Chapter 44 - Chapter 42: Twenty-Four Hours in Hell

Li Jingliang and Zhang Tiequan also spotted Yogan. Without hesitation they pushed their way through the sea of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. This was the first time Yogan had met either of them face to face.Li Jingliang reached him first. He seized Yogan's hand with his huge, calloused palm and shook it with the energy of a man who had endured a thousand hard fights."Yogan!" he boomed in his deep northern accent. "I'm Li Jingliang. I finally meet the Immortal Master! You've brought honor to all of us Chinese fighters!"The words were plain, yet the sincerity in his eyes made them strike like hammer blows.Zhang Tiequan, standing just behind him, was calmer. He extended his hand with quiet respect. "I'm Zhang Tiequan. I've watched every one of your bouts. You fought very well—extremely well."As the first Chinese pioneer to step into the UFC cage, Zhang Tiequan knew exactly how hard it was to carve a path in that wild jungle. In Yogan he saw the torchbearer who would carry Chinese MMA into a new era.Yogan shook their hands firmly, thanked them both, and invited them to the team's small dinner that evening. They laughed in unison, their confidence simple and unshakable: "You're going to win!"Yogan smiled as he climbed into the black Cadillac SUV arranged by the UFC. But when the vehicle reached the hotel, his heart clenched—the two figures waiting there were his parents. David Chen had secretly flown them in without telling him.His father's stern face bore the fatigue of the long journey. His mother's eyes were red, full of worry as she took in her son's leaner frame. She thrust a stainless-steel thermos toward him."Yogan… I brought soup for you. Drink some…"His father said nothing, merely placed a hard, weathered hand on Yogan's shoulder. That single gesture conveyed everything: support, love, and expectation.At that moment the three forces in Yogan's life—the professionalism of his team, the support of his countrymen, and the warmth of his family—merged inside him. They became both his strongest armor and the heaviest, sweetest burden on his shoulders. From then on he knew he wasn't fighting just for himself.---The Final CampOnce the greetings were over, the team locked down the hotel like a fortress. This was their last stronghold before the decisive battle. Everything now revolved around two tasks: final weight cut and sharpening Yogan's peak condition.Coach Javier forbade high-intensity sessions. Yogan shadow-boxed, worked pads lightly, and stretched for long periods—just enough to keep muscle memory alive."Relax, Yogan," Javier told him firmly. "Trust your body. Trust the months of training we've put in."Meanwhile, Dr. Phil's nutrition plan entered its dreaded "Devil Phase." Distilled water. Tasteless chicken breast. A few boiled asparagus stalks. Water intake reduced to the milliliter.From Monday to Wednesday Yogan lived on almost no carbohydrates or salt. Every cell in his body screamed for energy. By nightfall he felt like a hibernating bear whose fat stores had run out.One evening he stood at the window of his suite, staring at the glittering Las Vegas Strip. Electronic billboards flashed endless food commercials—steaks sizzling on iron plates, mountains of burgers, cheese stretching in slow motion. Each image was a temptation from hell. His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily as hunger gnawed at his stomach like an army of ants.His mother tried several times to sneak in a bowl of millet porridge she'd cooked in the hotel kitchen, but Dr. Phil intercepted her at the door."Madam, I'm sorry," Phil said evenly. "Any uncalculated carbohydrates could ruin everything."Tears welled in her eyes but she could do nothing. The clash between scientific preparation and parental love made the atmosphere in the suite unbearably heavy. Yogan had to soothe her while wrestling his own hunger.---Entering HellOn Wednesday evening Dr. Phil handed Yogan his last allowed glass of distilled water. From that moment he stepped into what fighters call "Hell on Earth"—the final 24-hour dehydration cut.The team converted the suite's huge jacuzzi into a precisely calibrated therapy pool. Wrapped in a heavy sweat suit, Yogan immersed himself in water hot enough to draw every bead of liquid from his body without scalding him. Every fifteen minutes DC Cormier and Luke Rockhold hauled him out, laid him on towels, and rubbed his skin dry to accelerate the sweat.Every thirty minutes Dr. Phil weighed him on a digital scale, recording each number with grim focus.By late night Yogan's consciousness blurred. His lips cracked and bled. His eye sockets hollowed. Every breath felt like inhaling a handful of hot sand. He hallucinated a cool river from his childhood—the water where he had once played, the smell of wet earth, the freedom of summer. To stay awake he muttered to himself:"Grandma… Javier… DC… Khabib… Championship belt…"Those names became tiny lighthouses guiding him through darkness.In the living room his parents paced helplessly. His mother's tears flowed silently. Several times she tried to rush in, but Javier blocked her gently yet firmly."Please trust us," he said. "Trust Yogan. This is the last obstacle between him and the championship."His father stood at the window, fists clenched so hard his nails cut his palms, yet he said nothing.---The Weigh-InFriday afternoon. MGM Grand Garden Arena. UFC 189 official weigh-in. Tens of thousands of fans filled the venue, a roaring ocean of green and red.Backstage the air was dense as the deep sea. Yogan lay on a sofa, drained. Even breathing scorched his throat. He feared no opponent in the cage—but the weight cut was a battle with his own body, full of unknowns. What if he collapsed at the last moment? What if the scale betrayed him?Dr. Phil checked vitals every ten minutes. "Pulse low. Blood pressure low," he said clinically. "Stay awake, Yogan. Follow my rhythm—inhale… exhale…"DC and Luke guarded the door, refusing all media. Then came the knock."Yogan, it's time."Supported by DC and Javier, Yogan shuffled toward the stage. A hundred meters felt like a mountain of knives. The arena's thunder reached his ears as if through water.Inside the arena, a sea of Irish green sang "A Soldier's Song" and waved flags with alcohol-fueled fervor. In contrast, a small but defiant red phalanx of Chinese students, overseas Chinese, Li Jingliang and Zhang Tiequan raised Five-Star Red Flags and shouted, "Come on, Yogan!" Their voices cut the green like knives.Conor McGregor strode out first, basking in the noise like a rock star. Stripped down, his muscles gleamed as the announcer called "145 pounds." Conor spread his arms and roared: "I am the King! I am the only God here!"Then it was Yogan's turn. He removed his sweatpants, revealing muscles etched like an anatomical chart from dehydration. Stepping onto the scale, his heart nearly stopped.Bruce Buffer's iconic voice rang out: "One hundred forty-five pounds!"Success.Yogan had survived the toughest battle of his career. Joy surged through his withered body like a flash flood. His knees buckled; Javier caught him as Dr. Phil pressed an electrolyte drink to his lips. The cool liquid slid down his throat like the fountain of life. He felt alive again.---The Face-OffAfter a brief recovery Yogan walked alone to the center of the stage. Conor waited, a cruel smile on his face at Yogan's apparent frailty. Dana White stood between them like a human barricade."Look at you!" Conor's voice dripped venom, audible through every speaker. "You look like a hungry Chinese rat crawling out of a shanty. You smell like death! Aldo's cowardly ribs? You should be on your knees thanking me. I gave you this chance to earn money and buy a coffin for your family!"Each word was uglier than the last.Yogan stared at him silently, eyes like bottomless ancient wells. That calmness humiliated Conor more than any insult could."Why don't you speak, you yellow-skinned mute?" Conor roared. And then, without warning, he broke past Dana White's barrier and launched a vicious right hook at Yogan's face—an attack during the weigh-in itself.The arena exploded into chaos.---