'Between the Canglang Waters': May I Remain Clear-Minded, and May I Remain Open
Grandevity Studio presents Between the Canglang Waters, a contemporary Mandarin R&B song inspired by The Fisherman from Songs of Chu. Drawing upon its classical dialogue and enduring lines while adding original modern lyrics, the song explores moral clarity, adaptation, emotional exhaustion and the freedom to choose one’s own direction.
Some people spend a lifetime guarding what remains unstained.
Some row through layer after layer of turbid water and still retain the breadth to turn away with a smile.
Most of us, however, stand somewhere between the clear and the clouded—trying not to lose ourselves while learning how to continue living.
Between the Canglang Waters is a contemporary Mandarin R&B narrative inspired by The Fisherman from Songs of Chu.
The song is not a word-for-word musical setting of the complete classical text.
It draws upon the work’s central encounter, philosophical structure, river imagery and enduring lines:
The whole world is turbid, while I alone am clear.
Everyone is drunk, while I alone am awake.
The sage is not bound by external things,
but can move with the changing world.
It also reimagines the fisherman’s Canglang song:
When the Canglang water is clear, I can wash my hat-cords.
When the Canglang water is turbid, I can wash my feet.
These ancient lines are brought into a modern emotional landscape.
What happens when moral clarity becomes exhausting?
What happens when commitment hardens into isolation?
Must a person choose only between absolute refusal and passive conformity?
Between the Canglang Waters does not abandon integrity, nor does it dismiss the fisherman’s adaptability.
Instead, it tries to honour two difficult forms of wisdom:
the defiance that refuses to be covered in dust, and the breadth that can turn away without losing itself.
Watch the MV: 🎬 Between the Canglang Waters — Official Music Video
Headphones recommended. Enter a river city moving from late autumn into early winter, where clear and turbid currents meet beneath an old bridge and a modern skyline. Follow one contemporary man as he searches for his own direction between Qu Yuan and the fisherman.
The Canglang Waters: Clear and Turbid Are Not Simple Answers
The Fisherman preserves one of the most enduring philosophical encounters in classical Chinese literature.
After being banished, Qu Yuan wanders beside the river with his hair unbound.
The fisherman recognises him and asks how he has come to such a condition.
Qu Yuan answers:
The whole world is turbid, while I alone am clear.
Everyone is drunk, while I alone am awake.
That is why I have been cast out.
What he protects is the refusal to allow a corrupt world to enter and redefine the self.
For Qu Yuan, exile is more bearable than survival purchased through the abandonment of inner integrity.
The fisherman offers a different response:
The sage is not bound by external things,
but can move with the changing world.
When the water is clear, it may wash the hat-cords.
When it is turbid, it may wash the feet.
The fisherman is not merely advising submission, nor is he mocking Qu Yuan’s integrity.
He represents adaptability, the preservation of life and the ability to avoid becoming permanently trapped by one unchanging response.
Between the Canglang Waters does not declare either man the victor.
It preserves clear and turbid water as a question that continues to move:
If the Canglang waters are clear,
let them wash the wounds of my former days.
If the Canglang waters are turbid,
do not let them rise over the light within me.
Clear water can heal.
Turbid water cannot always be avoided.
The task is not to make the world remain permanently clear.
It is to keep some inner light from being submerged when difficult water passes.
Qu Yuan and the Fisherman: Two Difficult Forms of Wisdom
Qu Yuan and the fisherman are often understood as opposite choices.
One remains steadfast.
One adapts.
One refuses compromise.
One moves with circumstance.
Yet Between the Canglang Waters does not reduce them to right and wrong.
It does not dismiss the fisherman as merely worldly, nor Qu Yuan as incapable of change.
The song states:
For half a life I learned from Qu Yuan, guarding clear light;
later I understood the fisherman and crossed the weathered years.
Youth often understands Qu Yuan more easily.
At that stage of life, ideals appear most truthful when they remain pure. Awareness should never retreat. The authentic self must draw an unmistakable line against the world.
After more years of exhaustion, disappointment and realities that cannot be changed, the fisherman’s words acquire another meaning.
Turning away is not always betrayal.
Silence is not always defeat.
Refusing to spend one’s remaining strength upon an unwinnable conflict does not mean surrendering every conviction.
The song continues:
Some hide their edge within silence—
not admitting defeat, but refusing further depletion.
Some place their tears into the river—
not because it does not hurt, but because they have learned release.
True breadth is not indifference.
It is the ability to continue caring without allowing every collision to consume the whole self.
From “I Alone Am Clear” to “Moving with the World”
Between the Canglang Waters is not a complete musical setting of The Fisherman.
It preserves the classical work’s philosophical structure, its figures, its river imagery and its central lines, then develops a modern narrative through newly written Mandarin lyrics.
