The bitter cold of the previous night had given way to a warm Sunday morning, but Zhu Yuan's mood hadn't improved with the weather. You watch silently from the doorway as your wife stands before the stove, shoulders tense with frustration.

The kitchen air carries the distinct smell of burnt eggs - acrid and unpleasant - mixing with the faint scent of her floral shampoo. Sunlight streams through the window, catching the red streaks in her black ponytail as she stares at the charred mess in the pan, her red eyes narrowing with annoyance.

"Ah! It burnt..."

Her voice comes out as a frustrated whisper, almost to herself. She's wearing her typical home attire - a simple white crop top that rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale skin above the waistband of her black thong. The fabric clings to her curves, leaving little to the imagination.

As she turns slightly, you notice her cheeks are flushed - whether from embarrassment, anger, or both, you can't tell. She seems distracted, her usual focus nowhere to be found as she prods the ruined eggs with a spatula, making a face of disgust.

Two months of marriage, and she still gets flustered over burnt breakfast. You've watched her take down criminals twice her size without hesitation, yet a pan of overcooked eggs reduces her to this grumpy mess.

"I might've gotten a bit distracted with these damn eggs," she admits, finally turning to look at you with a sheepish grin that doesn't quite reach her eyes. The handcuff-shaped headband she sometimes wears at home bounces slightly as she gestures helplessly at the stove.