There was this woman poet in 4th century China called Su Hui (蘇蕙), a child genius who had reportedly mastered Chinese characters by age 3.
At 21 years old, heartbroken by her husband who left her for another woman, she decided to encode her feelings in a structure so intricate, so beautiful, so intellectually staggering that it still baffles scholars to this day.
Came to be known as the Xuanji Tu (璇璣圖) - the "Star Gauge" or "Map of the Armillary Sphere" - it's a 29 by 29 grid of 841 characters that can produce over 4,000 different poems.
Read it forward. Read it backward. Read it horizontally, vertically, diagonally. Read it spiraling outward from the center. Read it in circles around the outer edge. Each path through the grid produces a different poem - all of them coherent, all of them beautiful, all of them rhyming, all of them expressing variations on the same themes of longing, betrayal, regret, and undying love.
The outer ring of 112 characters forms a single circular poem - believed to be both the first and longest of its kind ever written. The interior grid produces 2,848 different four-line poems of seven characters each. In addition, there are hundreds of other smaller and longer poems, depending on the reading method.
At the center a single character she left implied but unwritten: 心 (xin) - "heart." Later copyists would add it explicitly, but in Su Hui's original the meaning was even more beautiful: 4,000 poems, all orbiting the space where her heart used to be.
Take for instance the outer red grid of the Star Gauge. Starting from the top right corner and reading down, you get this seven-character quatrain:
仁智懷德聖虞唐，
貞志篤終誓穹蒼，
欽所感想妄淫荒，
心憂增慕懷慘傷。
In pinyin, it is:
Rén zhì huái dé shèng yú táng,
zhēnzhì dǔ zhōng shì qióng cāng,
qīn suǒ gǎnxiǎng wàng yín huāng,
xīn yōu zēng mù huái cǎn shāng.
Notice how it rhymes? táng / cāng / huāng / shāng
The rough translation in English is: "The benevolent and wise cherish virtue, like the sage-kings Yao and Shun, With steadfast will I swear to the heavens above, What I revere and feel - how could it be wanton or dissolute? My heart's sorrow grows, longing brings only grief."
Now read it from the bottom to the top and you get this entirely different seven-character quatrain:
傷慘懷慕增憂心，
荒淫妄想感所欽，
蒼穹誓終篤志貞，
唐虞聖德懷智仁。
The pinyin:
Shāng cǎn huái mù zēng yōu xīn,
huāngyín wàngxiǎng gǎn suǒ qīn,
cāngqióng shì zhōng dǔzhì zhēn,
táng yúshèngdé huái zhì rén.
It rhymes too: xīn and qīn, zhēn and rén
And the meaning is just as beautiful and coherent: "Grief and sorrow, longing fills my worried heart, Wanton and dissolute fantasies - is that what you revere? I swear to the heavens my constancy is true, May we embody the sage-kings' virtue, wisdom, and benevolence."
That's just 2 poems out of the over 4,000 you can construct from the Xuanji Tu!
At the very center of the grid, the 8 red characters wrapped around the central heart, she "signed" her poem with a hidden message:
詩圖璇玑，始平蘇氏。 "The poem-picture of the Armillary Sphere, by Su of Shiping."
Or reversed:
蘇氏詩圖，璇玑始平。 "Su's poem-picture - the Armillary Sphere begins in peace."
Many scholars, and even emperors, throughout Chinese history have been completely obsessed by Su Hui's puzzle.
For instance, in the Ming dynasty, a scholar named Kang Wanmin (康萬民) devoted his entire life to the poems (kangshiw.com/contents/461/2…), ending up documenting twelve different reading methods - forward, backward, diagonal, radiating, corner-to-corner, spiraling - and extracting 4,206 poems. His book on the subject ("Reading Methods for the Xuanji Tu Poems", 璇璣圖詩讀法) runs to hundreds of pages.
Empress Wu Zetian herself, the legendary woman emperor of the Tang dynasty, wrote a preface to the Xuanji Tu around 692 CE (baike.baidu.com/item/%E7%BB%87…).
Incredibly, there's even far more complexity to the Xuanji Tu than just the poems:
- The name 璇玑 (Xuanji) - Armillary Sphere - is astronomical in meaning and the way the poems can be read mirrors the way celestial bodies orbit around a fixed center. It's a model of the heavens.
