'Bring in the Wine': Li Bai Pours Eternal Sorrow into a Tang-Dynasty Moon
Grandevity Studio presents Bring in the Wine, a cinematic Mandarin Soul and Chinese-inspired R&B setting of Li Bai’s complete Tang-dynasty poem, using the original text without expansion or rewriting.
Some wine is not poured in order to forget.
It is poured so that, when clarity becomes painful, a person may still preserve the part of himself that refuses to bow before fate.
Bring in the Wine is a Mandarin male-vocal work composed entirely from Li Bai’s celebrated Tang-dynasty poem “Qiang Jin Jiu.”
The lyrics use 100% of the original poem. Nothing has been expanded, rewritten or modernised.
Through cinematic Mandopop Soul, Chinese-inspired R&B and refined classical instrumentation, the song reopens the emotional world of the poem: the Yellow River rushing toward the sea, black hair turning white, a golden cup beneath the moon, five-coloured horses, a thousand-gold cloak and the sorrow of all ages.
Everything eventually flows toward one final line:
Let us dissolve together the sorrow of all eternity.
On its surface, the poem is a magnificent drinking song.
At its deepest level, it is about time, talent, loneliness, friendship and the dignity of refusing to abandon one’s own worth.
Its central question remains urgent:
When youth must pass and talent may go unrecognised, how does a person continue to believe that his life has meaning?
Watch the MV: 🎬 Bring in the Wine — Official Music Video
Headphones recommended. Enter a moonlit Tang-dynasty banquet beside the Yellow River and hear Li Bai transform eternal sorrow into defiant grace.
The Yellow River Is Not Merely a Landscape
“Qiang Jin Jiu” does not begin with wine, music or the banquet table.
It begins with the Yellow River:
Do you not see the Yellow River descending as if from heaven,
Racing toward the sea, never to return?
The river is more than a monumental natural image.
It is time itself.
Water travels toward the sea and cannot turn back. Youth moves through the body with the same irreversible force.
Li Bai immediately draws this immeasurable movement inward:
Do you not see, before the bright mirror in the high hall, sorrow over white hair—
Black silk at morning, snow by evening?
The poem moves from heaven and river to a single human face reflected in a mirror.
“Black silk at morning, snow by evening” is not a literal account of ageing within one day. It compresses an entire lifetime into a single unbearable moment.
The scale changes, but the meaning does not.
The river cannot return. Youth cannot remain.
“Life in its fulfilment must be enjoyed completely” is therefore not a shallow invitation to pleasure. It is a deliberate answer to mortality.
“Heaven Gave Me Talent for a Purpose”
The most widely remembered declaration in the poem is:
Heaven gave me talent for a purpose;
A thousand pieces of gold may scatter, yet they will return.
These lines are often read as triumphant self-confidence.
Their real power, however, comes from the fact that they are spoken from within disappointment.
Li Bai is not celebrating an uncomplicated victory. He is responding to the distance between aspiration and reality, between immense ability and the limited opportunities through which that ability may be recognised.
“Heaven gave me talent for a purpose” is not proof that the world has rewarded him.
It is the act of refusing to let the world’s present judgement become the final measure of his existence.
Even when the road remains closed, the person walking it does not become worthless.
The same principle shapes the line about wealth.
Money may disappear. Circumstance may change. Social position may rise or fall.
Talent, dignity and the inner radiance of life must not be surrendered with them.
Modern R&B Without Turning Grandeur into Shouting
The language of “Qiang Jin Jiu” is immense, and musical interpretations can easily become theatrical, operatic or overwhelmingly loud.
This production takes a different path.
A slow-burning 6/8 pulse supports a warm, charismatic and restrained Mandarin male vocal. The arrangement brings together:
- Guqin and xiao, creating an intimate moonlit opening.
- Fender Rhodes and nylon-string guitar, adding the warmth of contemporary Mandopop Soul.