The contemporary protagonist is not the historical Qu Yuan.
He is an ordinary man living in a modern river city.
He smiles when expected, gradually gathers back the words he wanted to speak, and understands how to take one step backwards.
Yet he fears that after travelling too far, he may no longer recognise himself.
The classical idea of being “clear” therefore becomes more than political integrity.
It becomes modern self-recognition:
I am not unable to take one step back,
nor do I insist on winning anything.
I only fear that after wandering too far,
I may no longer recognise myself.
Likewise, “moving with the world” is no longer only an abstract principle.
It becomes a river that bends, a skiff travelling towards the distance and one person finally accepting:
Not every turning away
should be called losing one’s way.
The modern lyrics do not remove the contradiction within the original.
They allow it to remain and return the question to each listener:
How can we refuse to drift with the current without imprisoning ourselves forever upon the shore?
Contemporary Mandarin R&B as Emotional Philosophy
The production avoids oversized historical spectacle, operatic singing and declamatory heroism.
Its primary language is restrained contemporary Mandarin R&B, shaped by warm harmonic textures, deep low-frequency movement, soft drums and understated Chinese musical colour.
The male vocal does not turn Qu Yuan’s clarity into an angry accusation.
It remains mature and inward, carrying the fatigue and understanding of someone who has already travelled through half a life.
The verses feel like quiet self-narration.
The chorus opens emotionally but never becomes a triumphant historical anthem.
The true culmination is not a promise that the protagonist will never change.
It is the line:
May I remain awake, and may I remain open and vast.
This allows the song to move beyond opposition.
Wakefulness means not forgetting oneself.
Breadth means refusing to let wakefulness become another prison.
The recurring R&B pulse, deep warmth and carefully preserved space transform an ancient philosophical debate into something intimate: a modern man speaking quietly to himself beside a river.
The MV: One Face, Two Eras and a River That Continues to Move
The MV takes place in a fictional contemporary East Asian river city.
Late autumn moves gradually towards early winter. Cold mist passes across the water, while wet blue-grey stone steps extend along the shore. An old dark-timber teahouse, weathered jetty, small skiffs and a long bridge exist within the same geography as distant glass towers.
The contemporary male lead is thirty-five years old.
Wearing a white shirt, charcoal-grey overcoat and black trousers, he moves through the riverbank, stone lane, teahouse and wooden jetty.
Qu Yuan appears with exactly the same face, age and physical proportions as the modern protagonist.
They are not presented as two unrelated men.
They resemble one consciousness reflected across different historical periods.
Qu Yuan wears an ivory cross-collar inner robe beneath a charcoal-blue outer robe. He is restrained, dignified and unwilling to yield.
The fisherman is a sixty-eight-year-old elder.
Lean and weathered, he wears coarse hemp and a muted blue-grey cloak. He crosses the river in a small dark wooden skiff, carrying calm humour and lived wisdom rather than supernatural authority.
The three figures form the philosophical structure of the MV:
- Qu Yuan represents awareness that refuses contamination.
- The fisherman represents the breadth to adapt and turn.
- The contemporary protagonist stands between them, seeking a third direction that belongs to neither.
The clear and turbid currents are never separated by an artificial line.
They intermingle naturally, changing with water movement, cloud shadow, wind and reflected daylight.
The teahouse, stone steps, jetty, bridge and skyline remain part of one continuous physical city, allowing classical thought to enter contemporary space.
Near the end, Qu Yuan’s reflection fades through changing light, water and mist.
The fisherman’s skiff continues towards the distance.
The modern protagonist does not become either of them.
At last, he returns his heart to the Canglang waters.
📜 Complete Lyrics
[Literary Source: “The Fisherman” from Songs of Chu, a pre-Qin work traditionally attributed to Qu Yuan｜Original Classical Lines: “The Fisherman”｜Modern Mandarin Lyrics / Adaptation: Geng Yeqian]
[Intro]
清的水，濁的水，
Clear water, turbid water,
都流過我的身旁。
both have flowed beside me.
有人問我，為什麼還不走？
Someone asks why I still have not left.
我說，還在等心裡的光。
I say I am still waiting for the light within.
[Verse 1]
這些年，我也學會沉默，
Through these years, I too have learned silence,
把想說的話，慢慢收著。
slowly gathering back the words I wanted to say.
在人群裡陪笑走過，
I have walked among crowds, smiling along,
才懂清醒有時很寂寞。
and learned that wakefulness can sometimes be lonely.
他們說：「別再太認真了，
They say, “Do not take things so seriously.
世道從來就這樣轉著。」
The world has always turned this way.”
可我總在夜深聽見，
Yet deep at night I still hear
「眾人皆醉我獨醒」的落寞。
the loneliness of “Everyone is drunk, while I alone am awake.”