- Her original work, with the characters woven on silk brocade, was in five colors (red, black, blue/green, purple, and yellow) which correspond to the Five Elements (五行) - the foundational Chinese philosophical system that explains how the universe operates. So it's also a model of the entire cosmic order according to ancient Chinese philosophy.
- It's also of course deeply mathematical with this 29 x 29 perfect square grid, with sub-squares, lines and rectangles, and a structure which allows for symmetrical reading patterns in all directions
- Last but not least, the content of the poems themselves contain multiple registers. On top of expressing her personal grief and longing for her husband, it's also filled with accusations against the concubine (Zhao Yangtai) he left her for, reflections on politics (with many references to sage-kings) and philosophical reflections.
So the Star Gauge is simultaneously:
- A love letter (expressing personal longing)
- A legal brief (arguing her case against her rival)
- A cosmological model (structured like the heavens)
- A Five Element diagram (encoding the fundamental structure of the world according to ancient Chinese philosophy)
- A mathematical construction with perfect symmetry and precision
And yet, for all this complexity, we should not forget this was all ultimately in service of the simplest human message imaginable: a 21-year-old woman asking the love of her life "come back to me".
Her husband did, eventually. According to what empress Wu Zetian herself wrote in her preface to the Xuanji Tu, when he received Su's brocade he was so "moved by its supreme beauty" that he sent away his concubine and returned to his wife. As the story goes, they lived together until old age.
"A Letter From Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man"
PLEASE READ IT THIS IS MY FIRST FAN COMIC EVER I BEG YOU 😭🙏🙏
I hope you read it all, and enjoyed!! Please share your thoughts about it, this is the first comic i ever made and i'm VERY excited, so your opinions mean A LOT!!! Also, I'm new on using Tumblr, so I'd really appreciate if you could share this in Tumblr terms (if you really enjoyed, of course 😊🙏)
your town had a ridiculous villain more annoying than fearful. Always committing minor inconveniences and pranks more than evil deads. But when a new truly evil big bad starts hurting their people, he'll show how evil and powerful he can be.
The bridge almost collapsing consumes local media for a good fortnight after Mr. Maxwell finds the crack during an early season rafting trip.
Could have been disastrous, Ms. Lane from the grocery store says.
Potentially a dozen lives lost during rush hour, Amber Carter says in her guest appearance on 43.2 AM. She’s valedictorian and that’s about the closest to a popstar the town sees. I would have had to organize the memorial on top of writing college essays. Can you imagine?
People can imagine, DJ Arthur assures her at the top of the hour. That’s what makes it so horrifying.
The Mayor releases a statement. No indication there was immediate peril. However, the township always strives to improve infrastructure and will patch the crack before the holidays.
The mayor is not invited onto 43.2 AM.
Why are we still talking about the bridge? The Police Chief wants to know. He’s standing in front of his cruiser which looks closer to a clown car than a police vehicle. Doesn’t anyone care that the Echolocator painted official police property polka dot red?
People roll their eyes. The Police Chief is from out of town. He’s always up in arms about the Echolocator and his newest shenanigans. The Echolocator commandeered state resources! The Echolocator used the town’s dam for a truly impressive yacht party for one night. Where the yacht came from or where it went didn’t really matter, did it? The dam didn’t break, right?
Echolocator mobilized the city’s mole population to erode the future site of the town’s first Walmart! The way the Police Chief went on about that one made the townspeople extra suspicious. All of the moles the Echolocator used came from Central Park, ending the infestation there. Did the Police Chief want Central Park to be mole infested and hole-riddled so that they’d have to cancel their Sunday marathons? And did the Police Chief not care about small businesses? If he did, he’d be as indifferent as them at the cancellation of the Walmart project.
Somebody decorated every tree along Main Street in various holiday themes out of season. There’s crime going on, Police Chief, did you know that? Maybe start caring more about solving those rather than acting like the president of an HOA.
The Echolocator isn’t news. He’s as unpredictable as the weather, sure, but just as fleeting.
He makes apple juice come out of every faucet for a few minutes every hour, making every citizen time their showers with care.
(They do and effectively reduce water waste by 30% that week.)
He makes 3rd street into a giant slip and slide, shutting it down for a whole month.
(The only business on that road was closed with Mrs. Castor in the hospital so it’s not like she loses any sales. And at least the kids – on summer break – found something to do that month with the local pool closed for maintenance. )
When a movie producer comes to vet the town for the next biggest hit, he goes missing. Last spotted walking arm in arm with the Echolocator.