- Deep neo-soul bass, brushed drums and subtle hand percussion, giving the banquet a physical pulse.
- Pipa and light guzheng, answering the movement of cups, sleeves and glances.
- Elegant cinematic strings, widening the emotional scale toward the Yellow River and eternal sorrow.
The call to Cen Fuzi and Danqiusheng becomes a rhythmic, communal refrain:
Cen Fuzi, Danqiusheng—
Bring in the wine; let no cup rest.
The emotional centre rises around the conviction that talent has purpose and lost wealth may return.
The aim is not to make Li Bai sound less powerful.
It is to reveal another form of power: grandeur that emerges through restraint, maturity and control.
A quietly spoken belief can sometimes carry more weight than a shouted declaration.
Cao Zhi and the Loneliness of the Gifted
In the second half of the poem, Li Bai remembers the Prince of Chen:
In former days, the Prince of Chen feasted at Pingle,
Wine worth ten thousand coins a measure, with laughter unrestrained.
The Prince of Chen is Cao Zhi, another great poetic talent whose ambitions were repeatedly obstructed.
Li Bai’s reference is not simply historical decoration.
Across centuries, one gifted and disappointed poet recognises another.
This gives deeper meaning to the line:
Since ancient times, sages and the worthy have all been lonely.
The banquet contains laughter, music and abundant wine.
Yet beneath the celebration remains the solitude of those whose inner gifts exceed the place granted to them by their time.
Wine may suspend that loneliness, but it cannot fully erase it.
The more passionately the poem celebrates, the more clearly its sorrow can be heard.
Five-Coloured Horse, Thousand-Gold Cloak
At the conclusion, Li Bai offers his most valuable possessions in exchange for wine:
The five-coloured horse,
The cloak worth a thousand in gold—
Call the boy to take them out and exchange them for fine wine,
And with you I shall dissolve the sorrow of all eternity.
The horse and cloak represent worldly value.
Yet the poem overturns the ordinary system by which value is measured.
Possessions are replaceable. Wealth can be lost and regained.
What cannot be replaced so easily is the presence of those with whom one can raise a cup, sing openly and be understood.
The phrase “with you” is essential.
Li Bai does not end in solitary drinking.
He ends in fellowship.
Eternal sorrow may not literally disappear, but when it is recognised and carried by another person, it no longer belongs to one life alone.
The MV: One Moonlit Tang-Dynasty World
The music video remains entirely within the Tang dynasty.
There is no modern timeline and no transition into the present.
Its primary setting is a riverside banquet tower beside the Yellow River: red wooden pillars, blue-tiled eaves, carved railings, silk lanterns, bronze vessels, low tables, guqin, xiao and pipa.
Li Bai appears in a flowing white Tang robe secured with deep teal details. He is not presented as a chaotic drunkard, but as a mature, handsome poet—slightly intoxicated, emotionally open and still lucid.
The pipa woman wears ivory and pale gold. She is both musician and witness.
Through glances, silence and moments in which her playing stops, she brings human tenderness into the poem’s immense masculine energy.
The visual journey begins with the river descending through moonlit mountains. It passes through the mirror and white hair, the cup beneath the moon, the shared banquet, the vision of Cao Zhi, the five-coloured horse and the thousand-gold cloak.
At the end, a bronze cup and a pipa remain beside the balcony.
The river continues toward the sea.
The sorrow of eternity has not been cheaply erased.
It has been illuminated by poetry, music and companionship.
📜 Complete Lyrics
[Li Bai, “Qiang Jin Jiu” — Tang Dynasty]
君不見，黃河之水天上來，奔流到海不復回。
Do you not see the Yellow River descending as if from heaven, racing toward the sea, never to return?
君不見，高堂明鏡悲白髮，朝如青絲暮成雪。
Do you not see, before the bright mirror in the high hall, sorrow over white hair—black silk at morning, snow by evening?
