89 Double Flying Kick, High Sweep to the Head, Completely Numb

Lean forward and pick up your elbows.

This move was learned by Ye Chen from Gaien's renowned iron-blooded attack style. It must be said that Gaien's standing attack is exceptionally creative. Nobody expected that while under pressure, he could deliver a powerful elbow strike to Tie Xue from behind. Ye Chen has an advantage over Gaien with this technique.

It's not that he's inherently better; rather, his muscles are smaller in circumference and exhibit greater flexibility, allowing him to bend further. This results in more substantial force behind his elbow pick. The strike is unexpectedly fierce. Crowd cheers suddenly turn into gasps of shock as blood flows from Maha's eyebrows down his face. He felt a deep fury within; he had never been knocked down before, and now, doubly so in one night.

Seizing the moment, Ye Chen quickly stood up, with Catwoman cheering him on from the sidelines. Despite his own injuries—his chin split open from recent uppercuts—he managed to take the opportunity and push forward. However, as he pressed ahead, the referee intervened, yelling, "Stop, stop!" The referee stepped in and embraced Ye Chen from the side. Due to the excessive bleeding from Maha, the match was suspended.

"How are you? Can you continue?" the referee immediately checked with Maha. Despite the seriousness of his injuries, Maha nodded, inner strength shining through. He couldn't handle a stoppage without a result, nor face being declared the loser; neither outcome was acceptable to him. Boxing fans felt similarly discontent. Nonetheless, the referee insisted that it was protocol to consult a doctor. It was clear that the adrenaline coursing through Maha's veins didn't allow him to recognize the severity of his condition.

The referee, wanting to evade responsibility, called for a doctor. As long as the doctor gave the green light, the referee would no longer be liable for the match's continuation. The doctor entered the cage, tending to Maha's bleeding while also keeping an eye on Ye Chen. The atmosphere was tense; although the crowd supported Makhachev, this delay disappointed many. Ye Chen felt somewhat helpless, but there was nothing to do—this was how the rules functioned.

Catwoman gazed at Ye Chen with worry in her eyes, uncertain of how to express her concerns. Within the domestic broadcasting room, viewers were going wild.

"Damn, is this referee getting paid? Brother Chen almost had him!"

"If just given twenty more seconds, Brother Chen would have surely overwhelmed Maha. This stoppage gives him unfair recovery time."

"I said don't compete in Abu Dhabi. This is the Eagles' home turf; winning here is almost impossible."

"Referee, where were you when Brother Chen was being pummeled? What does 'stop' even mean now?"

"That elbow strike just now was incredible. Who knew it could hit like that?"

"Brother Chen's cuts don't look too bad; he seemed to be healing up quickly."

"Wow, that wound on Maha looks terrifying—must be two or three centimeters deep."

"This injury from a blunt force is alarming; the skin looks like it was forcibly ripped open."

"Maha should just be declared the loser; he could hardly stand up just now."

"That fat eagle must have bribed the referee; he's scared of losing!"

The three commentators, taken aback by the outpouring of viewer reactions, tried their best to provide clarity.

Commentator No. 1 said, "If the bleeding is excessive, the match can indeed be halted. Each referee has different judgment standards—had it been He Bo here, the match might not have stopped."

Commentator No. 2 added, "It's a real shame; this could have been a fantastic opportunity. I was terrified when Brother Chen was hit with that liver shot earlier. Typically, it's tough to bounce back from one, yet he launched a brilliant counterattack."

Commentator No. 3 urged the audience to remain calm. "Such stoppages are common in competitions. Let's await the doctor's advice; if no results can be reached, the fight may end."

At home, everyone absorbed the details as they were shared.

"I was sure he'd won just now; Maha was bleeding all over his face!"

"The guy opposite has guts; he won't admit defeat."

"Xiaochen almost got knocked out; it felt like he might have been winded."

"Did that guy actually punch Xiaochen a few times in the face?"

"Admit defeat? I saw it on Douyin. Becoming a champion could earn him a fortune. Even if he was knocked out, he wouldn't concede."

"Really? A million? I thought Xiaochen quarreled with that guy and made ten million last time."

The number astonished everyone; they never anticipated making such wealth in just ten or twenty minutes in the ring. Yet they assumed even a million was plenty. Yang Wenlong, who had some insight, shook his head. "What do you know? Ye Chen's earnings from that fight could amount to over 100 million Daxia coins!"

