Chapter Nineteen: The Endorsement Contract

After settling things with his agent, He Xinghui finally turned on his phone. There were several missed calls and unread messages waiting for him. As the saying goes, fame invites trouble; once someone becomes a sensation, a peaceful life becomes almost unattainable.

Among the missed calls were his mother, Cai Qiujue, his cousin Cai Xuemei, and a host of other relatives—these he had to respond to. There were also messages from old classmates and friends from his hometown, which he replied to selectively. Then there were a slew of random, unfamiliar numbers, all of which he simply ignored.

Not long after powering up his phone, it rang. The caller was the renowned basketball agent Dan Fegan, who would later become Yi Jianlian’s agent.

“I’ve already signed with Mark Collins,” He Xinghui explained.

“Mark Collins? Who’s that?” Dan Fegan had never heard of this person.

“Uh… he’s probably not very famous,” He replied.

“He, choosing an agent is a serious matter. I think you should reconsider. If you change your mind, I can help you sort things out…” Dan Fegan kept pressing.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I don’t have any particular requirements for an agent. Mark came first, so I signed with him.”

Because Mark Collins was the first to meet He Xinghui, he became He’s choice. When this news reached the ears of several top-tier agents, they nearly spat blood in frustration. After all, picking an agent should not be as casual as buying vegetables at a market—it was far too hasty.

What made them regret even more was that such a golden opportunity had slipped through their fingers, leaving Mark Collins to reap the rewards.

After the game against the Spurs, those with foresight could already sense that He Xinghui’s market value was on par with Yao Ming’s. While his skills weren’t quite at Yao’s level yet, He was far better at showmanship, at drawing attention, and at creating buzz. He had played only three games, yet appeared on more headlines than most players would in a lifetime.

He Xinghui was, in every sense, a money tree—and now, that money tree belonged wholly to Mark Collins.

Once news of He Xinghui signing with Mark Collins broke, Mark’s phone was inundated with calls. There were offers from Nike and Adidas, from beverage giants like Coca-Cola and Gatorade, and from a host of other companies all vying for endorsements.

Gatorade, for instance, immediately offered three million dollars to buy out the rights for the iconic photo of He Xinghui drinking water after sinking the game-winning shot—a staggering sum. But Mark saw it as perfectly reasonable. Photos with such commemorative significance could be used in countless ways—like Jordan’s leap from the free-throw line. The image of He confidently drinking water after his final shot was equally classic and undeniably cool.

Once made into a poster, that photo would surely be collected and displayed by countless fans in their rooms, dreaming of replicating the scene on the court and attracting screams from girls. In Mark’s eyes, He Xinghui’s photo surpassed even Jordan’s legendary dunk; after all, dunks from the free-throw line were no longer rare and could be imitated.

Mark countered with five million, and also tried to pitch the rights to another equally classic “early celebration” shot. That scene was headline material in any other circumstance, though it was now overshadowed by He’s game-winning moment.

“Four years, ten million—you must be joking,” Mark nearly stormed out; Adidas’s offer was far too low. Years ago, Yao Ming’s shoe endorsement contract had been seven years, fifty million, and LeBron James’s even higher: seven years, ninety-three million. Granted, He Xinghui’s skills weren’t yet at their level, but he was only nineteen—with enormous potential. Who could say he wouldn’t surpass them one day?

Moreover, He was a master of self-promotion, always making headlines, and his commercial value was even greater. Mark’s own expectation had been a minimum of seven million per year; anything less would make him look incompetent.

“For a rookie who’s only played three games, this is already a very sincere offer,” Carlos, Adidas’s representative, said.

“If you think the contract should depend on the number of games played, then let’s wait until He has played a few more before we talk,” Mark retorted.

“So, Mark, what do you think is reasonable? Or, what do you want?” Carlos asked.

“You should know, Yao’s first three games only had single-digit scores—He’s future achievements will certainly surpass Yao’s, and he’ll become the number one player in Chinese basketball. Plus, he’s a guard who sells shoes like crazy; in a couple of years, he might even be Jordan’s successor…”

“Stop. Just tell me how much you want,” Carlos interrupted Mark’s boasting. If he didn’t, Mark might soon be claiming He Xinghui would challenge Jordan for the title of basketball god.

By then, not even a hundred million dollars would suffice.

“Four years, forty million—that’s a fair price. Anything less, don’t even bother,” Mark had talked himself up so much he almost believed it. He realized his previous estimate of seven million a year was too low and added three million more.

“No company will give He four years, forty million. Kobe’s contract was only six years, forty-eight million. Don’t tell me He will surpass Kobe,” Carlos laughed, amused by Mark’s amateurish, random quoting. With that attitude, the contract negotiations were doomed—and it would only hurt He Xinghui.

The two sides failed to reach an agreement; the talks with Nike went much the same way. Nike showed a bit more sincerity, offering six years, twenty-four million—four million a year.

But that was still far from Mark’s ambitious demands.

“These people with tinted glasses deserve to be damned. The real reason they won’t offer a big contract is simply that they don’t believe you’ll make it,” Mark complained to He Xinghui, as if to shirk responsibility and prove that the failed negotiations weren’t his fault, but rather the other side’s inability to recognize talent.

He Xinghui agreed. Six years, twenty-four million? That was a pittance.

Others might doubt his future, but He himself was absolutely certain. He saw himself on the same tier as Kobe or LeBron, and would never accept a six-year, twenty-four-million-dollar offer.

“Spread the word: I’m demanding an endorsement contract of at least ten million a year, and for every day the contract isn’t signed, add another ten thousand,” He Xinghui said.

This was a form of hype; no one had ever played it like this before, and he’d be the first. It was sure to attract immense attention.

If he performed poorly later, such hype would only embarrass him. But as long as he maintained steady performance, it would be a successful strategy.

“Isn’t that a bit too arrogant?” Mark wiped his brow, surprised that He Xinghui was even more hot-tempered than he was.

“Stay calm. There are more exciting things ahead,” He Xinghui replied with a smile.