Mina found an unsigned map on a disk（圆盘）/disk/ in the Harbour Bay（海湾）/bei/ archive. It showed an old border（边缘）/'bɒ:dә/, a nearby（附近的）/'niәbai/ dam, and an arrow（箭）/'ærәu/ pointing northeast, but the author's name was absent. A note claimed that the map came from the nineteenth（第十九）/.nain'ti:nθ/ century, when a British（英国的）/ˈbrɪtɪʃ/ sailor had crossed from Canada（加拿大）/ˈkænədə/. Mina felt embarrassed（尴尬的）/im'bærәst/ because her first version（版本）/ˈvərʒən/ of the report had accepted that story entirely（完全）/in'taiәli/.
She checked an authentic（可靠的）/ɒ:'θentik/ biography（传记）/bai'ɒgrәfi/ and asked the ministry（部）/'ministri/ for a high-quality scan. The leather（皮革）/'leðә/ case, the polished（擦亮）/ˈpɑlɪʃ/ surface, and each tiny dot became precious（宝贵的）/'preʃәs/ evidence. One phrase（惯用语）/freiz/ used modern spelling, while a line of poetry（诗）/'pәuitri/ had been copied from a writer born almost one hundred（一百）/ˈhənərd/ years later. A storage（存储器）/'stɒ:ridʒ/ note linked the disk to an American（美国的）/əˈmɛrɪkən/ collector and a French（法国的）/frɛnʧ/ translation（翻译）/træns'leiʃәn/, but the absence（缺席）/'æbsәns/ of a receipt weakened that connection（连接）/kә'nekʃәn/. Mr Walsh said in a frank（免费邮寄特权）/fræŋk/ tone, 男“Do not stare（盯着看）/stɛr/ at the grand story. Study the context（语境）/ˈkɑntɛkst/ and origin（起源）/'ɒridʒin/ of every mark.”
Fieldwork provided another clue. The equator（赤道）/i'kweitә/ was irrelevant, but the river had changed its bound（跳跃）/baund/ after a drought, and the dam did not exist on any ninety（九十）/ˈnaɪnti/-year-old survey. Mina followed a root（根）/ru:t/-shaped lane into an alley and met a widow（寡妇）/'widәu/ whose memory（记忆）/ˈmɛməri/ remained sharp. On a mat（垫）/mæt/ lay an old album（粘贴簿）/'ælbәm/, a compass needle（针）/'ni:dl/, and a brass disc（圆盘）/disk/ that Mina began to polish. Her grandfather, a servant（仆役）/ˈsərvənt/ at the port, used to sew（缝纫）/sәu/ sails. He had watched a volcano erupt（爆发）/i'rʌpt/ and cast（演员阵容）/kɑ:st. kæst/ red light across the bay in 1912; at the memory, his granddaughter would tremble（战栗）/'trembl/.
The widow also recalled a scholar（学者）/'skɒlә/ who taught Confucianism（儒家思想）/kənfˈjuʃəˌnɪzəm/ and translated literary（文学的）/'litәrәri/ works. He had drawn the map for a school march（游行）/mɑrʧ/, not for navigation. Its odd globe（球）/glәub/ symbol represented faith in education; a small nest marked his home. He did not possess（持有）/pә'zes/ an official license, but his handwriting and comprehension（理解）/.kɒmpri'henʃәn/ of local geography were excellent. The map's pattern now made sense, and Mina could announce（宣布）/əˈnaʊns/ its respective historical and personal meanings without letting a clue slip（滑）/slip/ away.
Mina did not need to rid（免除）/rid/ the exhibition of every uncertain detail, nor ought（责任）/ɒ:t/ she invent a heroic plot（小块土地）/plɒt/. Instead, she added a transparent label separating fact from oral memory. The museum displayed the original map beside her revised version, along with a sculpture based on its coastline. Students could recite（朗诵）/rəˈsaɪt/ the poem and hear the widow's account. A nationwide（全国的）/'neiʃәnwaid/ archive project later announced that it would preserve the collection and the glory（光荣）/'glɒ:ri/ residents attached to it. Nowadays（时下）/'nauәdeiz/, a modest object can travel throughout a community and recover a reputation that once slipped from the record.