By 6:30 PM, I'm in the car.
Liang Feng is driving, Qiao Jun in the passenger seat, both of them alert in that way they always are when we're going somewhere public.
The venue is across the city, some historic building that's been converted into an event space, and the drive feels simultaneously too long and too short.
I watch the city pass by outside the tinted windows, the sun starting to set, the sky turning colors that would be beautiful if I had the mental space to appreciate them.
The car slows as we approach the venue and I can see it now, all lit up against the darkening sky, people in formal wear moving through the entrance, the kind of elegant crowd that makes this feel very real very suddenly.
Cameras flash near the entrance.
Reporters.
Of course there are reporters.
This isn't just a charity gala, it's a social event where everyone who matters will be watching who arrives with whom, what they're wearing, who they talk to.
