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The final chapter of Purple Jade Smoking left us with Mei Xiaolan bursting into the chamber only to find Xu Yifei and Yuan Yunfeng vanished into nothing but drifting motes of light. Moonlight from the window pooled on the floor like silken water.
Unbeknownst to her, a century‐long upheaval among the martial sects was about to unfold, and Xu and Yuan's destinies would be forever altered. Even more extraordinary, a group of young heroes—aligned by the constellations—would rise to slay demons, uphold justice, and pen the legendary Urban Swordsman Saga. How their story unfolds, listen well.
Long ago, Gonggong struck Mount Buzhou in wrath, shattering heaven's pillar, severing earth's axis. The sky tipped northwest, the land collapsed southeast. That once‐forsaken coastal region has since blossomed into a string of pearls—modern cities strung along the shoreline.
On a late spring dusk in one such city of Jiangdong, a lone youth stood atop a thirty‐six–story skyscraper. His sword‐browed eyes and lithe form, draped in simple garb, could not hide his fierce vitality.
As the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the crimson clouds faded to indigo, the city lights blinked awake. The youth stared blankly at the sky, expressionless, until low thunder rumbled in the gathering clouds overhead.
"It's time," he murmured, drawing from his pocket a small booklet which he studied intently. From another pouch he produced an eight‐sided purple jade disk, oriented it toward the west, and chanted a few quiet words.
Suddenly, lightning cleaved the night sky just above the building. The thunder's roar still echoed when a chill wind rose on the rooftop. From the floor emerged a tiny point of light—like a firefly—hovering and circling.
The youth drew a fist‐sized gourd, removed its stopper, and the glowing mote shot in like an arrow. He resealed the gourd, returned it to his waist, exhaled in relief as if a weight was lifted, and turned toward the stairwell.
The air grew heavy; streaks of lightning continued to slash the sky while thunder growled. He descended wordlessly, weaving through dusty, labyrinthine alleyways into the old quarter—a mesh of intersecting lanes that cast its residents into shadow.
No moon, no stars—only roiling rainclouds overhead. No soul stirred in the lanes save for him.
In this quarter stood ancient shrines and temples. Tonight he paused at the old City God Temple gate. A faint tap, tap of footsteps came from within. The door swung open to reveal an aged face, reeking of liquor.
"How many did you catch tonight, Daozhang?" the youth quipped, pinching his nose.
The old priest chuckled, "How many souls have you ferried across the underworld tonight, lad?"
The youth handed him the small gourd. "Just one. Three more tomorrow."
A torrential downpour began. The priest guided him to the east wing's entrance. "Your master is waiting inside."
Mei Xiaolan's story gives way to another:
The youth—ou Zhengqing—bowed as he stepped through the door. Seated at a table was a striking man in black, no older than thirty. Zhengqing greeted him, "Disciple Zhengqing pays respects, Master."
The master smiled. "Did you heed Master Ma's instructions while I was away?"
Master Ma stroked his beard. "Zhengqing's been diligent—patrolling the underworld, and entertaining this old man with conversation."
The black‐robed master nodded, asking, "How many caught?"
Zhengqing presented his booklet. "One tonight—a Kunlun sorcerer from the Orchid Star Hotel. I've bound his soul as recorded."
The master skimmed the pages. "Good. But mind the rules of soul‐binding. Mistakes bring dire consequences. These sorcerers dabble in forbidden arts—be vigilant."
Zhengqing grinned, waving the purple jade disk. "With this Reincarnation Disk, pulling souls free is child's play!"
Master Ma warned, "Even so, there may be charms that counter it. If you encounter one, what then?"
Zhengqing shrugged. "Never met one. And if I fail, there's you, Master!"
The black‐robed man only laughed fondly. "Don't rely on me to bail you out—get back to canceling tonight's task."
Zhengqing saluted and departed.
Left alone, the master sighed to Ma Daozhang, "My disciple's not cut out for arcane refinement. How can he inherit my legacy?"
Ma Daozhang smiled, "He's our destined master‐disciple pair."
The master, whose name was Cui Shensi, nodded. "His fate matched mine—that's why I plucked him from the orphanage. Poor child."
At that moment a spark leapt on the table, revealing faint characters in the light. Both men exchanged knowing glances—someone had delivered a flying talisman message.