人生得意須盡歡，莫使金樽空對月。
When life grants fulfilment, joy must be embraced; do not leave the golden cup empty beneath the moon.
天生我材必有用，千金散盡還復來。
Heaven gave me talent for a purpose; a thousand pieces of gold may scatter, yet they will return.
烹羊宰牛且為樂，會須一飲三百杯。
Cook the sheep, prepare the ox and make this moment joyful; together we must drink three hundred cups.
岑夫子，丹丘生，將進酒，杯莫停。
Cen Fuzi, Danqiusheng—bring in the wine; let no cup rest.
與君歌一曲，請君為我傾耳聽。
I shall sing you a song; please turn your ears and listen.
鐘鼓饌玉不足貴，但願長醉不願醒。
Bells, drums and dishes rich as jade are not worthy of esteem; I would rather remain forever drunk and never wake.
古來聖賢皆寂寞，惟有飲者留其名。
Since ancient times, sages and the worthy have all been lonely; only the drinkers have left their names behind.
陳王昔時宴平樂，斗酒十千恣歡謔。
In former days, the Prince of Chen feasted at Pingle, wine worth ten thousand coins a measure, with laughter unrestrained.
主人何為言少錢，徑須沽取對君酌。
Host, why speak of having too little money? Go directly and buy the wine, so that I may drink with you.
五花馬，千金裘，呼兒將出換美酒，與爾同銷萬古愁。
The five-coloured horse, the cloak worth a thousand in gold—call the boy to take them out and exchange them for fine wine, and with you I shall dissolve the sorrow of all eternity.
Not a Song About Drunkenness, but About Refusing to Bow
“Qiang Jin Jiu” has survived for more than a thousand years not simply because it is magnificent.
Its enduring power comes from the clarity that remains inside its intoxication.
Li Bai knows that the river will not return.
He knows that black hair will become white.
He knows that talent is not always recognised when recognition is most deserved.
And yet he continues to say:
Heaven gave me talent for a purpose.
This faith is not naïve.
It is spoken after mortality, injustice and loneliness have already been understood.
The poem does not merely encourage escape into wine.
It reminds those living through disappointment that temporary circumstance must not be allowed to define the final value of a life.
The cup will empty. The banquet will end. The Yellow River will continue toward the sea.
The self that refuses to bow must remain.
💿 Credits
- Song Title: Bring in the Wine
- Chinese Title: 將進酒
- Classical Source: Li Bai, “Qiang Jin Jiu”
- Literary Period: Tang Dynasty
- Original Poem / Complete Lyrics: Li Bai
- Lyrics Format: 100% original poem set to music, with no expansion or rewriting
- 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:
Cinematic Mandopop Soul / Chinese-inspired R&B / Neo-soul / Chinese fusion, featuring a slow-burning 6/8 groove, warm and restrained Mandarin male vocals, Fender Rhodes, nylon-string guitar, deep neo-soul bass, brushed drums, guqin, xiao, pipa, light guzheng and elegant cinematic strings. The sound moves between Tang-dynasty grandeur, introspection, restrained intoxication, loneliness and fellowship.
⚖️ Copyright Notice
Li Bai’s classical poem “Qiang Jin Jiu” is a public-domain literary work.
The music production, sound recording, arrangement, mixing, mastering, MV visuals, cover artwork, video editing, subtitles, copywriting, storyboard design, art direction and overall creative concept of this project 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.
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About the Project
Bring in the Wine is part of Grandevity Studio’s Classical Literature Reimagined in Music series.
The project seeks to bring classical Chinese literature beyond textbooks, annotations, recitation and memorisation, allowing it to re-enter contemporary rhythm, sound, imagery and emotional life.
More than a thousand years ago, Li Bai stood before the river that never returns and wrote:
Heaven gave me talent for a purpose.
More than a thousand years later, those words still belong to everyone who has been disappointed, overlooked or misunderstood, yet refuses to abandon the value of their own life.