When I Deliver Takeout, the Orders Warn Me Who's Going to Die

In my second year delivering food, all I had to do was keep my eyes on the order in my hand, and a string of tiny notes would appear before me. [The braised chicken in this order was made by reheating meat from last night's slop. No need to rush the delivery anyway. The customer is a serial dine-and-dasher.] [The doorbell on the fourth floor of Building 3 is broken. Don't press it. Knock three times on the security door, and the couple arguing inside will tip you ten yuan.] Thanks to these tips, I was the top delivery rider in my district for three months straight, without getting a single bad review. At one o'clock that night, I accepted an order that was on my way, delivering two cases of bottled water to an upscale villa community on the outskirts of town. I had just carried the water to the entrance when the ground