王磊把那把沾着些灰尘的银币往柜台上一撂，心里跟明镜似的，老板这是要找茬呢。他也不是什么傻白甜，托人送来几枚旧银币想要换点现钱，已经不止一次被拒了。这不，又被小看了一顿。“老板，我这钱虽然旧，但不假啊。”王磊压着火，尽量让声音听起来平和。

柜台后的老板撇了撇嘴，眼皮都没抬一下，慢悠悠地道：“假不假的，我哪知道？我这铺子又不是收银处，识货的不来我这儿凑热闹。”他顿了顿，声音更冲了点，“你要是真需要钱，赶紧拿真金白银来！我这儿没时间陪你玩这些虚头巴脑的。”

王磊心里骂了一句“老王八蛋”，但嘴上却没]interface with the anger. He knew arguing would get him nowhere, especially when he was already on the losing end. Instead, he calmly picked up his things and walked out, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

But as he stepped outside, a sudden gust of wind swept past, carrying a faint scent of printer’s ink and old parchment. Before he could react, a golden light enveloped him, and the next moment, he found himself standing in a bustling market.

The market was unlike anything he had ever seen. Vendors called out in languages he didn't understand, exotic fruits and spices filled the air, and people from all walks of life hurried past him. He was wearing the same ragged clothes he had been in the real world, standing out like a sore thumb.