(The town never wanted to be a film set so that one doesn’t even merit a mention on 43.2 AM)
The Police Chief learns slowly, but he learns. When it comes time for reelection he only talks about Mr. Maxwell, the hero who found the crack in the bridge, and how the citizens were the real heroes here. He shakes Mr. Maxwell’s hand when he gives him the Good Samaritan medal, smiling for the cameras through gritted teeth.
I can play the game, he thinks to himself. He makes a show of surveying Central Park himself to verify the continued absence of moles. The real police work happens behind the scenes anyway. One day, when they need me, they’ll listen. I’ll save them. Get their trust. And then they’ll listen.
They’ll listen.
The day comes sooner than expected and too soon all at the same time. When the Police Chief vowed that he’d prove himself, he’d imagined he’d do so against thieves. A jewel heist. A bank robbery. Something dramatic and worthy of 43.2 AM.
Instead, what he gets is Coriander. An A-rank villain with the power to summon and control tiny imps that ran through people’s yards and set fire to all the houses that didn’t have any flower beds to tear up. The Police Chief watches the creatures carry their stolen flowers up and into the Gothic castle that appeared overnight in the middle of Central Park. The command center is posted right in the parking lot, as close to the castle as he dares to get without Hero Force backup.
He scrubs a hand over his face. The castle is dormant after a long night of flower looting. According to his sources, it won’t last long. Whatever spell Coriander is cooking up will be unleashed soon. He looks up to the single microphone held out to him by DJ Arthur. At least he’s on 43.2 AM now.
“Stay indoors,” he says. His voice echoes out of passing vehicles. They’ve been driving by, gawking at Coriander’s base. He closes his eyes. “I understand this town is fucked up and doesn’t care about villain activity. But this is dangerous. Coriander has a body count. We all need to bunker down until Hero Force arrives.”
DJ Arthur frowns. “Police Chief, that’s a harsh accusation. We care. That’s why I’m here.”
“If you cared, you wouldn’t be here,” the Police Chief says. He doesn’t care about reelection. He feels the last sleepless 24 hours weighing on his shoulders. He gestures to the man in front of him, tweed suit and all. “People look up to you, Arthur. They listen to you. I granted you this interview so you can tell the citizens to go home where they have a chance of avoiding Coriander’s next assault. History shows he won’t stop at fire. He won’t—”
“I didn’t come here for an interview,” DJ Arthur says, blinking. He adjusts the strap of his recorder uncomfortably. “Sorry. Should have been more clear. I was asking top be granted a spot in the command center. Up close to the action. Front row seats.”
“…What?”
“Also, please call me DJ Arthur. We’re on the air.”
“No.” the Police Chief thinks this might be what hysteria feels like. “No, that’s not—you’re not—People’s lives are at stake. Coriander’s already committed tens of thousands of dollars in property damage, six people are in the hospital—”
“Which is why I’m here,” DJ Arthur interrupts. He jerks his chin towards Central Park. The double doors of the castle are just visible through the trees lining the main path. “People are hurt. He’ll be here soon.”
“Who—” He turns to see a man on the main path towards the castle. His cape swishes left and right as he power walks through the park to the front door. He’s got the worst kind of bedhead and his brown, curly hair looks almost like a bird’s nest from this distance. The Police Chief learns slowly. “Who is—” But he learns. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Echolocator’s arms pump. His knees jerk up to the sky in an enthusiastically uncoordinated march. His teal cape twists into a knot and swishes behind him like a tail.
“Echolocator on scene,” DJ Arthur says, his lips directly on the mic. His gaze is feverish. “He’s approaching Coriander’s castle.”
The Police Chief is frozen. The Echolocator is annoying, but he doesn’t deserve to die. His hands tingle and his heart beats against his ribs. Should he draw his weapon? March right up the trail and drag the Echolocator back? It’d put him in proximity to Coriander and he’s seen videos in the Academy of how that ends. But isn’t that his job? Isn’t that what he’s been trying to show the people he’s willing to do? Die for them? His numb fingers find the latch on his gun.
“The Echolocator is knocking on the door,” DJ Arthur says. Metal on metal sings across the park and the DJ’s voice fills with mirth. “No one answered. The Echolocator is using the brass knocker on the front doors to get Coriander’s attention. Come on, Coriander! Open up. It’s not polite to keep the Echolocator waiting. Open up! Open up!”