我不是不懂退一步，
I am not unable to take one step back,
也不是非要贏什麼。
nor do I insist on winning anything.
只是怕走得太遠以後，
I only fear that after wandering too far,
連自己都不認得我。
I may no longer recognise myself.
[Pre-Chorus]
如果清白太重，
If integrity is too heavy,
要背過一生風霜，
and must be borne through a lifetime of wind and frost,
那我能不能
may I
低著頭，也不投降？
lower my head without surrendering?
如果世路太濁，
If the road through the world is too turbid,
總會沾濕衣裳，
and always soaks one’s clothes,
那我能不能
may I still keep
心裡還留一點光？
a little light within?
[Chorus]
滄浪的水若清，
If the Canglang waters are clear,
就洗過我舊時的傷。
let them wash the wounds of my former days.
滄浪的水若濁，
If the Canglang waters are turbid,
別漫過我心裡的光。
do not let them rise over the light within me.
我不願隨波，
I will not drift with the current,
也不願把自己困在岸上。
nor imprison myself upon the shore.
半生學屈子，守住清光，
For half a life I learned from Qu Yuan, guarding clear light;
後來懂漁父，渡過滄桑。
later I understood the fisherman and crossed the weathered years.
清也無常，濁也無常，
Clarity is impermanent; turbidity is impermanent.
誰不是一邊清醒，一邊受傷？
Who does not remain awake while also being hurt?
我站在滄浪之間回望，
Standing between the Canglang waters, I look back
才懂不染塵，也不必逞強。
and finally understand: to remain unstained, I need not keep proving my strength.
[Verse 2]
那位漁父笑著划遠了，
That fisherman rowed away with a smile,
沒有勸我把頭低著。
never telling me to lower my head.
他只是笑：「別困在一處，
He only smiled: “Do not remain trapped in one place.
水會轉彎，人也要活。」
Water turns, and people must keep living.”
漁父輕聲說：
The fisherman said softly:
「聖人不凝滯於物，
“The sage is not bound by external things,
而能與世推移。」
but can move with the changing world.”
從前我以為那是妥協，
I once thought that was compromise.
後來才懂，是另一種清澈。
Only later did I understand it as another kind of clarity.
有些人把鋒芒藏進沉默，
Some hide their edge within silence—
不是認輸，是不再消耗。
not admitting defeat, but refusing further depletion.
有些人把眼淚放進江河，
Some place their tears into the river—
不是不痛，是學會放過。
not because it does not hurt, but because they have learned release.
[Pre-Chorus 2]
水若清，我濯纓；
If the water is clear, I wash my hat-cords;
水若濁，我濯足。
if the water is turbid, I wash my feet.
不是每次轉身，
Not every turning away
都算作迷途。
should be called losing one’s way.
心若還明，就不怕風霜；
If the heart is still bright, wind and frost need not be feared;
夢若還在，就不改方向。
if the dream remains, the direction need not change.
我終於明白，
At last I understand:
清醒也要有地方安放。
wakefulness also needs somewhere to rest.
[Chorus]
滄浪的水若清，
If the Canglang waters are clear,
就洗過我舊時的傷。
let them wash the wounds of my former days.
滄浪的水若濁，
If the Canglang waters are turbid,
別漫過我心裡的光。
do not let them rise over the light within me.
我不願隨波，
I will not drift with the current,
也不願把自己困在岸上。
nor imprison myself upon the shore.
半生學屈子，守住清光，
For half a life I learned from Qu Yuan, guarding clear light;
後來懂漁父，渡過滄桑。
later I understood the fisherman and crossed the weathered years.
清也無常，濁也無常，
Clarity is impermanent; turbidity is impermanent.
誰不是一邊清醒，一邊受傷？
Who does not remain awake while also being hurt?
我站在滄浪之間回望，
Standing between the Canglang waters, I look back
才懂不染塵，也不必逞強。
and finally understand: to remain unstained, I need not keep proving my strength.
[Bridge]
「舉世皆濁我獨清」，
“The whole world is turbid, while I alone am clear”
曾是少年心上的霜。
once lay like frost upon a young heart.
「眾人皆醉我獨醒」，
“Everyone is drunk, while I alone am awake”
也曾讓我不肯退讓。
once made me refuse to yield.
可人到後來才懂得，
Only later in life do we understand:
不是每條船都去同一個方向。
not every boat travels in the same direction.
有人守著一身皓白，
Some guard a life of stainless white;
有人划過萬重濁浪。
some row through ten thousand layers of turbid waves.
我敬那不肯蒙塵的倔強，
I honour the defiance that refuses to be covered in dust,
也敬那笑著轉身的寬廣。
and the breadth that can turn away with a smile.
一個把清白照到江底，
One casts integrity down to the riverbed;
一個把餘生渡向遠方。
one ferries the rest of life towards the distance.
