Inside a Chinese tutor’s livestream

What Zhang Xuefeng’s advice on majors and careers reveals about society, industry, and the choices facing China’s youth

Good evening. Today’s piece is something I’ve had sitting on my computer for a while. This summer, I watched quite a few short clips from livestreams by Zhang Xuefeng, a Chinese internet personality. A northeast-born, Henan-educated, plain-spoken, non-elite tutor, Zhang offers shrewd advice on gaokao (China’s annual college entrance exam) and graduate school applications—guiding students on which universities, majors, and programs to choose. His blunt style has stirred plenty of controversy, often landing him on the trending lists of Chinese social media.

But you may ask: why should a tutor who helps students pick their college majors be worth paying attention to? In my view, what makes Zhang notable is not only his advice, but also the exchanges that unfold in his livestreams with students, teachers, and parents. These conversations reveal much about the realities of contemporary China—the concerns people carry, the direction of industry, and the pulse of society itself.

To be clear, presenting excerpts from his livestreams here does not mean I endorse all of his career suggestions—I’m not an expert in that field. Rather, I see his livestream room as a window into Chinese society. Below, I’ve shared a selection of dialogues along with some of my own reflections. If you find this valuable, feel free to leave a comment—I still have plenty of other interesting material that didn’t make it into today’s newsletter.

[Please note that the selected livestream clips are not necessarily from this year, but I believe some of the content is timeless]

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Why China's national college entrance exam (gaokao) is now seen as increasingly competitive

Excerpt from 2:55-6:07:

Zhang: Talking about college entrance and talent selection—China’s honestly the fairest place in the world, no contest.

You may say, Mr. Zhang, that rat race in China is mad, and that kids in middle and high school are under huge pressure. You’re right about that. But then tell me this—if we switch to some other way of selecting talent, can you guarantee it will be absolutely fair? And suppose there's really a way for absolutely fair selection, will you buy it?

Suppose we ditch the college entrance exams and try "all-round education". Whose kid does better in sports? Whose kid plays better piano? Whose kid speaks better on stage, has stronger leadership, better communication skills? If we use that to decide who gets into university and who counts as talent, sure, the kids might feel happier in school. But do you really think that’s an acceptable way to select talent?

Let me put it this way—do you know why kids today feel so stressed, so burned out? In reality, their enrollment rate is way higher than when we were students. The gross enrollment rate for high school and for universities is much higher than in our time, after all those years of enrollment expansion in China. But why we feel today’s kids are under even more pressure?

It’s actually because that the parents’ mindset is different nowadays. Back in our time, honestly speaking, our parents didn’t place such high expectations on us. Most of them lived in the rural areas or small towns, so their expectations weren’t that high. But today’s parents? Totally different. Think about it—you’ve worked so hard to buy a school-district apartment in Beijing, to settle down in a city like Suzhou, to build a life in Shenzhen. Parents nowadays are already outstanding themselves.

Now imagine this—you tell a pair today, that their kid can only go to a vocational school. Will they accept it? No, they won’t. And that’s the real reason kids feel so much pressure today: parents can’t accept the fact that maybe their child won’t make it to high school. Back in our day, parents could accept that. But now? What really makes education so heated is the parents’ mindset. It’s us—our generation of parents, especially people like me, born in the 80s. Starting from the late 90s, China expanded higher education enrollment. I went to college in 2003. Most of us back then made it from the countryside to the cities through education and hard work. And once we settled in the city, we wanted our kids to make their living there too. We don’t want to accept our kids going to a technical or vocational school. So at the root of it all, it’s our mindset as parents that drives this pressure. Enditem

Comment: China's college entrance examination, or gaokao, may not be the most popular selection system, but it is perhaps the one that best fits China’s current realities. At the same time, mechanisms such as the “strengthening the foundation” (qiangji) program in recent years have created more possibilities for students with exceptional talent in certain subjects, even if such initiatives remain a topic of debate.

