The rule that breaks the count
Assumes Thirty-two rules, one object and The loop a vertex cannot close.
The waterbomb tessellation is a grid of waterbomb bases, and a repeating rule decides which way each of its creases goes: whether the horizontal crease in each row is a mountain or a valley, and which of the four half-diagonals in a cell take which letter, alternating between cells. Nine bits, so five hundred and twelve rules.
Thirty-two of them fold. That was measured by running the conditions at every vertex of a patch large enough to contain every kind of vertex, and it is the number the tessellation is drawn from: rule forty-six is the one on the printed sheet.
The other four hundred and eighty are usually left as the rules that fail, which is a category and not a finding. Asking one more question of them turns it into one.
A hundred and twenty circles of four
A pattern’s letters can contradict themselves: each crease says which of its two panels lies above the other, and a circle in those statements is a proof that no order of the layers exists. The circle can in principle be as short as four panels, which is a chain going round a single interior vertex of degree four.
Run that test over all five hundred and twelve rules. A hundred and twenty of them close a circle. Every one of the hundred and twenty circles is four panels long, and every one goes round a single interior vertex of degree four. There is not one longer circle in the whole census.
And none of the hundred and twenty is among the thirty-two that fold.
It is worth being precise about how those two numbers sit together, because “none of the hundred and twenty is among the thirty-two” understates it. The thirty-two are not merely disjoint from the hundred and twenty; none of the thirty-two closes a circle of any length at all. The layer test is silent on every rule that folds and fires on a hundred and twenty of the rules that do not.
Which is not a coincidence
The shortest chain of panels a crease pattern has is the one round a single interior vertex, and that chain can never be sent round consistently by a labelling that satisfies the conditions. The panels alternate in orientation going round a vertex — the paper turns over at every crease — so the arrows agree only if the letters alternate too, and a strict alternation has equal counts of mountain and valley.
Maekawa’s theorem says the counts differ by two. So the alternation is refused, and with it the four-panel circle.
Break the count and the circle becomes available immediately. That is what a hundred and twenty of these rules do: they put two mountains and two valleys round a degree-four vertex, which Kawasaki accepts, which the big-little-big lemma accepts, and which the folded paper does not.
The four-panel circles in this census are that vertex, embedded in a tessellation, a hundred and twenty times over.
Where the four panels are
The circle is short enough to point at, and pointing at it is worth more than the argument.
A waterbomb cell is a square with both diagonals drawn and a crease across the middle of each row. Four cells meet at their corners, and the vertex where they meet has four creases coming into it: the two half-diagonals from the cells on either side, and the two horizontal creases running left and right. Between those four creases sit four panels, one from each cell — a quarter of each of the four cells that share the corner.
That is the chain. Going round it, the paper turns over four times and comes back, and whether the four arrows agree depends on the four letters. Two mountains and two valleys arranged alternately, and they agree; anything else, and they do not.
A rule that assigns those four creases by alternation is not doing anything perverse. It is applying the most natural pattern there is to four creases meeting at a point, and it is the pattern a beginner is told to use. The census is, among other things, a count of how many of the five hundred and twelve possible repeating rules make that particular mistake somewhere: a hundred and twenty.
Maekawa alone, on all four hundred and eighty
The claim above names one theorem, which is only worth doing if the other two are demonstrably not involved. On this census they are not, and the check is exhaustive rather than sampled.
Every one of the four hundred and eighty failing rules fails Maekawa and nothing else. At every vertex where any rule fails, Kawasaki holds and the big-little-big lemma holds. Four hundred and eighty rules, thousands of failing vertices between them, and the refusal is the same one every time.
That is a fact about this pattern rather than about the subject — the waterbomb’s angles are fixed by its grid, so Kawasaki is satisfied at every vertex whatever the letters are, and only the counting condition is left with anything to say. But it makes the census unusually clean: the rules divide into those that satisfy a count and those that do not, and the layer contradiction lands entirely on the second group.
What the folder sees, and does not
A reader who prints one of the hundred and twenty rules and tries to fold it has a specific experience, and it is worth separating from the arithmetic.
