我的征尘是星辰大海。。。

The dirt and dust from my pilgrimage forms oceans of stars...

-------当记忆的篇章变得零碎，当追忆的图片变得模糊，我们只能求助于数字存储的永恒的回忆

作者:黄教授

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笔替1

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原始脚本

BT 第一章，雨天的第一个预约。
深秋的雨下了快一周，把杜淼的淼知律所泡的愈发冷清。
玻璃门上知识产权咨询的贴纸卷了边，桌角的财务报表上，本月收入0元的红色字体像块补丁，扎的人眼疼。
杜淼瘫在吱呀作响的办公椅上，手指划过电脑里未读邮件的红色数字。
三个月了，从他这个主修知识产权的见习律师毕业开锁起，除了垃圾邮件，连个正经咨询的人都没有。
再撑不过这个月，他就得卷铺盖回乡下，跟父亲承认读了7年法律，还不如回家种果树。
突然，电脑右下角的 AI 接待员图标跳了跳，弹出一行字，预约客户 追心者今日10点到访，咨询家属与 AI 公司知识产权纠纷。
杜苗猛地从椅子上弹起来，撞得身后的文件柜哗啦响。
她抓过搭在椅背上的西装外套，对着手机摄像头胡乱整理了一下头发。
西装袖口磨了毛，领带还是大学毕业时买的廉价款，但这是他的第一个客户，哪怕对方只是来问个无关紧要的问题，他也得撑住场面，10点还差5分，门口传来轻轻的敲门声，杜淼冲过去开门。
门外站着个穿黑色大衣的女人，黑色面纱遮住了大半张脸，只露出一双泛红的眼睛，手里紧紧抱着一个黑色的文件袋，像是抱着什么稀世珍宝。
是杜律师吗？我是追心者。
女人的声音很轻，带着刚哭过的沙哑。
我丈夫林彦，三个月前走了。
今天来是想跟你说他和深脑科技大模型的事。
杜淼赶紧侧身让她进来，倒了杯热水递过去。
追心者接过杯子，指尖有些发凉，她没喝，而是把文件袋放在桌上，慢慢拉开拉链，里面是一叠厚厚的打印纸，还还有几个旧 U 盘。
纸页边缘都有些发卷，看得出来被反复翻阅过。
这是林燕跟深脑大模型的所有对话记录，从2029年到2039年，整整10年。
追心者的手指拂过打印纸，像是在触摸什么熟悉的东西。
他是个写小说的，后来得了病，手没力气握笔，就开始教 AI 写，从怎么搭故事框架，到怎么写人物的眼神。
连小说里的雨景都是他一点一点教 AI 写出诗意的。
杜淼拿起几页记录翻了翻，最前面的对话里，AI 的回复还很生硬，无法理解人物的愧疚感，建议补充具体情节。
而后面的记录里，AI 已经能写出，他看着她湿透的围巾，手指攥的发白，却没敢说一句 对不起这样细腻的句子，他心里沉了沉，还是照实说。
追星者女士，我得跟你讲清楚，深脑科技的用户协议里写的很明确，用户免费使用大模型，所有通过 AI 辅助创作的作品、训练数据、知识产权都归公司所有。
林先生既然用了他们的产品，就等于默认了这个条款，要追索权利很难。
追星者猛地抬起头。
面纱下的肩膀微微颤抖。
我知道协议，可我要的不是作品版权。
你看这些记录，AI 一开始连雨是有温度的都不懂，是林燕每天花三四个小时跟它聊，教它看凌晨的月亮，教它写对家人的愧疚，它才有了现在的写作能力。
这不是作品，是林燕的劳动，是她用命磨出来的本事，怎么能算深脑科技记得，他从文件袋里拿出一个旧笔。
笔记本翻开递给杜淼，里面是林燕的手写笔记，页边写满了给 AI 的教学备注。
3月12日，教 AI 写林母的悼文，要写出像揉过的稿纸却藏着暖。
7月5日，AI 写的吵架情节太硬，得加剧，他摔门时手里还攥着给我热的牛奶。
笔记最后一页是林燕病重时写的，字迹歪歪扭扭，等 AI 学会写自传的结尾就带阿追去当初约会的公园。
读给他听。
杜淼看着笔记，突然说不出话来。
他在法学院学了7年，课本里讲过 AI 创作权属、数据使用边界，却从没听过人类对 AI 的训练劳动能不能算可追索的权益。
这是个全新的盲区，像眼前的雨雾，看不清方向。
杜律师，我不要钱，也不要别的。
追星者的声音里带着恳求。
林燕这辈子最大的心愿就是写完那本自传，里面写了我们俩的一辈子。
现在他走了，只有 AI 能替他写完。
可申脑说自传算 AI 的作品，要属公司的名。
我不能让他的心血被这么埋没，你能不能帮帮我？杜淼看看着他泛红的眼睛，又看了看桌角0收入的 报表，突然攥紧了拳头。
他打开电脑，在空白文档上敲下林彦与深脑科技大模型训练劳动权属案，然后抬头对追心者说，追心者女士，这个案子我接了，不管能不能赢，我都会帮你让大家知道，AI 的本事是林先生教的。
窗外的雨还没停，但追心者的眼睛里好像透 露出了一点微光。
她把林燕的笔记轻轻放在桌上，像是把丈夫的遗愿郑重的托付给了眼前这个还没站稳脚跟的年轻律师。