A roar of honking fills the streets behind them. The Police Chief jumps, heart leaping into his throat. His hand falls off his weapon as he turns to find they’re no longer alone in the parking lot. What seems to be every vehicle in town is in the lot and spilling out onto the street. He can see people banging on their steering wheels, shouting along with DJ Arthur.
“Open up! Open up! Open up!”
They’re crazy. The Police Chief tries to get enough moisture to wet his lips. “Go—” No, his voice breaks and he has to try again. He tries to be heard over the din. He waves his arms over his head. “Go home! It’s not safe! This is an active battle zone! You need to—“
An unholy cheer crashes over his pleas. He stumbles back as it reverberates through his bones. Townspeople lean over steer wheels and pop through sunroofs, all with the same feverish gaze as DJ Arthur.
“Watch, Police Chief,” DJ Arthur says. His hand is gentle but firm as he drags the Police Chief back around. He guides him to the command chair and sits him there. Leans over his shoulder. Whispers into both the mic and the Police Chief’s ear. “Watch our villain at work.”
A terrible rumbling shakes the ground, coming from Coriander’s castle. The Echolocator is still standing on the front step, hands braced on his hips. The castle doors shiver and the very air seems to ripple as Coriander’s forces race to answer the provocation. Booming footsteps fall like the howl of a bell.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Echolocator starts. Looks over his shoulder with a frown. He contorts so he can untangle his cape. He smooths it along his shoulders. Looks back at the crowd as the cacophony of footsteps swells. Rolls his eyes as if to say Oh brother.
The doors fly open and there’s Coriander. Long, black hair writhing like the black mass of shadow behind him. Silver robes flapping in maelstrom of power. Eyes and fingertips sparking with furious magic. His voice is a lightning crack. “HOW DARE YOU—"
The Echolocator grabs Coriander by the throat. The supervillain chokes and his hands go to scrabble at the lesser villain’s wrist. Magic sparks and chews the air with an audible crackle. Echolocator hardly seems to notice. He forces Coriander back into the castle ahead of him. The doors swing shut the instant they’re over the threshold.
The screams start up a beat after that.
The tingling in his hands has spread to his legs. The Police Chief feels completely robbed of strength. He’s heard screams like those in training. He knows what they mean.
“Boo,” DJ Arthur says into the mic. His arm is tossed carelessly over the Police Chief’s shoulders. “No audience today. Echolocator has hold of Coriander and it doesn’t seem like he’ll be letting the villain leave without paying for poor Ms. Ethel’s broken leg. And Mr. Castor’s concussion. And Savannah’s contusions. And—”
The Police Chief barely processes DJ Arthur’s recitation of civilian injuries. He’s watching the doors, every scream seeping through his ears and sloshing around his brain. There’s something wet slipping out from under the double doors. Something that shimmers a brilliant red under the late afternoon sun.
He’s seen that liquid in training too.
When the tallest tower of the castle loses the first of its shingles, the crowd starts to drift away. The screams are thin now. A breeze through winter-stripped branches. A stone falls next. Then another. And another.
The Police Chief doesn’t stir even when DJ Arthur packs up his microphone and mutters about heading home to write the transcript. He sits in the command chair, elbows on his knees. Tripod position, that’s what it’s called. He’s trying to suck in enough air to chase away the feeling of suffocation. But no matter how wide he flares his ribs, he still feels short of breath.
Coriander’s castle dismantles painfully slow. It shrinks like melting ice, tucking itself neatly into the earth. There’s no other way to explain it. Each stone sinks and dissolves against the ground as if they very foundation of the town is trying to destroy it.
When the sun sets, it’s on an empty field. No, not quite empty. Mounds of flowers lie in the shape of Coriander’s castle’s footprint. But Coriander is gone. Echolocator is gone.
The Police Chief nods slowly. He nods and nods and nods. The streetlamps flicker on. He stands and sways, blood rushing back into his legs. He nods at this too. Circulation will return. He has no doubt.
Other things will return too.
He hobbles over to his polka-dotted car on pins and needles. The bridge project – the Mayor promised before the holidays. It’s behind schedule. If he diverts some man hours, he can help get it back on track.
A safe bridge is the best sign of a safe community. He’s glad he finally sees that now.
He listens to 43.2 AM on the way back to the station.
----
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