aircannonsinc Chapter 29 This statement is incorrect; why would it take 12 years?
Chapter 29 This statement is incorrect; why would it take 12 years?
Fatty Wang felt like he was about to split open.
On one side is heaven, on the other is hell.
To his left was a draft contract that had just been sent via encrypted email.
UFC, the Ultimate Fighting Championship.
The signing fee was US$12 million.
The contract includes three matches. The first match is a direct challenge against the current champion. If he wins, he will receive a prize of three million US dollars. Subsequent PPV (pay-per-view) revenue sharing will be as high as 40%.
Wang Pangzi used his pitiful math skills to calculate that if Master Ma won all three games, his total income might exceed fifty million US dollars!
Fifty million! US dollars!
In his entire life, Wang Defa had never even seen 50 million Vietnamese dong!
His cell phone was on his right.
On the phone screen was the call log with Ma Cong that had just ended.
"Mr. Ma, where are you? I sent you the UFC contract on WeChat, take a look! We've made it! We've completely made it!"
"Fatty, cancel all those contracts."
"What? You...you turned it down? Mr. Ma, you're not kidding, are you? That's twelve million US dollars!"
"I said, turn them down. Don't accept any of them. UFC, ONE, K-1, all of them, refuse them all."
"Why...why? This is money that fell from the sky! We..."
"I'm doing something more important than making money. From now on, all my business activities are suspended. You don't need to contact them for me anymore."
"No, Mr. Ma, you have to tell me what you're doing! Have you been scammed? Have you joined some kind of pyramid scheme? Where are you? I'm coming to find you right away!"
"Don't ask questions you shouldn't ask. Just do as I say."
"Beep...beep...beep..."
Fatty Wang held his phone in one position and stood in the living room for a full ten minutes.
His brain had completely shut down.
He couldn't figure it out.
He couldn't understand it at all.
Is there anything more important in this world than twelve million US dollars?
Is there anything more important than becoming a world champion and gaining fame and fortune?
What's wrong with Master Ma?
I went to the capital and met a few people. How come I seem like a completely different person?
Is he possessed by an evil spirit?
Or did those people in Beijing offer him an even bigger contract? One hundred million? One billion?
That's impossible! Who could be richer than the UFC?
Wang Pangzi paced back and forth in the living room, round and round, making the floor vibrate with each step.
He felt that his worldview had been completely shattered by Ma Cong's single sentence today.
He always thought that all a person does in their life is to earn money and gain fame.
He served Ma Cong as his agent, doing everything he could to wait for this day.
Now, with the gold mine right in front of them, Master Ma said he wouldn't dig anymore.
What kind of nonsense is this!
"Ring ring..."
The phone on the table rang again.
Fatty Wang glanced at the caller ID; it was the UFC's Asia Regional Director.
He took a deep breath, feeling as if he were about to be executed, and pressed the answer button with trembling hands.
"Hello, Mr. Smith..."
"Wang! My friend! Have you seen the contract? Are you satisfied? If not, we can talk again! Price is not a problem! Our boss said that we will sign 'God' at all costs! This is our highest respect for the mysterious power of the East!" The voice on the other end of the phone was full of enthusiasm and excitement.
Wang Pangzi felt his heart bleed when he heard the words "at all costs".
He swallowed hard and said in the most sorrowful tone of his life, "Mr. Smith... I'm so sorry."
"Sorry? Sorry about what? Oh, do you think the PPV revenue share is too low? Forty-five percent! How about that? This is the highest price we can offer!"
"No...no..." Fatty Wang's voice was trembling with sobs, "It's...it's Mr. Ma...he's decided to retire from the fighting world."
He couldn't think of any other reason.
You can't exactly say, "My boss is going to win glory for the country and doesn't want your dirty money anymore," can you?
He couldn't bring himself to say it.
There was an instant silence on the other end of the phone.
A good ten seconds passed before Smith's incredulous voice finally came through.
"What?! Quit?! Are you kidding me?!"
"He's at his peak! He's about to become the greatest fighter on the planet! Why would he retire?!"
