obtain it, then that friendship is far too expensive. I don't need friendship like that.” Then Xu Ling's gaze returned to the dark-faced Thomas House, and he delivered the verdict. “Seven years, ninety million dollars. One cent less, and there's no reason for us to keep talking. This isn't a negotiation with you. It's notice. Contact Beaverton and get your authorization, right now, or—” Xu Ling stood. Leon Rose and Roderick stood with him. “—we needn't waste any more of each other's time. Li-Ning's and Adidas's people are still waiting to hear our good news.” The decision window for the so-called most important decisions of a life is often astonishingly short. The “time” Xu Ling had spoken of was in fact just the forty seconds it took him, Rose, and Craig to ride an elevator from Nike's conference room down to the hotel lobby. In those forty seconds there was no emergency call from Beaverton, no apology chased down after them—only the silence of the elevator descending. Forty seconds. Just long enough for a man stung by arrogance to make up his mind and walk toward genuine respect. “Adidas, then,” Xu Ling said calmly to Leon Rose as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor. “I'm not putting you in a difficult spot, am I?” Xu Ling looked at Leon Rose with a touch of mockery. The result of today's meeting with Nike could hardly be called dignified, and Maverick Carter had come carrying LeBron's expectations. Leon Rose, agent to both Xu Ling and James, was in an awkward position. But Rose was a professional, and he gave Xu Ling a professional's smile. “An agent is only an agent when he's at your side. Which is to say, today I work for you alone. You have every right to make the decision that serves your own interests best.” The so-called most important decisions in life are sometimes not an agonizing choice between two perfect options, but the easy choice between one party's sincerity and another's arrogance—the only choice that satisfies both intelligence and dignity. “Besides, that's a twenty-million-dollar gap!” Craig butted in indignantly, as though the foul taste were still stuck in his chest. “Nike is just stinking dog shit!” Xu Ling smiled and didn't argue. He took out his phone. The screen lit with the last confirmation message Lawrence Norman had sent a few hours earlier. It ended: “The Adidas family is ready to welcome you at any time.” And the pass to the so-called “elite club”? Sometimes it was nothing more than a worthless scrap of paper they printed everywhere and then tried to sell you at a premium. That was the so-called most important decision of a life.