Chapter 38 - Chapter 37: Extraordinary Impact

The rivalry had reached its absolute peak with only three weeks remaining until UFC 189.Conor appeared on one of the most popular late-night talk shows in America. The studio audience was buzzing; tens of millions of viewers were watching across the country. During the interview, the host tried several times to steer the conversation back to Conor's fight with José Aldo, but Conor brushed the question aside. Instead, he seized the opportunity to launch his most vicious attack yet—this time aimed directly at Yogan."That guy Yogan is a complete hypocrite!" Conor barked, leaning toward the camera, his expression exaggerated and condescending. "That so-called 'still as a mountain' attitude of his? It's nothing but an Eastern trick! I'll tell you what it really is—fear. He's afraid of me. Afraid to death!"Conor then reached into the pocket of his tailored suit and produced a cheap Chinese fortune cookie. With theatrical cruelty he cracked it open in front of the camera, crumbs spilling from his fingers."Here's his 'Eastern wisdom!' Meaningless, cheap garbage!"The crowd gasped. Conor turned back to the camera and addressed the sponsors backing Yogan."Do you really want to bet your money on a coward who won't even answer me? Give me the sponsorship, and I'll bring you ten times—no, a hundred times—more!"The segment detonated like a bomb across North America. Within minutes, clips were trending on social media, and mainstream sports channels replayed the insult on loop.Exactly one hour later—not a second sooner—the team led by Isabella released a short, carefully timed 15-second video online. The clip was simple, even crude, as though it had been shot on a phone. Yet its impact was extraordinary.Inside the dimly lit AKA Training Gym, Yogan trained shirtless. Under the muted lights his muscles stood out like a statue from ancient Greece, his sweat pouring down his forehead, back, and chest to form a small puddle on the floor.He was hitting the pads.Holding the mitts was Fabricio Werdum, AKA's interim heavyweight champion—"The Dean." Facing a man nearly 100 kilograms heavier than himself, every punch Yogan threw landed heavy and fast as lightning.Bang! Bang! Bang!There was no music, no narration. Only the echoing sound of each strike, so heavy and vibrant it seemed to pierce the screen and strike viewers directly in the heart. At the end of the video, Yogan let out a low growl and unleashed a powerful spinning kick. It slammed into Werdum's raised pad so hard that the 1.93-meter, 109-kilo heavyweight staggered back several steps, nearly toppling. Werdum shook his numb arm, his face a mix of pain and disbelief.The screen cut to black. Two cold white Chinese characters appeared:"Preparation."Like a depth charge, the video ignited a tsunami of public opinion. On one side stood a man screaming for attention under bright studio lights. On the other, a warrior quietly forging himself in a dim gym, believing only in strength. The contrast was devastating."Talker versus fighter.""This is the real 'still as a mountain.' Let the wind and rain blow—he just keeps training.""I can't wait. I want Yogan to shut Conor's mouth right now!"Momentum swung dramatically. Public opinion that had once been split now shifted overwhelmingly toward Yogan.But at the center of the storm, Yogan himself seemed oblivious. He sweated it out in the gym day after day, turning his body and will into a razor-sharp weapon. He was waiting for a phone call—one he knew would change everything. He felt it would come soon.Inside AKA, the internet's uproar felt far away. The air was heavy and dense. Yogan took no pleasure in his "public victory." Instead, he went straight to coach Javier Mendez, who was reviewing footage of his training."Javier," Yogan said calmly, his tone firm. "From today on, my training plan needs to change."He paused, eyes sharp. "I have to prepare not only for Aldo but also for Conor. I need two shadow enemies."Javier looked up, and a glint flashed in his experienced eyes. He understood immediately. His disciple's ambition was greater than anyone had imagined."I see," Javier replied in a deep voice. "You want to prepare for the worst—and also for the best."In the cradle of champions, a secret "double war preparation" began.The First Shadow Enemy – "The King's Shadow"To emulate José Aldo, the team brought in a Brazilian jiu-jitsu black belt named Leonardo. Not only did he have excellent leg techniques, but he also possessed a takedown defense as impenetrable as Aldo's.The "Iron Leg Plan" they designed for Yogan was brutal. Mimicking Aldo's lightning-fast low kicks, Leonardo wielded a rattan stick wrapped in thick padding, striking Yogan's calves and outer knees repeatedly.Smack! Smack! Smack!Crunching sounds echoed across the gym. Yogan instinctively had to lift his knee and block the rattan stick before it hit the ground.Daniel Cormier—"DC"—stood nearby like a demonic trainer, stopwatch in hand. "Too slow!" he roared. "The king's leg is way faster than this stick. Are your legs made of iron? If not, block them!"Another drill was "Unresolvable Attack Defense." DC himself launched wave after wave of Olympic-level takedown attempts. Yogan's job was not merely to defend but also to land at least three effective elbow or knee strikes in counterattack before being driven down. This simulated Aldo's desperate offensive-defensive transitions inside the cage.The Second Shadow Enemy – "The Madman's Shadow"The team appointed former Strikeforce champion Luke Rockhold as the "chief Conor impersonator." Similar in height and reach to Conor, left-handed, and a natural showman, Luke was the ideal stand-in.Javier designed a training mode called "Southpaw Hell." Luke perfectly copied Conor's distinctive, dance-like footwork and venomous left straight. To heighten realism, Javier attached a tiny, highly sensitive bell to Luke's gloves. Whenever the glove brushed Yogan's head, the bell emitted a sharp bip-bip!