Take a close look at the Web3 technology stack, and you'll find something interesting—

We treat transaction security, asset security, and consensus mechanisms as matters of life and death, pouring countless resources into solving them. But there's one issue almost no one takes seriously: can historical data itself exist forever?

Most projects are playing the same lucky game: data can be migrated at any time, history can be compressed and cleaned, architecture can be torn down and rebuilt, and system restarts are like a new world. Sounds flexible, right? But reality gives a big slap.

Those systems that truly last a long time tend to have a common trait—they can't be easily overturned. Think about it: can a social network built over ten years of relationships be rebuilt from scratch? Can a game world that hosts millions of players and stories be deleted and started over? Can an AI system with long-term memory be wiped and rebooted? The answer is all no. Once these things exist, they become permanent.

This is the different starting point of some new protocols. It's not about designing a simple, manageable world, but about facing a fact: time inevitably creates complexity. Instead of desperately compressing it, it's better to structure and organize the complexity.

In the logic of these protocols, data objects are not one-time things but living entities. Each update is not called replacement but evolution. You're maintaining not a fixed state but the entire life trajectory.

Some might say this is a waste of storage space. But this idea overlooks a key point—when history itself begins to carry trust, identity, relationships, and asset value, the cost and value balance of preserving it shifts in the opposite direction. At that point, deleting history would be a real loss.