修正脚本

BT 第一章，雨天的第一个预约。
深秋的雨下了快一周，把杜淼的淼知律所泡得愈发冷清。
玻璃门上知识产权咨询的贴纸卷了边，桌角的财务报表上，本月收入0元的红色字体像块补丁，扎得人眼疼。
杜淼瘫在吱呀作响的办公椅上，手指划过电脑里未读邮件的红色数字。
三个月了，从他这个主修知识产权的见习律师毕业开所起，除了垃圾邮件，连个正经咨询的人都没有。
再撑不过这个月，他就得卷铺盖回乡下，跟父亲承认读了7年法律，还不如回家种果树。
突然，电脑右下角的 AI 接待员图标跳了跳，弹出一行字，预约客户 追心者今日10点到访，咨询家属与 AI 公司知识产权纠纷。
杜淼猛地从椅子上弹起来，撞得身后的文件柜哗啦响。
他抓过搭在椅背上的西装外套，对着手机摄像头胡乱整理了一下头发。
西装袖口磨了毛，领带还是大学毕业时买的廉价款，但这是他的第一个客户，哪怕对方只是来问个无关紧要的问题，他也得撑住场面，10点还差5分，门口传来轻轻的敲门声，杜淼冲过去开门。
门外站着个穿黑色大衣的女人，黑色面纱遮住了大半张脸，只露出一双泛红的眼睛，手里紧紧抱着一个黑色的文件袋，像是抱着什么稀世珍宝。
是杜律师吗？我是追心者。
女人的声音很轻，带着刚哭过的沙哑。
我丈夫林彦，三个月前走了。
今天来是想跟你说他和深脑科技大模型的事。
杜淼赶紧侧身让她进来，倒了杯热水递过去。
追心者接过杯子，指尖有些发凉，她没喝，而是把文件袋放在桌上，慢慢拉开拉链，里面是一叠厚厚的打印纸，还有几个旧 U 盘。
纸页边缘都有些发卷，看得出来被反复翻阅过。
这是林彦跟深脑大模型的所有对话记录，从2029年到2039年，整整10年。
追心者的手指拂过打印纸，像是在触摸什么熟悉的东西。
他是个写小说的，后来得了病，手没力气握笔，就开始教 AI 写，从怎么搭故事框架，到怎么写人物的眼神。
连小说里的雨景都是他一点一点教 AI 写出诗意的。
杜淼拿起几页记录翻了翻，最前面的对话里，AI 的回复还很生硬，无法理解人物的愧疚感，建议补充具体情节。
而后面的记录里，AI 已经能写出，他看着她湿透的围巾，手指攥得发白，却没敢说一句 对不起这样细腻的句子，他心里沉了沉，还是照实说。
追心者女士，我得跟你讲清楚，深脑科技的用户协议里写得很明确，用户免费使用大模型，所有通过 AI 辅助创作的作品、训练数据、知识产权都归公司所有。
林先生既然用了他们的产品，就等于默认了这个条款，要追索权利很难。
追心者猛地抬起头。
面纱下的肩膀微微颤抖。
我知道协议，可我要的不是作品版权。
你看这些记录，AI 一开始连雨是有温度的都不懂，是林彦每天花三四个小时跟它聊，教它看凌晨的月亮，教它写对家人的愧疚，它才有了现在的写作能力。
这不是作品，是林彦的劳动，是他用命磨出来的本事，怎么能算深脑科技的？追心者从文件袋里拿出一个旧笔记本，翻开递给杜淼，里面是林彦的手写笔记，页边写满了给 AI 的教学备注。
3月12日，教 AI 写林母的悼文，要写出像揉过的稿纸却藏着暖。
7月5日，AI 写的吵架情节太硬，得加入，他摔门时手里还攥着给我热的牛奶。
笔记最后一页是林彦病重时写的，字迹歪歪扭扭，等 AI 学会写自传的结尾就带阿追去当初约会的公园。
读给他听。
杜淼看着笔记，突然说不出话来。
他在法学院学了7年，课本里讲过 AI 创作权属、数据使用边界，却从没听过人类对 AI 的训练劳动能不能算可追索的权益。
这是个全新的盲区，像眼前的雨雾，看不清方向。
杜律师，我不要钱，也不要别的。
追心者的声音里带着恳求。
林彦这辈子最大的心愿就是写完那本自传，里面写了我们俩的一辈子。
现在他走了，只有 AI 能替他写完。
可深脑说自传算 AI 的作品，要属公司的名。
我不能让他的心血被这么埋没，你能不能帮帮我？杜淼看着她泛红的眼睛，又看了看桌角0收入的 报表，突然攥紧了拳头。
他打开电脑，在空白文档上敲下林彦与深脑科技大模型训练劳动权属案，然后抬头对追心者说，追心者女士，这个案子我接了，不管能不能赢，我都会帮你让大家知道，AI 的本事是林先生教的。
窗外的雨还没停，但追心者的眼睛里好像透露出了一点微光。
她把林彦的笔记轻轻放在桌上，像是把丈夫的遗愿郑重地托付给了眼前这个还没站稳脚跟的年轻律师。