—a sound like Death's warning, constantly jolting Yogan's nerves and forcing him into sharper, faster escapes.Even more challenging was the "mental pollution" section. Throughout training Luke was instructed to bombard Yogan with the most vicious trash talk imaginable."Hey, Chinese mouse! Stop running and punch me!""Your soft fists feel like a massage. Your mother's stronger than you!""Conor's gonna beat you so bad you'll be looking for your teeth on the ground!"The insults made even DC uncomfortable. But Yogan stayed expressionless, answering Luke's provocations only with faster, heavier punches. He was training his nerves to adapt to Conor's bone-deep psychological warfare. He wanted his body and soul "desensitized" to the Irishman's mental noise.A Brief RespiteOn his lone half-day of rest each week, Yogan didn't go out. He sat alone in the living room of his San Jose Hills villa, wearing loose lounge clothes. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Silicon Valley stretched like a galaxy across the earth.But his eyes stayed fixed on the massive projection screen replaying Conor McGregor's fight footage frame by frame.Isabella and David Chen entered quietly."Looks like your rest day isn't really a rest day," Isabella said with a smile, setting her tablet on the coffee table. "Routine report."Yogan paused the video, surfaced from his cold analysis, and shook his head slightly."Our 'Kingslayer' plan is working even better than expected," Isabella continued, scrolling through a series of charts and public-opinion analyses. "Conor is completely mad—like a bull at the sight of a red cape. His attention is on you, and he's attacking us every day on social media."She pointed to a sharply rising red curve. "This is giving us tremendous free global visibility. His anger is our fuel. Even Aldo's team has shown goodwill through intermediaries because of our respectful stance toward the 'king.' They see you as the true martial artist, Conor as just a clown."David added, "Most important of all—Dana White. From what I hear, he's very pleased with your ability to inflame issues yet maintain class. He personally said, 'This Chinese kid has the potential to be a future superstar.'"Yogan listened calmly. All of it was within his expectations. Cold commercial maneuvering, subtle manipulation of public opinion—this was part of his plan."Tell me something I didn't expect," he said.David chuckled, took Isabella's tablet, and switched the display. "You know about the international storm, but you might not realize you're being deified at home."He tapped a video. Onscreen, solemn golden brushstrokes spelled out: "Eastern God of War: Yogan's Path to Kingship." Beneath it appeared the CCTV Sports Channel logo.This unprecedented documentary dramatized Yogan's rise from obscurity to the world's top featherweight contender. A passionate narrator described him as "a proud representative of China's new era of power" and "a pioneer bringing the soul of Chinese martial arts to the global stage."David opened several more pages. The sports sections of major portals were saturated with debates about "Yogan vs. Conor." Experts, veterans, and celebrities alike were weighing in.On the country's largest combat-sports forum, countless fan-designed shirts and banners were displayed. Some bore a huge, bold character for "Mountain." Others showed Yogan's silhouette moving like a flash of light inside the Octagon. A pinned post titled [Group Trip Crowdfunding, Vegas Trip! Wave the Five-Star Red Flag in Sin City!] showed donations climbing rapidly.Even Yogan's normally steady heart trembled slightly."And this," David said, initiating a video call from his phone and projecting it onto the big screen.After a moment, his mother's familiar yet slightly tired face appeared. Behind her was the simple living room of his childhood home. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw how thin and worn her son looked from training."Yogan…" Her voice, crossing the Pacific with a faint crackle, held unhidden emotion. "Talk less. Don't argue with that stranger. I saw that guy Conor on the news—he talks so harshly. He… he wouldn't really hurt you in the fight, would he?"Her concern was simple, even naïve. "Be careful. Listen to your mother. It doesn't matter whether you win or lose. Your safe return is the most important thing."The screen shook as his father's weathered, stern face crowded into view. He snatched the phone. "Don't listen to your mother—she doesn't know anything!" he barked. "Fight for our honor! Show them the power of the Chinese!"His voice was loud and strong, but after a moment it softened. Beneath the harshness was a clumsy tenderness."But… protect yourself. Your mother's right. Nothing is more important than your health."---(Tomorrow, Saturday, at 3:00 PM, the UFC Shanghai rematch begins. The main card starts at 6:00 PM. I'm really looking forward to Zhang Mingyang vs. Walker. I predict Zhang will win by first-round knockout! Also, Big White Bear, Taiyilake, and Xiaolong—I like them all. I hope they all win. Definitely a must-watch!)---