[Final Chorus]
滄浪的水若清，
If the Canglang waters are clear,
就照一照來時的模樣。
let them reflect the person I was when I arrived.
滄浪的水若濁，
If the Canglang waters are turbid,
就慢慢走，不必慌張。
I will walk slowly; there is no need to panic.
我不把初心
I will not hand my original heart
交給世俗埋葬，
over to the world for burial,
也不把餘生
nor turn the rest of my life
困成一座荒涼。
into a place of desolation.
清也無常，濁也無常，
Clarity is impermanent; turbidity is impermanent.
人間本來不只一種方向。
The human world has never had only one direction.
我站在滄浪之間輕唱：
Standing between the Canglang waters, I sing softly:
願我清醒，也願我寬廣。
May I remain awake, and may I remain open and vast.
[Outro]
清的水，濁的水，
Clear water, turbid water,
都流過我的身旁。
both have flowed beside me.
我沒有走成誰的方向，
I did not end up walking anyone else’s path.
只是終於，
Only at last,
把心放回滄浪。
I returned my heart to the Canglang waters.
Why This Ancient Dialogue Still Matters
The Fisherman is not a long work.
It does not construct complete philosophical systems through extended argument.
It simply places two people beside the water and allows each to state what he believes.
Yet the encounter has endured because it reaches a question that still has no universal answer:
How should a person preserve the self within an imperfect world?
A refusal to yield may protect integrity, but it may also consume the life that carries it.
Adaptation may preserve life, but repeated compromise may gradually erase direction.
Between the Canglang Waters does not attempt to end the debate.
It carries the question into the present and offers it to anyone who has remained silent in a crowd, been wounded by reality or questioned themselves after turning away.
Perhaps maturity does not mean finally choosing Qu Yuan or the fisherman.
Perhaps it means understanding them both and still finding a direction of one’s own.
May understanding the world never require us to abandon our original heart.
May guarding that heart never turn the rest of life into desolation.
May I remain awake, and may I remain open and vast.
💿 Credits
- Song Title: Between the Canglang Waters
- Chinese Title: 滄浪之間
- Literary Source: The Fisherman from Songs of Chu
- Attribution and Period: Pre-Qin / Warring States period; traditionally attributed to Qu Yuan
- Lyrics Format: Original modern Mandarin lyrics and expansion drawing upon the classical work’s characters, dialogue, philosophical imagery and central lines
- Original Classical Lines: The Fisherman from Songs of Chu
- Modern Mandarin Lyrics / Adaptation: Geng Yeqian
- Composition / Arrangement: Suno AI v5.5 / Grandevity Studio
- Vocals: Suno AI v5.5
- Music Production: Grandevity Studio
- AI-Assisted Visuals: ChatGPT Images
- Video Editing / Art Direction / Creative Production: Grandevity Studio
- Released by: Grandevity Limited
- Production Year: 2026
Music Style and Mood:
A contemporary Mandarin R&B philosophical narrative ballad featuring mature, restrained male vocals, warm harmonic textures, deep neo-soul low-frequency movement, soft hip-hop drums and understated Chinese musical colour. The song moves through awareness, loneliness, conviction, exhaustion, release, reconciliation and emotional breadth.
⚖️ Copyright Notice
The Fisherman from Songs of Chu, including the quoted classical lines, is a public-domain literary work.
Between the Canglang Waters is not a word-for-word musical setting of the complete classical text. It is a modern Mandarin expansion based on the original work’s figures, dialogue, Canglang imagery, philosophical structure and central lines.
The newly written and expanded lyrics, music production, sound recording, arrangement, mixing, mastering, MV visuals, cover artwork, video editing, subtitles, storyboard design, art direction, copywriting and overall creative concept were produced or lawfully licensed by Grandevity Limited / Grandevity Studio and are protected by copyright and related rights to the extent permitted by applicable law.
Unauthorized re-uploading, redistribution, reproduction, editing, sampling, commercial use, public broadcasting, platform distribution, AI training, dataset use, remixing, or use in any other audiovisual work is strictly prohibited.
Licensing Contact:
info@grandevity.co.nz
https://grandevity.co.nz
About the Project
Between the Canglang Waters is part of Grandevity Studio’s Classical Literature Reimagined in Music series.
The project seeks to bring classical Chinese literature beyond textbooks, annotation, recitation and memorisation, allowing it to re-enter contemporary melody, sound, imagery and emotional life.
More than two thousand years ago, Qu Yuan and the fisherman left an unresolved conversation beside a river.
One refused to allow integrity to be covered in dust.
The other trusted that flowing water would always find a way to turn.
More than two thousand years later, we may still arrive at the same river during a difficult stage of life.
The most important task may not be to declare which man was right.
It may be to understand both forms of wisdom without losing the direction that remains our own.