"I...I don't know either..." Fatty Wang felt he was about to run out of things to say. "Maybe...maybe he felt that fighting and killing was meaningless. He wanted...he wanted to pursue inner peace, to...to cultivate immortality."
"Cultivate...cultivate immortality?" Smith on the other end of the phone was clearly bewildered by this Eastern-style magical term.
"Yes, that's it... become an immortal," Fatty Wang said, spouting nonsense in a desperate manner.
He felt that for someone who could poke a hole in the floor with his finger, this reason seemed... quite reasonable.
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
This time, the silence lasted even longer.
Just when Fatty Wang thought the other party had hung up, Smith's voice rang out softly.
"I...I understand."
His tone carried a hint of awe and understanding.
"Please...please convey my highest respect to Mr. Ma. We...mortals truly cannot comprehend the world of 'gods.' I apologize for disturbing you."
After saying that, the other party hung up the phone.
Fatty Wang stared in disbelief, holding his phone.
You...you believed it just like that?
What are you foreigners thinking?!
He slumped onto the sofa, staring at the draft contract worth tens of millions of dollars, feeling utterly absurd.
He worked hard and waited anxiously for his fortune to finally receive immense wealth.
As a result, one of his artists decided to go and cultivate immortality.
He felt that he was not an agent, but a contracted crosstalk performer of Deyun Society.
He picked up his phone, his hands trembling, and sent a WeChat message to Ma Cong.
"Mr. Ma, I've replied to the UFC. I told them you were going to cultivate immortality, and they believed me."
After posting this, he threw his phone down and sighed deeply.
"What kind of mess have I made?!"
……
A secret training base on the outskirts of Beijing.
Ma Cong sneezed.
He rubbed his nose, glanced at his phone, and saw a WeChat message from Fatty Wang that made him both laugh and cry.
Cultivation?
This fat guy still has such a wild imagination.
However, this is for the best. It saves me the trouble of explaining myself.
He put away his phone and turned his gaze to the huge training ground in front of him.
On the training field stood twenty men dressed in black training uniforms.
Each of them stood ramrod straight, like a javelin. Their eyes were sharp as eagles, and they exuded a steely, murderous aura that could only be acquired through true trials of blood and fire.
They are the elite of the elite, selected from all the special forces units across the military.
These are also the first batch of students that Ma Cong will soon be taking over.
A major with two bars and one star on his shoulder walked to the front of the line.
He wasn't tall, but he was extremely stocky, with bulging muscles on his bare arms that exuded explosive power. A scar running from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth gave him an air of fearless ruthlessness.
His name is Shi Lei, and he is the captain of this temporarily formed special operations team.
He was also the "King of Soldiers" among the "Kings of Soldiers" mentioned by General Zhou.
Shi Lei's gaze lingered on Ma Cong for a full half minute.
There was neither curiosity nor enthusiasm in his eyes.
Only scrutiny, and a deeply hidden suspicion.
His orders were to unconditionally obey all instructions from the "chief instructor" sent by his superiors.
However, when he saw that this so-called "chief instructor" was just a young man who looked younger than him and even a bit thin, he couldn't suppress his suspicions.
With him?
A "celebrity boxer" who has gained some online fame?
To teach these special forces soldiers who have actually been on the battlefield and killed the enemy?
What a joke!
He admitted that he had watched Ma Cong's match videos. He played really well, he's got some skills.
But so what?
The arena and the battlefield are two completely different concepts.
On the battlefield, the enemy won't follow the rules, won't engage in one-on-one combat, and won't give you time to get into position.
A bullet, a dagger, a rock—any of these could take your life.
No matter how good your kung fu is, can it be better than a bullet?
Shi Lei stepped forward and gave Ma Cong a standard military salute.
"Reporting, Chief Instructor! Special Operations Team, all personnel assembled! Please give your instructions! Captain, Shi Lei!"
His voice was loud and powerful.
But Ma Cong detected a hint of resentment in his voice.
Ma Cong did not return the gift; he simply looked calmly at Shi Lei.
"You... you're not convinced by me?"