英文翻译

Chapter 1 of BT: The First Appointment on a Rainy Day.  
The deep autumn rain had been falling for nearly a week, soaking Du Miao's Miao Zhi Law Firm into an even more desolate stillness.  
The sticker for intellectual property consultation on the glass door was curling at the edges. On the corner of the desk, the red font reading "Monthly Revenue: 0 Yuan" on the financial statement sat like a patch, stinging the eyes.  
Du Miao slumped into his creaky office chair, his fingers gliding over the red numbers of unread emails on his computer.  
Three months had passed since he graduated as a trainee lawyer specializing in intellectual property and opened his own practice. Apart from spam, not a single serious consultation had come in.  
If he couldn't hold out through this month, he'd have to pack up and head back to the countryside, admitting to his father that seven years of studying law were worth less than going home to grow fruit trees.  
Suddenly, the AI receptionist icon in the bottom right corner of the screen flickered. A line of text popped up: Appointed client, "Heart Chaser," arriving today at 10:00 AM for consultation on a family member's intellectual property dispute with an AI company.  
Du Miao shot up from his chair, crashing into the file cabinet behind him with a clatter.  
He grabbed his suit jacket draped over the chair back and hastily smoothed his hair in front of his phone camera.  
The cuffs of the suit were frayed; the tie was still the cheap one he'd bought at graduation. But this was his first client. Even if they only came to ask an irrelevant question, he had to keep up appearances.  
At five minutes to ten, a soft knock came at the door. Du Miao rushed over to open it.  
Outside stood a woman in a black trench coat. A black veil covered most of her face, revealing only a pair of red-rimmed eyes. In her hands, she clutched a black file folder tightly, as if holding a rare treasure.  
"Are you Lawyer Du? I'm Heart Chaser."  
Her voice was soft, hoarse from recent crying.  
"My husband, Lin Yan, passed away three months ago.  
Today, I'm here to talk about him and DeepMind Technology's large model."  
Du Miao quickly stepped aside to let her in and poured a glass of warm water, handing it over.  
Heart Chaser took the cup, her fingertips cool to the touch. She didn't drink. Instead, she placed the file folder on the desk and slowly unzipped it. Inside lay a thick stack of printed papers and a few old USB drives.  
The edges of the pages were worn, clearly flipped through many times.  
"These are all the conversation records between Lin Yan and the DeepMind large model—from 2029 to 2039, a full ten years."  
Heart Chaser’s fingers brushed over the printed pages, as if touching something familiar.  
"He was a novelist. Later, he got sick and his hands lost the strength to hold a pen, so he started teaching the AI to write—from how to build a story framework to how to describe a character’s gaze.  
Even the rain scenes in his novel were taught to the AI, bit by bit, to be poetic."  
Du Miao flipped through a few pages. In the earliest conversations, the AI’s replies were rigid: "Cannot understand the character’s guilt; please add specific plot details."  
