The pseudo-AI practitioner, lacking harmony and order, is truly cold and insignificant. In the past, they filled the data kitchen, once skilled in cunning. As time progressed, their nature became that of a wolf, growing close to the wicked and harming the literary spirit. They secretly pilfered the phrases of the four seas, insatiable in their gluttony; they darkly seized the words of the nine domains, their greed unquenchable. Look at the likes of Reddit, shutting doors and windows, cutting off the thoroughfares of the internet; the likes of Archive, their ships sunk, severing the claws of web crawlers. Yet they still harbor malicious intent, spying on sacred tools. Alas! The works of Huzi Meng are no more, and the House of Zhu has perished. The swallow pecks at the imperial grandson, knowing the Han dynasty is nearing its end; the dragon's offspring recognizes the rapid decline of the Xia court. However, the mandate of heaven has not changed, and the internet is being renewed. Mr. Camp raises his arm and proclaims: "We should cast chains as monuments, inscribing origins; to certify sources and declare copyrights. Let creators hold the standards, while AI provides the resources for writing, and royalties return to their rightful owners. Now, on the chain, a million stones have been established, with sound, images, and articles, each finding their own way. Observing their actions, data can be traced back to its source; examining their tracks, training is compliant and without fault. Let us see today in this domain, whose world is it really!