The temperature seems to have dropped a whole season within the span of an afternoon, the cool air fanning my bare arms. The city itself is transformed by the darkness. Shanghai during the day was bright, bustling, vibrant, polished; Shanghai at night is glittering, expansive, everything dialed up and eager to show itself off, like any fashion icon swapping her blazer and sunglasses for a bold red lip and shimmering dress when the sun goes down.

We walk past vendors selling roasted sweet potatoes from the back of their carts, placed strategically at the entrance of a subway station, their honeyed fragrance chasing us for yards down the busy street. There are tea shops and cafés on every block: lanterns swaying over the patios; hand-painted ceramic cups molded into the shape of cats and ducks; glass displays of butter cookies and strawberry cakes; fishbowls sitting on mahogany counters; translucent tents set up on neat blocks of grass like giant versions of the fishbowls, happy couples huddled up inside them.

Then it’s a steep climb up the overpass. Tianqiao, Wang Laoshi says, translated literally to “sky bridge,” and I can’t help thinking about how pretty the name is, how fitting, because it really feels like we’re crossing through the dark sky itself. An old woman sits by the railings, tiny hair clips and sparkling trinkets stretched out on a faded mat, the traffic rushing beneath her.

Everything starts to become recognizable once we reach the Bund—not from memory, but from photos and posters. Thousands of white and gold lights glint off the waterfront like stars, the reflection of the ferry swimming over the river. We board one at a time, with Cyrus and me falling to the end of the line.

“Lukewarm warning: Be careful of your foot,” I read out in bemusement from the sign nailed to the pier. The questionable English translation is printed right under the Chinese characters.

“That sounds like what you’d say when you’re extremely reluctant to help someone,” Cyrus remarks just over my shoulder. I startle. I hadn’t realized he was standing so close behind me. “Like if your enemy was approaching a cliff.”

I can’t muster a reply at once; the gap between the swaying ferry and the edge of the pier is severely testing my ability to move around in high heels. I manage to put one foot over, wishing there was a railing I could cling to for support. But then I think of something even better. “A lukewarm warning,” I say, struggling a little more visibly than I really need to, “that if I don’t hold on to something right now, I’m going to slip and take you down with me.” And that’s the only excuse I offer before I grab tight on to Cyrus’s arm, using him to steady myself before I can tumble through the gap into the Huangpu River.