Li Fei: "I'm Very Disappointed in You, Michael!" Flying Man Answered the Call, and the Prelude to the Madison One-on-One Began
Chicago, a private villa in the suburbs.
The night was quiet, with soft lights spilling across the courtyard.
Michael Jordan had just finished a lengthy call with the media.
Even after hanging up, the warmth of the phone still lingered on his fingertips.
The three-year, $45 million contract with New York had finally been set in stone.
His fifteen-year career in the Windy City had reached its complete conclusion.
The evening breeze outside brushed past the treetops, carrying away Chicago's last lingering attachment.
Jordan shed his exhaustion, leaned back on the sofa, and closed his eyes for a brief rest.
Days of drawn-out negotiations and relentless media bombardment had left the thirty-seven-year-old physically and mentally drained.
He had originally planned to get a good night's rest.
Then, at dawn the next day, he would calmly depart for New York and officially begin a brand-new chapter in his career.
He had even mapped out the rhythm of the new season in his mind.
At this late stage of his career, there was no need to push his body as hard as he had in his prime.
He only needed to adapt to the new team, build chemistry with new teammates, and take things step by step.
Just as he finally relaxed, his phone suddenly rang.
The name flashing on the screen made Jordan's pupils tighten slightly.
There was no contact note, yet it had been etched deep into his entire career.
Li Fei.
The league's undisputed ruler for four years, the archrival who had suppressed him for four full seasons.
The kings of the old and new eras now faced each other from thousands of miles apart.
Jordan's finger moved