Shanghai Stories is a semi-regular column where we tell... stories. Sometimes these stories will impart knowledge, sometimes they are just entertaining to read, and sometimes they widen our perspective on a city with a unique history, charm and drive.

Prometheé Spathis is a professor of practice at NYU Shanghai. He reached out to share a story that begins in panic. It starts with a lost MacBook. In a city of 25 million, that's usually code for "kiss it goodbye." But Shanghai's machinery – its Metro staff, security cams, digital infrastructure and good old-fashioned human decency – actually worked.

What seemed like a hopeless case turned into a masterclass in coordination. Maybe losing something here isn't the end of the world.

It was one of those nights when you leave the office late. Like most nights, I took the Metro, and since Metro stations in Shanghai are pretty far apart, I rode the last leg of my trip home on a shared bike. I use a Hellobike – the blue ones from Alibaba that fill the streets of Shanghai. All I could think about was cooking, doing the dishes and going to bed. After the second task, I figured I might as well reply to a couple of emails.

My MacBook went missing

That's when I realized my MacBook was nowhere to be found. I searched everywhere at home, and it hit me: I had left my tote bag – with the laptop inside – in the basket of the bike I dropped off two hours earlier. And since I often switch iCloud accounts, I had disabled Find My. Needless to say, the work of my entire life was stored on that lost MacBook.

I rushed into the elevator and ran outside – only to find that there was no bike, no basket, no bag and no laptop. It was simply gone. Panicking, I started asking the security guards at my building and others stationed along the street. I even spoke to the staff at the nearby bus terminal, right next to where I had left the bike. No one had seen anything. The sidewalk was dim, shaded by trees that blocked out the streetlights. They suggested I call 110. So I did.

The digital hunt begins

My basic Chinese wasn't enough for a proper conversation, and the operator asked me to hold. A few seconds later, a colleague of hers came on the line and started asking questions – in perfect, fluent English. When he found out I was French, he even switched to French! I thought to myself, Where am I?

What I didn't know before calling my good Chinese friend to share my misfortune was that the Hellobike app actually lets you track the exact location of the bike you rented. You can even call their customer service – but by then, it was too late for that. According to the app, the bike had somehow returned to the Metro station where I first picked it up. So I grabbed another bike and pedaled back there, all while still on the phone with 110. Thanks to the app's "ring" feature, I was able to make the bike sound an alert – and there it was. I had no doubt it was the same one, confirmed by the matching ID number next to the QR code. But the basket? Empty.

Police work takes over

The 110 operator told me to wait at the gate of my community for the police, who arrived few minutes after my call. They spoke perfect English and asked me to grab a bike and stand at the exact spot where I had originally left the one with my laptop. They took a photo with their phone, then asked me to get into their patrol car so they could take me to the police station.

Once we arrived, another officer – again speaking fluent English – asked me to wait while they reviewed the surveillance footage. To prevent interfering with the person in charge of reviewing the video surveillance and protect the anonymity of those recorded, I wasn't allowed in the video room. Instead the officer kept going in and out, asking me questions to help pinpoint the time and location.

After a short while, he returned and told me they had found footage of a young woman crossing the street and taking the bike – with the bag still in the basket. Interestingly, the bike had sat there for hours, and no one else passing by had shown any interest in it. The officer suggested that the woman likely didn't notice the bag before taking the bike. I should probably mention – the bag is dark, and the street is shaded by trees, making it easy to overlook. They asked me to wait a little longer while they tried to determine where she had gone. Meanwhile, my good friend arrived at the police station to join me.

They confirmed that the woman had biked to the Metro station and entered it – with my bag in hand. I started to feel hopeful, thinking this well-handled investigation was heading toward a happy ending. But then the officers explained that, although they could identify and locate instantly the woman using the surveillance footage, they wouldn't be able to take further action.

The law drew a line

According to the law, this was considered a "lost and found" case, not theft. The woman hadn't stolen the bag – she had simply picked up something someone else had left behind. Because of that, they couldn't obtain a warrant or open a formal investigation. If I wanted to pursue it further, they said, I would need to hire a lawyer, file a legal claim and possibly have a judge authorize a warrant. That said, they assured me they were still willing to help however they could.

After completing all the paperwork, we called it a night. The officers promised to visit the Metro station the next day to try to retrieve more surveillance footage. My friend – whose name was now officially listed in the police report – half-joked about having her name in the police files. I biked home, but barely slept – if at all. I lay awake, mentally listing all the files I hadn't backed up and would now have to recreate from scratch. The list only grew longer as the hours passed.

Finding clues in the Metro

Morning came, and I tried to figure out what to do next. I called the police, who said they would update me if there were any new developments. But I couldn't just sit at home – I felt like a caged lion. I decided to go around the neighborhood and ask if anyone had seen a woman carrying a black bag. I visited all the businesses across the street, stopping by their front desks to ask if anyone had noticed such a person. No one had. Even the bao'ans (security guards) working the parking gates hadn't seen or heard anything.

Meanwhile, my good friend helped by calling Hellobike customer service. They said they had the phone number of the person who last used my bike – but due to their privacy policy, they couldn't share it. However, they offered to call the user on my behalf. They tried once, then twice, but no one picked up. They promised to try again later.

What should I do next? I decided to bike to the Metro station and began asking staff – those in pink shirts – whether a woman had turned in a lost bag the night before or that morning. One of the station attendants, working in the service booth, kindly made a few calls after I showed her a photo of the bag on my phone. But no one had reported finding a black bag.

Then the station manager approached and asked what I was looking for. I explained the situation: A woman had entered the station last night carrying the bag I had accidentally left in a shared bike basket. He asked me to wait while he consulted the station's police officer – every Metro station in Shanghai has one assigned. A few minutes later, the manager returned with good news: The officer had agreed to let me review the surveillance footage.

