Yunjing Wu

The James Webb Space Telescope looks back in time and sees the universe when it was less than a billion years old. In this young universe, galaxies already shine, and at their centers sit supermassive black holes — the ones that will later grow into giants. How did they manage to gain mass so quickly?

The night sky in a telescope image looks like a photo taken through a fogged-up window: bright stars are visible, but everything faint drowns in a murky haze. That haze is noise — random interference from electronics, heat, and the atmosphere itself.

There is something wildly generous about a garden where the first flowers don't just bloom but immediately scatter their seeds far beyond the fence. Something similar was happening in the young universe.

The early Universe is often imagined as a nursery: most galaxies there are amorphous blobs, rowdy and irregular, choking on gas and bursts of star formation.

In the deep field of JWST, among thousands of galaxies, astronomers zoomed in on the source JADES-GS 209777 – and saw a cosmic chick. Its "shell" is a thick cocoon of gas and cosmic dust that long hid the growing black hole at its center. But at a redshift of 3,711 (1,8 billion years after the Big Bang), the shell began to crack.

In a village smithy, the blacksmith pumps the bellows, and sparks fly into the darkness. So too in the galaxy AEON-z5, an active nucleus, like a red-hot forge, hurls metal-enriched material far beyond the stellar disk. The James Webb Space Telescope caught this process just a billion years after the Big Bang, when the universe was still in its infancy.