At this thought, Old Daoist Liu suddenly realized how laughable his earlier thinking had been. He had believed himself to be sitting high and sleeping easy, that Meng Zhao would be unable to do anything to him for one reason or another.
But after thinking it through, he understood that there was no such thing as sitting high and sleeping easy. He was clearly living by watching another man's expression. If Meng Zhao was in a good mood, he would be fine. If Meng Zhao was in a foul mood and developed killing intent toward him, he feared he might never see Imperial Capital City again.
It carried much the same meaning as: thunder and rain alike were all the sovereign's grace.
Meng Zhao was not a sovereign, but with strength like this, holding Old Daoist Liu's life and death in his hands made him no different from a sovereign lord in Liu's eyes.
As for seeking help from Beitang Xing, Old Daoist Liu had never even considered it.
First, Beitang Xing could barely protect himself. Under that middle-aged monk's watch, everything he did was beyond his own control. Moreover, he himself found Meng Zhao difficult to deal with. The chance of saving Liu was infinitesimal.
Second, even if Beitang Xing possessed secret arts, methods, or Trump Cards passed down through the imperial clan that could save him, based on Old Daoist Liu's understanding of Beitang Xing, the man would certainly not act. Such life-preserving methods of the imperial clan were exceedingly precious, and Beitang Xing was selfish by nature. He would never use them to save someone else.
So he truly might die if he continued treating Meng Zhao with his former mindset and attitude.
Thinking of this, Old Daoist Liu sighed and slumped dejectedly into his chair. Though