My parents were born in the 1960s, part of China’s baby boom generation. As their children, those of us born around 1990 also belonged to a particularly competitive cohort. I still remember reading statistics back in middle school and realizing how intense the competition was for my generation — what people today would call the most “involuted” (rat race, or "juan"). Yet, nearly 20 years later, competition among Chinese students remains just as fierce. I believe that high-quality educational resources will continue to be in short supply for quite some time, especially in first-tier cities like Beijing and Shanghai, where competition for access will always be intense. On the other hand, I agree with Zhang Xuefeng’s point that parents’ mindsets differ significantly across generations.

For our generation, whether in the gaokao or the transition from middle school to high school, failing to get into a university and instead attending a technical or vocational school was not considered unacceptable. Besides, very few of our parents had university degrees. In my own case, neither of my parents ever attended a regular university, and in fact no one in my extended family had gone to college before me. Expectations at the time were therefore focused simply on achieving the goal of entering university.

Today’s parents, by contrast, increasingly have university educations themselves. The market for gaokao tutoring and college application counseling has expanded rapidly, while social media has opened up far more channels of information. As a result, the information gap around filling out applications and planning for the future has narrowed to some extent. At the same time, however, certain majors — such as civil engineering — have lost their appeal as China’s economic model shifts. Parents now worry not only about whether their children can get into university, but also about whether they choose the right major, since the wrong choice could limit their future development.

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Zhang Xuefeng speaks with a high school student in her fifth consecutive year of retaking the national college entrance exam

Excerpt from 12:16-15:31:

Zhang: Don’t ever believe that a degree can give you everything, it can't. There are plenty of bachelor’s, master’s, even PhD graduates out there who still can’t find a job, who end up achieving nothing. So don’t fool yourself into thinking that a degree solves everything.

Student: But I'm still not sure which subjects to choose for my college entrance exam. [Editor's note: In China's national college entrance exam (Gaokao), beside Chinese, Math and Foreign Language, students select three out of six from two streams of subjects: Arts (Humanities) or Science, with Arts representing History, Geography, and Politics, and Science representing Physics, Chemistry, and Biology. Different choices in Gaokao subjects have a huge say on the range of university majors that a student can apply for.]

Zhang: Don’t get stuck on this, kid. Remember—scores for Science subjects can go endlessly low, but at least with Arts they won’t. If I were you, honestly, I’d probably choose Arts subjects only. Let me give you an example. Take Geography—say in human geography, you get zero. Fine, then just focus on physical geography. If you memorize everything about physical geography, you can score at least 40 points.

Student: But if I choose pure arts, then later on I can only stick with the humanities majors. Won’t that make my career really limited?

Zhang: Let me put it straight, kid. You pick Science, but you can only score a little over 40 in physics. Do you really think it can give you a wide career path? When you get to university, will you even be able to understand what you’re studying?

Student: After repeating school for so many years, I honestly don’t even know whether my struggles with physics and chemistry were because I really couldn’t understand them, or because I just never studied hard. I’m already confused.

Zhang: What you really need to learn is how to review and reflect. Remember this: society works like this—it’s about discovering problems, analyzing problems, solving problems, and then verifying results. Most people can’t even do the first step. If you can get to the second step—analyzing the problem—you’ll already do pretty well in this world. If you can reach the third step—actually solving the problem—you’re already quite successful. And if you can make it to the fourth step—verifying results—you’re truly outstanding, the best of the best.

Zhang: Most people only get as far as step one: they just see a problem, but they don’t know how to analyze it. If you can analyze, you’ll do fine. If you can solve it, you’ll do very well. If you can verify results, then you’re at the top. So, my advice—focus on at least making it to step two, okay?

Zhang: And one last word to you, kid. If you still can't make it to undergraduate this year, choose a vocational school and move on. Everything I just told you, I said not only for you, but really to help save your parents. Enditem

Comment: When I was studying in the United States, I never really talked with my American classmates about their college application experiences. What I did know was that some of them would take a gap year after being admitted to college to gain life experience, but I rarely heard of anyone retaking entrance exams for several years just to get into a university. If you know more about this, feel free to share in the comments.

