1. I began the journey with no intention of writing about universities. The railway itself was the reason for travelling: to watch the country alter through the carriage window, town after town, without deciding in advance which places deserved a longer stay.
2. The first days were ordinary. Stations, meals, rain, ticket windows, conversations I only partly understood. The smaller the towns became, the longer my notes grew.
3. At several stations, university advertisements appeared beside local maps. One promised overseas study to students who had never lived outside the county. Another used the word “world” three times in the same sentence.
4. I copied these phrases because they seemed hopeful rather than grand.
5. By the middle of the week the weather had turned. Trains arrived late, and I stopped planning the day by distance. Instead, I travelled as far as the timetable would allow before dark.
6. The town described below was not on my original route. By the time another delay was announced, the remaining trains would not have taken me far enough to make continuing worthwhile, so I decided to stay where I was for the night.
7. Its station was small but not neglected. The road outside divided towards the town centre and towards a university campus. I first walked into town to find a room and leave my bag. By then the rain had stopped, and there was still some daylight left, so I went out again before sunset and followed the road towards the university.
8. The university was compact. Its buildings seemed designed at different times but repeated the same materials: pale concrete, red brick, shaded corridors, square courts. Nothing about it was remarkable enough to fix itself in memory.
9. This may be why I am unsure which building I later saw.
10. By the time I reached the campus, the clouds had begun to clear. Most of the buildings were plain, rectangular, and close enough in style that I could not tell which one I had already passed. I remember an interior courtyard, red brick, pale corridors, and windows that reflected the clearing sky.
11. That night I could still see several windows from the road below. One building became strangely refamiliar. I had never entered it, yet its windows seemed to remember me. It looked less like a separate building than a version of another one, copied at the wrong scale.
12. I first assumed the difference came from distance. Yet the building appeared to stand both inside the campus and beyond it. For several seconds there seemed to be a mispresence behind the glass: an occupied position that did not agree with the arrangement I remembered.
13. I have left the description as I wrote it that evening. To clarify it now would require me to choose a position that I was not certain of then. Perhaps such a correction would create a represence rather than a clarification.
14. The next morning, the sky was clear. From the station road, the campus looked smaller than I remembered. The pavement was still damp from the previous day’s rain. I did not return to check the building. I assumed that the difference came from distance, or from having seen the campus in the fading light the evening before.
15. When I later copied these notes from my original travel notebook, I noticed that I had described the same location in two different ways: once as being inside the university grounds, and once as being beyond them. I considered correcting one of the descriptions. I decided not to.
16. A description becomes easier to understand when its position is fixed. I was not certain that fixing the position would make the description more accurate.
Please translate the sentence below into Chinese. This practice is not graded.
The western building stood where no building had been recorded, but by naming it I found that I could remember the way inside.