A face in the footage

They brought me into an office located in a restricted area, set up a chair in front of a computer, and began playing the video from the previous night. I gave them the exact time – but at first, no woman with my bag appeared in the footage. I began to doubt myself. Maybe she didn't actually enter the station? Then I realized I might have given the wrong time: it was 9:36pm, not am.

They adjusted the footage, and at exactly 9:36pm, there she was – a woman with long hair and a flowing dress, walking into the station with my bag tucked under her arm. Victory! I thought. I found you. That was camera 1.

Then the video operator switched to the next camera. The Metro station in question has four levels. The street level with the main entrance, the next level housing a gallery of shops, which being private property isn't covered by the Metro's surveillance system. We skipped to the lower level, where the security checks occur before the last level where the platforms are.

Surprisingly, it took her more than 10 minutes to reach that level. When she finally appeared, she passed through security – but without placing my bag on the x-ray scanner. What had she been doing for all that time? One thing was clear: By then, she must have known there was a laptop inside.

Just as I was mentally celebrating – I now had a face to match with the person who had my MacBook – the policeman told me I wasn't allowed to take the footage or even a photo of the woman. However, he promised to share the video with the police station where I had originally filed my report.

Lost in transit

As I was leaving the station, Hellobike called me back. A woman entering the Metro station offered to help as a translator. She explained that Hellobike had tried again to reach who by now I knew was the woman in the long dress – but still hadn't been able to get her to answer. I couldn't really blame her. These days, most of us don't pick up calls from unknown numbers, especially with robocalls flooding our phones daily.

Feeling frustrated, I called my friend who had been helping me to share the latest developments. She offered to call the police. They told her that officers had gone to the Metro station in the morning – but couldn't access the surveillance footage themselves without a warrant. They suggested that if I could somehow figure out where the woman went after entering the station, I might be able to find out where she lives. But how? Shanghai has over 500 Metro stations.

Although I was making progress and uncovering key leads, I was still far from actually recovering my laptop. What should I do next? I wondered. I considered going around to the shops inside the Metro station to ask the staff if they had seen the woman. But would the people working in the morning be the same ones who were there the night before? Still, I was ready to try anything – as long as I could keep my hopes up.

That was exactly what was running through my mind when the police suddenly called. They asked me where I was. I said I was not far from home. "Go home immediately," they told me. "The woman is at your gate – with your bag."

What did I just hear? At my gate?

The return of the Mac

For what felt like the hundredth time, I jumped on a bike and rushed back home. But when I arrived – no woman in sight.

The security guard of my residential compound spotted me and waved me over. He made a phone call and began asking me to describe my bag. I used Google Translate to give him as many details as I could. After listening carefully, he hung up and told me to wait, pointing toward the office building just across from my apartment.

A few minutes later, a group of five young women appeared. One of them was holding my bag.

I quickly unzipped it, took out my laptop and unlocked it with my fingerprint. It worked. My eyes welled up with tears, and the five women softened, visibly moved. I wanted to hug them – but instead, I asked for her Alipay to send a reward. She politely declined.

I then offered to treat them to lunch or coffee, but they smiled and said they had already eaten and needed to get back to work. Before they left, I asked for her WeChat. She gave it to me.

She later wrote to me to share her side of the story. The night before, she had left her office late, focused only on catching the last Metro. In a hurry, she grabbed a shared bike without noticing the bag in the basket – at least not until she was past the tree-covered sidewalk.

That's when she saw it. She realized it held a laptop and felt she couldn't just leave it there, exposed on the street. So she took it home with her. She didn't sleep that night, unsure of what to do. I thought to myself why not just bring it to a police station?

The next morning, she brought the bag to her office. After discussing it with her colleagues, they decided the best thing to do was to ask the security guards at the residential compound where she had picked up the bike. If the bag had been left in front of that community, chances were it belonged to someone who lived there.

Thankfully, my bao'an already knew about the lost bag and immediately made the connection. They contacted the police, who realized it was mine – and called me.

A new friendship

Over the following week, I continued messaging her, gently urging her to accept a small gift as a token of my appreciation for her honesty. Eventually, she agreed.

We met again in front of her office. Just like the first time, she was accompanied by a few of her colleagues. They took photos of us, and later, together they unwrapped the gifts I had brought. As I had anticipated, she insisted on giving me a gift in return. I promised that one day, I would join her for lunch at her company's restaurant – to enjoy the view of Lujiazui together.

The power of human connection

This experience taught me several important lessons about technology, community and the unexpected kindness found in a bustling city like Shanghai.

While technology like the Hellobike app and video surveillance played a crucial role in tracking down my lost laptop, it also revealed the boundaries set by privacy regulations and legal procedures. These safeguards exist to protect our rights, even if they sometimes slow the path to resolution, reminding me that technology is not the pinnacle, but just one part of a larger system balancing innovation and protection.

More than anything, the honesty and integrity shown by the woman who found my laptop confirmed that human kindness is of the essence. Her decision to return the bag, despite the challenges and uncertainties she faced, was a powerful reminder that empathy and responsibility still thrive in our fast-paced world.

The journey also highlighted how persistence and support matter. From supportive police officers who spoke my language, to friends and security guards who helped navigate the complexities of the situation, this network of people proved invaluable.

Finally, this ordeal underscored the importance of preparation – regular backups and keeping security features active can save us from the worst consequences of losing our digital lifelines.

In the end, what began as a frustrating loss became a meaningful glimpse into life in China: a city of vibrant technology, elaborate bureaucracy, and, most importantly, human connection.