People gasped, utterly speechless. To them, that amount was incomprehensible. Curiosity swirled among them as they glanced at Ye Chen's parents, seeking verification. No wonder Ye Jianguo had suddenly stopped working—now, he leisurely brewed tea and made rounds as if life were carefree, enjoying the blessings that came from having a son who earned handsomely.

Ye Chen's mother, glued to the TV monitor, was anxious about her son's injuries. When she witnessed him getting choked earlier, she nearly lost her breath. A mother's heart aches when her child faces danger. However, the camera shifted to the gaping wound on Makhachev's brow, and she couldn't help but worry for him too. "Is the poor boy okay? I hope he isn't seriously hurt." But no one paid her much mind; they were all waiting for Ye Jianguo to explain Xiaochen's financial windfall.

Ye Jianguo shook his head, "Don't ask me, I'm in the dark too. Xiaochen didn't tell us the specifics—just said he earned a decent sum and asked me to stop babysitting the door."

Truth is, he likely knew the numbers but wasn't one to flaunt successes in public. Wealth shouldn't be boasted about casually. Beyond that, just appearing on screen was enough for Ye Chen to establish his reputation.

"Lao Ye, ask Xiaochen if they're looking for helpers; would he introduce me to Guodong?"

"And my son Yong—can he join too?"

"Do you think this is like hopping into a factory? It's a foreign competition, with only a few slots available each time. It's not easy to get in." Ye Jianguo was left speechless as his fellow villagers became eager at the prospect of riches. "I doubt it'll be possible. Xiaochen mentioned he would return after the championship match—I'll ask then."

After about five minutes, the bleeding was finally under control. Ye Chen couldn't help but be concerned when he stepped closer to inspect the injury; it looked grave. The wound between Makhachev's eyebrows appeared like a pit. He patted Makhachev on the shoulder, offering silent solidarity, as he wanted to leave the events of the fight behind.

The other man reciprocated by reaching out, "Well played." Though his words carried a compliment, the tone revealed his underlying displeasure; it's natural to have mixed feelings when a friend is hurt. The doctor proceeded to ask Maha simple questions, and upon confirming his awareness, he communicated with the referee, ruling that the match could continue.

Hearing this, both Ye Chen and the Eagles felt relieved—the match's outcome would now be determined. Without results, Makhachev would remain the champion and face endless scrutiny about his qualifications. Ye Chen too wanted to avoid an elongated wait of months or even years due to injury-related postponements for his championship bout.

Time ticked on, with a minute and a half remaining in the second round. Makhachev loosened up a bit, aware that both had regained some strength from the short break. Ye Chen maintained his original strategy, circling around while delivering jabs to wear the opponent down. Makhachev's signature moves involved quick, fluid motions; advancing, then retreating. He never overcommitted. If Ye Chen sought to challenge him through his own eyes, he would easily find himself ensnared.

But making Ye Chen suffer using that method was nearly impossible. The moment Makhachev applied pressure, Ye Chen could either shove him aside or deliver an uppercut aimed at his liver. It was a test of resolve—could Makhachev withstand the blows, or would he succumb first?

As time passed, only twenty seconds remained. A flurry of exchanges occurred, escalating an atmosphere that had initially felt cold during the fight. The audience erupted in cheers, energizing the atmosphere around the ring. Ye Chen's left cheek reddened slightly; he had endured two backswings just over the last minute. Thankfully, his conditioning remained resilient, sparing him from any direct devastation.

After Makhachev's earlier medical intermission, the fresh wound was reopened by Ye Chen's jabs, blood cascading across Martin's face once again. Although Ye Chen had expressed regret for injuring Makhachev, he wouldn't shy away from targeting his wounds. Didn't Song Yadong lose after his eyebrow arch was shattered? If he could secure a win in this manner, it would mean everything, but Makhachev was undeniably tough to handle.

Moreover, Makhachev's own legs and calves bore the marks of Ye Chen's oppressive strikes, turning a deep red as if he had been whipped multiple times. No one anticipated the match to unfold in this fierce manner; both competitors held reputations as top ground fighters with submissions securing their last win over heavyweight Oliveira. Yet, they shared an unspoken understanding—neither would fall under pressure, and their fates would be settled standing upright.

The audience woke to the realization that Makhachev was far more than just a grappler; his standing technique appeared only marginally weaker than Ye Chen's innate skill. After all, Ye Chen had bested renowned fighters like Connor, Gage, and Chandler, each of which was recognized for their standing prowess.