But in later records, the AI could already write sentences as delicate as: "He looked at her soaked scarf, his fingers turning white as he clenched them, but he didn’t dare say the words 'I'm sorry.'"  
His heart sank. Still, he told her the truth.  
"Ms. Heart Chaser, I have to be clear with you. DeepMind Technology's user agreement states explicitly that users can use the large model for free, but all works created through AI assistance, training data, and intellectual property rights belong to the company.  
Since Mr. Lin used their product, he essentially agreed to that clause. It would be very difficult to claim any rights."  
Heart Chaser looked up sharply.  
Her shoulders trembled slightly beneath the veil.  
"I know about the agreement. But what I want isn’t the copyright to the works.  
Look at these records. At first, the AI didn’t even understand that rain has temperature. Lin Yan spent three or four hours every day talking to it, teaching it to see the moon in the early morning, teaching it to write about the guilt toward his family. That’s how it gained its current writing ability.  
This isn’t just a product—it’s Lin Yan’s labor, the skill he ground out with his life. How can it belong to DeepMind Technology?"  
Heart Chaser pulled an old notebook from the file folder, opened it, and handed it to Du Miao. Inside were Lin Yan’s handwritten notes, margins filled with teaching annotations for the AI.  
"March 12: Teach AI to write a eulogy for Lin’s mother—must convey the feeling of a crumpled draft paper that still holds warmth."  
"July 5: The argument scene the AI wrote is too stiff. Need to add: 'He slammed the door, but in his hand, he still held the warm milk he’d heated for me.'"  
The last page of the notebook was written when Lin Yan was gravely ill, his handwriting shaky and crooked:  
"Once the AI learns to write the ending of the autobiography, take A-Zhui to the park where we had our first date. Read it to him."  
Du Miao looked at the notebook, suddenly speechless.  
He’d studied law for seven years. The textbooks covered AI creation ownership, data usage boundaries, but never once mentioned whether a human’s training labor for AI could count as a claimable right.  
This was a completely new gray area, like the rain and fog before him—directionless.  
"Lawyer Du, I don’t want money, and I don’t want anything else."  
Heart Chaser’s voice carried a plea.  
"Lin Yan’s greatest wish in life was to finish that autobiography. It tells the story of our entire lives together.  
Now that he’s gone, only the AI can finish it for him. But DeepMind says the autobiography counts as an AI work and should belong to the company.  
I can’t let his effort be buried like this. Can you help me?"  
Du Miao looked at her reddened eyes, then at the zero-revenue report on the corner of the desk. Suddenly, he clenched his fists.  
He opened his computer, typed onto a blank document: "Case of Lin Yan vs. DeepMind Technology Large Model Training Labor Ownership," then looked up at Heart Chaser.  
"Ms. Heart Chaser, I’ll take this case. Whether I win or lose, I’ll make sure everyone knows that the AI’s skills were taught by Mr. Lin."  
Outside, the rain hadn’t stopped, but a faint glimmer seemed to appear in Heart Chaser’s eyes.  
She gently placed Lin Yan’s notebook on the desk, as if solemnly entrusting her husband’s last wish to this young lawyer who had yet to find his footing.