老王叼着烟，眯着眼瞅了瞅，摇摇头，往里走。“老板，在吗？”老王推门进去，一股烟味扑面而来。 smell like old books and something else, something sharp and almost burning. The place was just a room, really, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed so full you could barely walk between them. Stacks of dusty tomes and yellowed papers were everywhere, piled on top of each other like someone had just swept the floor with them. A couple of old PCs sat on dusty desks, screens flickering with the familiar Windows 98 start menu. The air was thick with the smell of old paper, ozone, and something that might have been burnt coffee. A guy sat at one of the computers, headphones on, fingers flying across the keyboard. He didn't look up when the door opened. "Yo," old Wang said, his voice a gruff rumble. "Still here?" The guy finally pulled off his headphones. He had glasses perched on his nose, halfway down his nose, and looked like he hadn't slept in a week. A tired sigh escaped him.