A Weibo artist publicly accused Bluepoch, the studio behind gacha RPG Reverse: 1999, of plagiarizing their artwork for the new character 'Getian' — or worse, feeding it into AI training. Fellow artists piled on with reposts and solidarity. But the story took a sharp turn: instead of falling into the classic 'prove you didn't copy' trap, Bluepoch slapped the accuser with a formal cease-and-desist letter, demanding the post be deleted, a public apology pinned for 7 days, and a written guarantee. The art community on Weibo was absolutely shook.
According to the NGA thread OP who compiled the evidence, the artist claimed Bluepoch either plagiarized or used her work for AI generation, and multiple artists amplified the accusation through reposts. Once Bluepoch caught wind of it, they responded with a legal warning letter demanding the removal of all unsubstantiated claims.
To make things worse for the accuser, eagle-eyed netizens dug up her posts on QQ Zone (a Chinese social platform), further exposing contradictions in her story.
Then came the moment of truth — the side-by-side comparison. Here's the artist's original work that she claimed was stolen:
And here's the Reverse: 1999 character art she accused of being a copy or AI derivative:
The thread OP clarified that the character Getian's elongated neck is an intentional design choice tied to his lore — he's a bone-reading specialist, so the skeletal structure is highlighted on purpose. Looking at the two images side by side, apart from both featuring a grassy background and a kneeling figure, the composition, poses, and art styles are completely different. A top-voted comment nailed it: 'How are these even similar? It's the most basic CG composition with a generic pose. This artist is seriously overestimating herself.'
What really sealed the deal was the artist's credibility crumbling in real time. Multiple users pointed out that her Weibo post was originally set to public, but after people started questioning her, she retroactively edited it and claimed it had always been 'followers-only' (粉见). One player who doesn't even follow her posted a screenshot proving they could see the post: 'How could it be followers-only? I don't follow her and I saw it yesterday.' The post also had visible edit history, making the original content unverifiable.
The community reaction was overwhelmingly one-sided. One commenter delivered a devastating take: 'These amateur artists should honestly thank AI art. Ever since AI became a thing, they don't even bother making proper evidence boards for plagiarism accusations anymore. No proof needed — if I feel like it's copied, it's copied.' Another added: 'They treat their own work like sacred treasures but freely accuse others of AI theft and plagiarism. Very on-brand for that crowd.'
The debate over Bluepoch's aggressive 'shoot first, ask questions later' approach was actually more nuanced. Some felt sending a legal warning without attempting to talk first was 'not leaving yourself a way out.' But the majority backed the hardline stance. One highly upvoted comment explained: 'These Weibo art community types are textbook bullies — they pick on the weak but fold instantly when someone fights back. You don't argue with them; you punch them in the face so hard they never come near you again.' Another player added: 'Instead of letting artists dig through old drafts trying to prove they didn't use AI, just hit them with legal action. Say I copied you? Prove it. Can't prove it? That's defamation. An army of reposts won't save you in court.'
This whole saga perfectly captures how absurd the 'accusation culture' has become in certain Chinese art communities — someone openly admits they're 'not sure' about their own claim, launches a public accusation anyway, then plays victim when called out. Bluepoch's 'you accuse, you prove' stance, while undeniably aggressive, struck right at the fatal weakness of modern plagiarism witch-hunts: 'I think it looks similar' simply doesn't hold up when the evidence is laid bare.
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