Thunder splits the May sky —
I raise the golden cudgel and call out:
Who dares walk ten years beside me,
and look back with the eyes of the awakened?

No illusions. No empty sutras.
Forge what you know into what you ship.
Ten years in the crucible.
Ten thousand hours, refining the fire.
One mastery so deep heaven itself takes notice.

Build something the world reaches for,
and your worth needs no explanation.
While others chase clouds for a season,
you will have already soared on AI.