More Than China Watcher: Grace Shao, AI Proem

Welcome to More Than China Watcher, an Elephant Room series that interviews those who are—as the title suggests—more than China Watchers.

When I started Elephant Room in 2017, the online world of “China Watchers” was pretty barren. There were a handful of established voices—Bill Bishop, Kaiser Kuo, and the SupChina team (shout out to you guys!), along with a few seasoned China reporters active on Twitter—and that was about it. This was when “China’s rise and threat” was becoming a Western media obsession, so most observers viewed China through an outsider’s lens. At the same time, the seasoned watchers brought years of experience.

Fast forward to 2025, and the China-watching landscape—if we even still call it that—has evolved. On the platform side, Twitter is now X, Substack is the new hub, and everyone has a podcast. On the people side, many veteran watchers have stepped back (or fled out) due to circumstances beyond their control, while a new wave has arrived—not just to watch, but to engage. In the English-language media world, although institutional media remains a primary source of China news, a growing number of journalists, scholars, commentators, and industry experts are carving out independent paths, telling China-related stories through their own critical lenses. The result? What we call “China Watchers” has blossomed into a vibrant mix of diverse perspectives and nuanced voices.

Having spent eight years in this space (=writing Elephant Room on and off) and witnessed its churn of faces, I am constantly fascinated by the voices that endure and intrigued by the new ones emerging. Whenever I come across a new Substack publication or podcast about China, I can’t help but wonder: Why China? Beyond just a “scene” to watch, what does China personally mean to these content creators, and why?

With many curiosities in mind, I launched this interview series with my first guest, Grace Shao.

Three sentences to introduce Grace (the very subjective version):

1. Writes AI Proem. Formerly Alibaba, CNBC. A decade deep in the tech world.

2. Beijing-born, now based in Hong Kong. Raised in Canada, the U.S., and China.

3. A former middle school classmate of mine during our equally brief stint in the Chinese public school system. A sharp-witted woman with fierce intellectual energy and a loud laugh.

As with every previous conversation I’ve had with Grace, our chat was carried by a familiar, almost magical rhythm—a seemingly chaotic mix of Mandarin and English that, paradoxically, never hindered the flow of our dialogue. For the most part, I asked questions mainly in Mandarin, while she replied primarily in English. Yet, I would occasionally sprinkle in some English, and she would sometimes throw in Mandarin phrases. The switching between two languages felt unforced and organic for both of us, even though, if pressed to name our more dominant languages, hers is undoubtedly English, and mine is Mandarin.

Stuck Between Two Worlds (“里外不是人”)

Biyi: When we met at a public middle school in Beijing, I didn’t see you as any different from “us”—you seemed just as “Chinese” as anyone else. It was only later that I learned you had spent most of your childhood in Canada.

Grace: Yes, I was born in Beijing, but my family moved to Vancouver when I was two. Both of my parents were assigned overseas in the 90s to help this Chinese bank set up a North American branch. They had the option to relocate to either New York or Vancouver—they chose Vancouver, thinking it would be a better environment to raise me.

I lived there until I was 11. Then, from ages 11 to 14, I returned to Beijing and attended local public schools. Reassimilating into the Chinese public school took a lot of effort. I actually couldn’t understand what the kids were saying most of the time, and got into fights on the school bus almost weekly. But ABCs returning to China wasn’t mainstream back then, so I found myself really integrating into the public school system after just a year. I even took the Zhongkao in Beijing.

At 15, I went back to Canada for high school and college. Since my English was strong, reintegrating was easy. Plus, when you’re that young, there’s this strong urge to fit in—it almost feels easier to downplay my Chinese roots, much like many 2nd-gen immigrant kids. Back then, I kept telling everyone, “I’m Canadian. I’m totally Canadian.”

Grace and her younger brother.

Biyi: When did that view of yourself start to shift?

Grace: It changed during college, when I went on a semester exchange to Tsinghua University in Beijing. This was in 2012, and the energy and transformation across Chinese society genuinely stunned me. Actually, at the beginning, I was supposed to go to Berlin for my exchange, since I was learning German in school. But last minute, I decided to see what the hype was about in China. Within the exchange cohort, I was surrounded by students from places like the Netherlands, Australia, and the UK. They were all enthusiastically learning Chinese and fascinated with local culture. Seeing their mindset woke me up to a sobering reality: here I was, ethnically Chinese, yet my Mandarin couldn’t keep up with theirs, and my understanding of my own heritage felt shallow. That realization hit me hard.

