Better a Dead Fellow Cultivator Than a Dead Poor Daoist

Shen Hui turned to the crowd and spoke calmly:

"Everyone, form a line and come forward one by one. Drink a bowl of the talisman water from this well."

Having said that, he raised a hand and pointed at the storyteller.

"You first."

The storyteller froze, then hurriedly scrambled to his feet and staggered over to the well.

Trembling, he picked up a ceramic bowl from the stone table, scooped up half a bowl of water, brought it to his lips, and tipped his head back to gulp it down.

The moment the water entered his throat, a clear ding-ling of a bell rang out.

His whole body shuddered. He felt a warm current rise from his belly and rush straight to his face. The gaps in his mouth began to ache and itch, as though ants were crawling through them.

He cried out, "Aiya!" and hurriedly reached up to touch them. The instant he did, he froze.

The three front teeth he had lost had actually grown back, neat and even, smooth as jade.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. At last, he raised a hand and slapped himself hard across the face, making sure he was not dreaming.

Then he turned around and dropped to his knees before Shen Hui with a thud, his eyes brimming with tears.

"Immortal Master... I... my teeth... they grew back..."

Shen Hui nodded without looking at him, merely saying to those behind him,

"Next."

Meanwhile, after Daoist Feng slipped out from the rear of the camp, he ran without looking back for seventy or eighty li, not even daring to use an escape technique.

Only when his legs had gone weak and he was panting like an ox did he dare turn around and look.

Seeing nothing but silence behind