Hearing Mrs. Zhang's words, her husband bolted upright at once. His jaw fell open when he saw the state of their bedroom. The once neat and polished room now looked like a battlefield.
He rubbed his head in frustration, his voice rising. "Good heavens! How did this happen? How could a thief get in here without us even noticing?"
Mrs. Zhang clutched her chest, anger bubbling up through her panic. She began cursing the thief, her words sharp and venomous, her voice carrying down the hall. "That damned scoundrel! May his hands rot off for touching my things! May his entire family—"
But suddenly, in the middle of her anger, she froze. Her eyes went round, and she slapped her own forehead with a loud smack. "No… no, no, no…" she muttered, her face draining of color.
Before her husband could question her, she jumped out of bed and dashed toward the door, her slippers slapping loudly against the floor.