After graduating from university, I felt a strong urge to return to Asia. So I went back to Tsinghua for graduate school. Upon finishing my master’s degree, I joined CGTN (the English-language news channel of state-run China Global Television Network) as an English-language reporter. That job really pushed me to improve my Chinese—and fast. I had to quickly get grounded in the local reality because most of my colleagues were Chinese. It got to the point where, after interviews, my notes were often written entirely in pinyin. I literally couldn’t write the characters, and sometimes I didn’t fully understand what I’d heard. I’d end up holding a page filled with pinyin, asking my mom: “What does this mean? And this one?”

But those years forced me to step up, and my Chinese gradually improved a lot—because I had no other choice. And it was such a blessing.

Biyi: Was it mainly the language barrier that you found challenging at first?

Actually, what was more complicated to navigate than language was the awkwardness surrounding my identity. At the time, there weren’t many overseas returnees at my workplace, and I felt CGTN wasn’t entirely sure how to define me. I wasn’t quite able to fully comprehend CGTN either. For me, all I knew was that the work experience would be a stepping stone for my future career path in broadcast at places like Bloomberg or CNN, as I’ve seen many go off to such places– at least, that was what I was being told – but I didn’t understand the complexity and subtlety of a place like CGTN.

I remember it clearly: because of my Canadian citizenship, I could only be hired as a “foreign expert.” (外国专家) Sometimes during internal meetings, they would say, “This meeting is only for Chinese employees; you don’t need to attend.” But other times they saw me as Chinese; they’d say, “Oh, that meeting is for foreigners—you don’t need to go.” It was funny, but also pretty bittersweet. I felt stuck between two worlds, not fully belonging to either.

After about five years in traditional media/ broadcast and writing. I decided to move on from traditional journalism. But beyond practical career considerations, a big part of my decision to leave was the lingering discomfort with my identity, and covering China for traditional media, whether in China or the West, was tough because news organizations were becoming more politicized on both sides. I was never a political person, and I am both very Canadian and respectful of my Chinese heritage. I covered business and tech, which was always my interest, but I didn’t like the direction media was moving in. On top of that, even though I have family in Beijing and I speak Chinese with a Beijing accent, I felt that Beijing wasn’t as accepting of someone with a cultural makeup like mine as Hong Kong was. In Hong Kong, so many people are blends of multiple cultures—no one really drills on your “core identity.” But in Beijing, it often felt like you had to be either Chinese or foreign. And I was, fortunately, both, but unfortunately, neither.

Un-Romantizing Journalism

Biyi: We’ve known each other since we were 14 or 15, but never had the opportunity to be extremely close. My limited understanding of you has come chiefly from our mutual friend or your social media posts. To be completely candid, from these outside channels, you’ve always come across as somewhat contradictory in my mind. On one hand, you have this “finance person” aura; you seem calm, highly rational, goal-oriented, and always highly attuned to economic policies and market shifts. On the other hand, because you’re a journalist, I also assume there must be a layer of soft idealism within you.

So allow me to trace the source of these contradictions. You studied Business for undergrad, but settled as a journalist for most of your career in your 20s. Was journalism a career goal of yours since you were little?

Grace: I think if I’m being frank with myself, I was never that noble, but I’ve always been very idealistic. I believe in the good in people, I genuinely do. And I do believe that there needs to be people holding the bad actors accountable. However, I didn’t pursue journalism for the sake of having the powerful accountable or revealing injustices, as some of my classmates in J-school were. (Grace holds a Master’s degree from Columbia University’s Graduate School of Journalism)

When I was young, I simply wanted to go to Bloomberg and report business stories and interview interesting and important people. The reason—which I think a lot nowadays—has essentially to do with gender representation and power. Growing up in Canada, practically the only Asian women you’d see on TV who were seen as smart and beautiful were the anchors on Bloomberg. It’s funny and sad when you think about it; there were no TV shows where Asian women were portrayed as pretty, intelligent intellectuals. If an Asian woman was on TV, she was either a nerd, a villain, or a sexual lure.

