As night begins to fall, the faces of the high-rise blocks on the banks of the Huangpo River begin to flicker like giant screens. In vivid hues, they paint the new life that people in the Special Economic Zone will one day lead.

The towering residences where this new life will unfold are spreading across the city at breathtaking speed. Elevated highways wind their way between the skyscrapers, flying above the older neighbourhoods below and plunging them into shadow. In every nook and cranny, in the streets and squares of the city, life marches unswervingly on. But gradually the sense is being lost of where the real Shanghai is, or was, or will be.

Was there ever a real Shanghai? At times, reality is even more unlikely than the stories that Shanghai’s writers tell, trying to capture the spirit of their city. The City of the Hundred-Metre People no longer distinguishes between reality and invention, between discord and melody, between ghosts and men.