DC affirmed, "Both competitors are clashing fiercely yet maintaining composure; it seems we might not see a clear outcome until the third or fourth round." Logan exclaimed, "These two are both six-sided warriors, ranking first and second in effective strikes per minute. Their defensive movements and timing are like viewing art in motion."

However, many felt it would be unlikely to reach a definitive conclusion. Makhachev had finished off his last six fights, while Ye Chen had achieved eight consecutive knockouts. Both fighters sought to capitalize on any openings, with the outcome now hinging on who could seize the moment.

Bisping concurred with the earlier statements, "It's noteworthy that the odds have shifted dramatically. Makhachev has moved from +400 to +250, while Ye Chen went from -285 to -115—this closeness is significant."

Gambling websites were flooded with activity as a wave of bettors re-evaluated their stakes. Those previously skeptical of Ye Chen's potential began altering their perspectives, recognizing that no one had previously challenged the Eagles so effectively. Viewed from above, it appeared as though the second round was decidedly Ye Chen's to claim. In fact, he might already hold the lead—Ye Chen had only lost two rounds throughout his entire career; Makhachev had similarly avoided dropping rounds.

The viewers began to recognize that the rising star Ye Chen wasn't merely fortunate; a string of victories against seasoned fighters like Connor and Gage highlighted his true capabilities.

"Bang, bang!" Makhachev abruptly adjusted his combination of punches, pivoting his shoulders forward while swinging back. A missed rear swing set up a clean strike from the front that hit Ye Chen solidly. His head shook in response, and he felt as though his mouthguard might fly out. He feared without it, many of his teeth would vanish in an instant.

"Snapped!" At that moment, Makhachev's movements noticeably slowed, both in retreat and in offense. Recognizing the opening, Ye Chen capitalized by executing a low sweep kick aimed at Makhachev's leg. Instinctively, Makhachev lifted his foot to relieve pressure but was still struck by the kick.

However, the sequence wasn't finished. As Ye Chen's rear foot comboed with a low sweep, his front leg launched into the air simultaneously. Just as the low-sweeping leg landed, Ye Chen's forward leg shot up, achieving what he called a double flying kick.

Ye Chen had set the stage for this move throughout the fight; not once had he attempted a high or mid-sweep previously. An ordinary fighter would have surely been knocked out cold. Terribly for Makhachev, however, he instinctively clutched the fight, holding in every blow without relinquishing his control.

But even a grappler had difficulty absorbing such a powerful blow. Makhachev staggered back as Ye Chen landed, pushing off to follow up with a flying knee strike. Even though the flying knee missed its target, Ye Chen closed the distance, leaving Makhachev startled and exposing him defensively.

"Bang, bang!" Taking this chance, Ye Chen landed two punches directly on Maha's head. His speed with these combinations became so rapid that the audience struggled to follow the moves as they unfolded, with many only catching a glimpse of Maha tumbling downward.

With a thud, Makhachev hit the canvas. A stunned silence enveloped the crowd; Ye Chen felt shock explode within him. This guy displayed phenomenal tenacity. Upon hitting the mat, Makhachev instinctively guarded himself. Ye Chen expected a knockout.

"Worth it!" Logan's voice pierced the tension in the room, his astonishment apparent. "Is it going to end here? Those precise, fearsome double kicks came without a moment's warning." DC rose to his feet, riveted, barely able to report as he silently rooted for his friend. Simultaneously, Bisping shouted in excitement, declaring the beauty of Ye Chen's gameplay.

Screams rang out among the audience, many visibly shocked. Countless professional fighters stood up, brimming with disbelief, as the realization of their betting choices hit them hard—an unexpected loss for those backing Maha.

In a corner, Xiaoying buried his face into his arms, unable to bear the imminent outcome. He feared that this bout spell trouble for Makhachev."Farke, Farke, Farke…" murmured a chubby black man anxiously pacing near his television screen, dread plastered across his face.

Among the chaos, another figure nestled under a quilt on the sofa. Anyone watching UFC would instantly recognize the 'Black Dragon.' As he watched, Maha's fate appeared to wobble precariously, "No, no, no… Islam, you can't lose!"

Black Dragon was on edge, witnessing the aftermath of Ye Chen's two devastating strikes. He anxiously mumbled, "Maha has to stay firm; he's still conscious, still defending himself!"

The clock ticked, and the crowd held its collective breath, counting down the last precious seconds of the round.