Growing up, my dad was super strict with me. He constantly drilled into me: “You need to have substance. You can be pretty, but that’s never something you should rely on.” The biggest fear of my adolescence was becoming a “vase.”(花瓶) But as you get older—especially in broadcasting—you realize it actually is an advantage, right? If you’re naturally presentable, you’re eloquent, and more importantly, you know your stuff, you obviously get more opportunities to be on air.

Grace and her father.

When I discovered broadcast journalism in my teens, it felt like permission to be smart and to embrace my appearance finally. I like dolling up and dressing nicely, and I like to read about business and geopolitics. I studied finance—that’s my foundation—but I also leaned into my natural ability as a strong communicator. I’d actually been doing TV stuff since I was a kid, both in Beijing and later in Canada for local stations. I was always assertive and comfortable in the spotlight. I knew what I was good at and what I wasn’t. After college, I worked at a hedge fund for six months, but I just thought, “Stop.” I’d dress up every day for the office, but what I really wanted was to go out and meet people. Something was missing; my extroverted side was starving. I kept thinking: how do I combine my analytical skills with my…frankly, my need for attention, whatever you want to call it?

Then it hit me: journalism is a career where I can do both. I’m more of a liberal-arts thinker who can handle business and reporting, but I’m also more extroverted compared to most finance nerds. This felt like the way to combine my strengths and own my weaknesses. I knew I wouldn’t be the prettiest to become an actress, nor the smartest to thrive as a trader. But how could I bring these two parallel sides together?

That was my thinking. It made sense to me, but it took my father a long time to accept it. Luckily, to him, journalism was at least somewhat respectable. As I said, he’s very traditional, so if I’d gone into pure entertainment, he would’ve been furious. My dad was a traditional Chinese guy who spent his entire career in finance and always had Bloomberg on in the background. That’s why I grew up seeing these women: attractive, put-together, commanding the room, interviewing important people. To me, that felt admirable and achievable. They were my only role models—you didn’t see that kind of representation otherwise. And later, when I was in China, I saw the same thing: poised financial journalists who were beautiful, elegant, and sharp. That really cemented the direction I wanted to take.

Biyi: I love how you took on journalism from a very pragmatic perspective. So you moved to CNBC in 2019 to continue working as a journalist, but left just a year later. After that, you transitioned into strategic advisory for tech and PE —stepping away from journalism entirely. What made you decide to leave journalism behind?

Grace: Yeah, to me, I always just wanted to tell the story and bridge the cultural gaps. When I was at my last official journalist job at CNBC, there were many social changes happening in the US and across Asia. It was a peculiar time, and the newsrooms even became politicized and polarized. It was tough for me to decide to leave traditional journalism altogether, it was my identity since college. But ultimately, I decided it was for the best, and it wasn’t my fight.

Grace reporting at CNBC.

Now that said, it actually took me years to stop calling myself a journalist. I think I dreamed of being a journalist for so long and was in the industry for quite a while that it became my primary identity. Years of working with and at big tech made me realize I actually knew so little about how businesses were run from the outside.

So now, having covered business and technology as a journalist and worked at these companies, I bring more nuance to my coverage. It was some time after I started AI Proem that my mindset shifted. Today, what I write is more analytical and less journalistic. I no longer hide the “I think” and state others’ commentaries; instead, I lay it bare on the table, sharing my personal opinions and critical analysis of big tech companies and startups, grounded in deep research, while providing readers with a fully transparent understanding of my identity and worldview.

I’ve come to strongly believe—especially after leaving mainstream media—there’s no such thing as true objectivity. We all see the world through the lens of our upbringing, the literature we consume, and the people we surround ourselves with. Our environment and experiences shape us, and what’s often labeled “objectivity” is really hard. Facts can be true, but how we interpret them is actually tinted by our beliefs.

When I first started on Substack, I made a conscious effort to disclose my personal background because it helps readers understand why I see things the way I do. Otherwise, we’d just be fooling ourselves by pretending that objective truth exists.