They will not get as far as the layers. The rule fails the count at between twelve and twenty vertices of a four-by-four patch, and a vertex whose mountains and valleys are two and two simply will not close: the paper buckles, one flap has nowhere to go, and the fold stops. That is the count refusing, in the hand, immediately, and it is why nobody has ever needed the layer argument to reject these rules.
What the layer argument adds is a second, independent statement about the same sheets, made without folding anything and reaching the same verdict. Two refusals that agree are worth more than either alone — not because agreement makes them more likely to be right, but because they are computed from different things. The count reads four letters at one point. The circle reads the whole crease list and follows a chain of panels. Neither consults the other, and on a hundred and twenty patterns they land on the same vertices.
The same on two sizes
The census was run on a three-by-three grid of cells and on a four-by-four, and the two agree in every particular: thirty-two rules pass, four hundred and eighty fail by the count alone, a hundred and twenty close a four-panel circle, none of the passing rules closes anything.
That agreement matters more than it looks. The rules that die when the patch grows are a known phenomenon here: on a two-by-two grid fifty-six rules pass, and twenty-four of those stop passing on a three-by-three, because a two-by-two patch has one corner vertex inside it and a three-by-three has four. The conditions did not get stricter; the patch stopped hiding them.
The layer census does not have that problem, and the reason is instructive. What it is finding is a fault at one vertex, and a three-by-three patch already contains every kind of vertex the tessellation has. Growing the patch adds more copies of the same vertices and therefore more copies of the same circle; it cannot add a new kind of failure.
Two vertices, two failure modes
The waterbomb has two kinds of interior vertex and only one of them can carry this failure, which sharpens what the census is measuring.
The degree-six vertex at the centre of each cell has six panels round it, so its chain is six long. A six-chain going round one vertex is closed by the same argument — the alternation is what would orient it, and Maekawa refuses an alternation at degree six as firmly as at degree four. So the centre vertices never contribute a circle either.
The degree-four vertex where four cells meet is the one the hundred and twenty circles sit on. Not because it is more fragile as a vertex, but because its chain is shorter and therefore easier to close by accident: four letters have to come out alternating, which happens for a sixteenth of all labellings of those four creases, against a sixty-fourth at degree six.
So the census’s uniform answer — a hundred and twenty circles, all of length four — is telling something about which vertices are exposed rather than about which are weak. A pattern’s shortest chains are where its letters are likeliest to trip, and a grid of cells meeting at corners has the shortest chains there are.
What a rule is, and what the census says about that
There is a reading of this that is about rules rather than about waterbombs, and it is the one worth carrying away.
A repeating rule is a promise that a local decision can be made once and applied everywhere. The waterbomb’s rule set is a complete enumeration of such promises for this pattern — every way of deciding the letters cell by cell, with the decision repeating — and the census sorts them into three classes rather than two.
Thirty-two keep the count and fold. A hundred and twenty break the count at a degree-four vertex and are refused twice: once by the count, once by the layers, and the second refusal is a consequence of the first. Three hundred and sixty break the count somewhere the layers do not notice, and are refused once.
The middle class is the interesting one because its two refusals are so far apart in cost and in kind. The count is four additions at one point. The layer circle is a proof about the whole folded object, obtained without folding anything. They are the same refusal wearing different clothes, and nothing in the way either is usually stated suggests they would be.
What the layer test catches, as a fraction
The three classes have sizes, and the sizes are worth reading as a measurement of the layer test rather than of the waterbomb.
Thirty-two rules fold and the test is silent on every one of them. That silence is neither luck nor a measurement: a rule that folds has a folded state, a folded state is an order of the layers, and an order cannot contain a circle. The test is sound — it never accuses a pattern that folds — and the soundness is a theorem rather than a result of this census.
The other direction is the measurement. Four hundred and eighty rules do not fold, and the test fires on a hundred and twenty of them, which is one failure in four. That figure is a theorem about nothing at all, and there is no reason to expect another pattern to reproduce it. It is the share of this population’s failures that fail in the one way this particular test can see.
A refutation procedure that is sound and incomplete is the ordinary kind, and stating both halves is the point of saying it. What is unusual is being able to put a number on the incompleteness, and that needs a population where every member’s true verdict is already known by other means. This one has that: the vertex conditions settle all five hundred and twelve.
