I do my best to ignore the sudden sharp pang of hunger in my stomach. I was so nervous before coming here that I skipped lunch entirely—a mistake, I’m realizing now.

“Sorry to disturb you, Cao xiansheng,” the waitress says, dipping her head and extending the fruit platter toward him like an offering to a king. “The manager asked me to bring you this complimentary fruit platter as a small token of his appreciation. We’ll also be serving sweet red bean porridge at the end of your meal. Please enjoy.”

The man waves a meaty hand in the air before she’s even finished talking, evidently used to this kind of treatment by now.

After the waitress sets down the platter and turns to go, the woman instantly reaches for the lychees.

“Oh, these are my favorite,” she sighs, chewing the small glossy fruit with such relish I feel like I should look away.

But of course, the man only leans in closer, smiling, then—to my absolute horror—starts feeding the lychees to her. I really should’ve charged more for this job. Resisting the urge to gag, I snap as many photos as I can on my phone, making sure to get a clear shot of both their faces even as something prickles at the edge of my conscience. It’s not like I have any sympathy for cheaters who date women half their age, but my being here is still a blatant invasion of privacy. And the young woman—she was kind to me earlier. If these photos end up affecting her...

No. That’s not for me to worry about. I can’t worry. I’m just here to gather the evidence; user C207 can decide what to do with it.

I’m already planning the trip back to the dorms in my head, thinking of the homework I need to catch up on and the midnight snacks I can grab from the school kitchens if I’m still invisible by then, when my stomach growls.

Loudly.

I freeze. The woman freezes too, the half-eaten lychee falling from her open mouth, and I might’ve laughed at the cartoonish expression on her face if I couldn’t feel my heart jumping to my throat.

“Did...did you hear that?” the woman whispers.

“I—Yes.” The man’s graying brows draw together. Then, in an unconvincingly casual tone, he says, “It must’ve been the air conditioner. Or the people in the next room.”

“Maybe,” the woman says, uncertain. “It just... It sounded so close to me. You don’t think someone might be hiding...?”

The man shakes his head. Makes a tsking sound with his teeth, another attempt at nonchalance. “See, Bichun, this is why I told you to stop watching those creepy detective shows at night. It’s bad for the nerves, and it’s enough to send anyone’s imagination into overdrive.”

“I guess so...” Yet even as she says this, her eyes roam over a spot only a few feet away from where I’m standing. I tense every muscle in my body, afraid to so much as breathe. After a few beats of silence, the woman seems to relax a little, returning to her lychees—