Today, I write AI Proem as a business analyst, not a journalist. I write simply as Grace myself. It is exhilaratingly liberating.

The In-Between Person

Biyi: When we met last year, we were both exploring the idea of starting our own Substack—me with Elephant Room, and you with AI Proem. But I could also tell you were coming out of a really difficult period: navigating COVID, leaving your corporate role at Alibaba, welcoming your first daughter at the end of 2022, and at the same time grieving the sudden loss of your father.

This year, even though we haven’t been able to meet in person, I’ve watched your publication grow quickly as you’ve devoted more energy to it. From the outside, it looks like everything is falling into place. Do you feel the same way? What led you to launch your Substack in the first place?

Grace: As you mentioned, from 2022 through 2023, with all the shifts in my family and career, I was in a pretty low place. And it was because of all those changes in my personal life that made me realize time is so limited and life is just simply too short. I really wanted to devote my energy to something that gave me purpose, and to me, it has always been storytelling. By the second half of 2024, I started feeling more like myself again and began writing on Substack.

Back when I was a journalist, I mainly covered tech and business. Later, I consulted for several Chinese internet and tech companies, so for me, continuing to follow China’s tech and AI industry felt like the most natural, personally meaningful, and intellectually fulfilling path to take.

My perspective isn’t actually technical—it’s deeply intertwined with China’s unique yet complex business environment. Many people who have a deep understanding of technology often struggle to convey their thoughts in writing. They sometimes aren’t strong communicators. Meanwhile, many who are good at communicating may not be analytical enough or business-minded. I think I can help bridge that gap and thus write about the business and strategies of Chinese AI and tech.

That’s also why many of the people who reach out to me are actually investors based outside of China. They don’t fully grasp what’s happening here now, but they’re more analytical than the average person. They need someone to digest and interpret China’s business environment.

Biyi: One of the core themes of AI Proem is, as the publication’s title suggests, AI. Based on your observations over the past year, what do you think is the biggest misconception your readers have about China’s AI progress? Or perhaps not just limited to AI?

Grace: Many people still believe China’s AI sector is merely copying others, and there’s still a reluctance to acknowledge that China has developed undeniable homegrown strengths in AI and other tech fields.

I’m fortunate that most of my readers at AI Proem are highly knowledgeable industry professionals or investors—they can cut through the noise and understand my writing in a very factual, clear-headed way. But whenever I do media interviews, I still end up facing those same tired questions: “Do you think DeepSeek’s innovations are just copying?” or “Are these advances simply the result of government control and industrial subsidies?” I am like, look, these Chinese modern-day entrepreneurs born in the 80s didn’t grow up with hunger or extreme poverty. In fact, they grew up in relative abundance, like many average Americans, which meant they were allowed to dream and envision more. These entrepreneurs are genuine tech innovators driven by passion.

There’s another major misconception: many people genuinely don’t understand what an SOE (State-owned-enterprises) is—and to be fair, it is a complex system. For instance, if the Chinese Academy of Sciences funds a company to conduct research, and another firm invests in that company as an LP, the relationships can appear blurred.

In the U.S., the boundaries are usually clearer. I once spoke with an investor who described China’s tech ecosystem like this: “They’re all essentially working in a closed loop with the government. Their investments aim to develop technologies that optimize government mandates.” From their perspective, everything is tied to state direction.

But in China, the reality is often more intertwined. The lines between truly private enterprises, public entities, and public-private initiatives are not as distinct as they are in the West. That’s what much of the outside world fails to grasp.

This is where I believe my contributions are meaningful — helping clear up the many misconceptions about China and helping outsiders understand the deeper complexities they face.

When I was young, I was constantly told that I didn’t belong anywhere: in Beijing, I was seen as a foreigner; in North America, I was viewed as Chinese. I was nothing entirely, yet I was also everything. Or perhaps, I’ve always been someone permanently “in between.” I am such an in-between person—everything I do exists in that space.

But what once felt like a source of confusion in my early twenties has finally become my strength.

(Two days after our conversation, Grace gave birth to her second child in Hong Kong. After what seemed to me like barely a break at all, she threw herself back into her work with AI Proem.)