Why a quarter, and whether it is the quarter it looks like
There is an arithmetic reason to expect one in four, and it is worth writing down beside the reason it is not yet established that this is it.
Take a single degree-four vertex and count its sixteen labellings. Eight satisfy Maekawa — the four ways of putting one mountain among three valleys, and the four the other way about. The remaining eight fail: six put two of each letter round the vertex, and two put all four creases in one letter. Of those eight failures exactly two alternate, and alternation is what closes the four-panel circle. So at one vertex, one count-failure in four is a circle and the other three are nothing.
The census reports a hundred and twenty circles among four hundred and eighty failures, which is also one in four, exactly.
That agreement is suggestive and it is not a derivation, because the two ratios are taken over different things. The first is over labellings of one vertex. The second is over rules, and a rule fails at between twelve and twenty vertices of a patch and is counted once however many of them are bad. For the two quarters to be the same quarter, the repeating rule would have to spread the corner vertices’ labellings evenly over the sixteen possibilities — plausible for a rule set assembled from independent bits, and not checked anywhere.
What would settle it is a census over vertices instead of over rules: label every degree-four corner in every failing rule’s patch, sort those labellings into the eight failing classes, and see whether two in eight comes back. That is the same enumeration with a different accumulator, it would cost nothing beyond what is already being computed, and it would convert a coincidence between two ratios into a fact about one of them.
Until then the modest statement is the honest one. The mechanism is exact at a vertex — breaking the count is necessary for the circle and alternation is what makes it sufficient, so most rules that break the count have no circle anywhere. Whether the population’s quarter is that vertex quarter showing through, or an accident of how nine bits happen to land, is a question this census was not accumulated to answer.
Why this census exists at all
There is a point about method here that the collection has met before in other forms.
The five hundred and twelve rules were enumerated to answer a different question: how many repeating labellings of the waterbomb tessellation fold, and whether the answer depends on how large a patch the question is asked of. That work produced a list, the list was used, and the four hundred and eighty failures were set aside as failures.
A population assembled to answer one question is the cheapest possible test bed for another, and it is a better one than a population built for the purpose, because nothing about it was chosen with the second question in mind. Had a set of patterns been constructed to demonstrate that Maekawa closes the four-panel circle, the demonstration would have been worth very little; the patterns would have been picked to show it.
The patterns a checker is tested on is the standing complaint about the opposite habit: a test set drawn by the same hand as the checker, containing nothing the checker must refuse. This census is the case where an old population had something in it nobody had looked for.
What is not covered
Two limits on the claim.
The circle here is always four panels because a degree-four vertex is where it sits, and the waterbomb has degree-four vertices because its cells meet at their corners. A tessellation whose vertices are all of degree six would have no four-panel chain at all, and its shortest would be six — as the twists’ are. The census’s uniformity is a feature of this pattern’s grid.
And the hundred and twenty rules are not patterns that nearly fold. They fail the conditions at between twelve and twenty vertices apiece, so a folder would never get near the layer question. The value of the census is not that it catches something the vertex check misses — it catches strictly less — but that it shows the two failures coinciding, on a population large enough that coincidence is not an available explanation.
That is the shape of the whole finding. A theorem stated as a fact about mountains and valleys at a point turns out to be the thing standing between a crease pattern and the shortest impossibility its layers can have — and the evidence for it is a rule set that was enumerated for a different purpose entirely.
What this makes readable
Essays that name this one as a prerequisite.
Named alongside this one
Essays reaching for the same objects. Nobody chose these; they are what the concept index makes visible.
- A contradiction is even assignment · layer ordering · maekawa's theorem · necessary condition
- A corrugation agrees with itself assignment · layer ordering · tessellation · unit cell
- A population that cannot fail assignment · enumeration · layer ordering · necessary condition
- Consistent is not foldable assignment · enumeration · layer ordering · necessary condition
- How many assignments fold assignment · enumeration · maekawa's theorem · necessary condition
- Ninety-nine in a hundred pass assignment · layer ordering · maekawa's theorem · necessary condition
What links here
Every essay whose body links to this one.
The objects this essay names
Each one links to every other essay that touches it.
AssignmentEnumerationLayer orderingMaekawa's theoremNecessary conditionTessellationUnit cellWaterbomb