When I was in college in Shanghai (2008-2012), one of my three roommates had taken the gaokao three times before being admitted. The other two were local students from Shanghai (in China, students who apply to universities in their home province generally enjoy an advantage over out-of-province applicants). A close friend of mine from the dorm next door also had to retake the gaokao once before making it into my university. In China, there are even schools dedicated specifically to students who repeat a year or more, and in such places you really do see students who have been at it for more than one extra year.

In fact, Chinese academics have also debated the amount of time invested in schooling. For instance, economist Yao Yang suggested last year that the zhongkao (the high school entrance examination) should be abolished to reduce the excessive years of exam-focused competition. The question remains unresolved, but if someone were to raise such a proposal in the future, I would not be surprised.

Red Star News: You have repeatedly called for “abolishing the zhongkao and shortening the school system.” What is the starting point for this proposal?

Yao Yang: First, looking at the current state of education, students are wasting at least two years — the third year of high school is spent cramming for the gaokao, the third year of middle school is spent cramming for the zhongkao, and even the sixth grade of primary school often turns into test-prep. So ten years of compulsory education is entirely sufficient. Abolishing the zhongkao would help reduce parents’ incentive to push their children into endless competition.

[Editor's note: China’s current education system consists of six years of primary school, three years of junior middle school, and three years of senior high school. Under current regulations, China guarantees students six years of primary education and three years of junior middle school, known collectively as the nine-year compulsory education stage.]

Second, many major Chinese enterprises are actively promoting industrial automation. Today, the level of automation in domestic factories is already very high, and the workers operating these modern machines are themselves becoming more skilled. We can no longer define workers with outdated notions; modern workers need to have a certain degree of creativity and problem-solving ability. At a minimum, they should have received junior college or vocational college education in order to handle the demands of today’s production lines.

That is why I propose abolishing the zhongkao and implementing ten years of integrated compulsory education — the goal is to ensure that all children go on to high school, rather than being diverted too early into secondary vocational education. The selection of talent should be left to the gaokao; only at that stage should students decide whether to pursue technical training or continue on to university.

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Zhang Xuefeng tells students success in China’s system is not all about connections

Excerpt from 7:44-9:36:

Zhang: Honestly, when it comes to working inside the system (or tizhi, mainly referring to China's public sector, including branches such as government bodies, public institutions, and state-owned companies), it’s not at all like what many of you imagine. People say, "oh, you need connectionsgu, or guanxi." But let me tell you, if that’s the way you think, your vision isn’t that broad yet.

Once you’ve seen how things really work inside, you’ll realize—luck matters a lot. Timing and fate matter a lot. Things don’t play out the way you picture them. It’s extremely complicated, and you can’t explain it in just one or two sentences. Anything can happen, any decision can happen. Honestly, it feels like metaphysics sometimes.

I’ll give you an example. I had a friend—if he hadn’t transferred to another place back then, today he might already be deputy division chief (or fu chu, a rank in China's bureaucratic hierarchy, which applies to all branches of China's public sector. A deputy county head ranks at deputy division chief level). But just because that move, now his own apprentice has even risen higher than him, and he’s still stuck. That’s how unpredictable it is. It really is like fate, like metaphysics.

So don’t reduce everything to "it’s all about connections." Please don’t. Of course, connections can play a role, but that’s not the whole picture. There are different paths, different ways. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. It’s not as simple as "if you have it, you succeed; if you don’t, you fail." No—it’s about finding the correct path. But sometimes whether you can find this path depends really on luck.

However, behind what looks like luck or fate, what really matters is to put effort into it. Where you put your time, your energy, your focus—that’s what makes the difference in the long run. Enditem

Comment: I know that in many “China 101” materials for international visitors, there is often a special section devoted to explaining guanxi. Wikipedia, for example, has a line that contrasts Chinese and Western practices in this way: “Unlike in the West, guanxi relationships are almost never established purely through formal meetings but must also include spending time to get to know each other during tea sessions, dinner banquets, or other personal meetings. Essentially, guanxi requires a personal bond before any business relationship can develop. As a result, guanxi relationships are often more tightly bound than relationships in Western personal social networks.”

I don’t fully agree with this view. It’s true that connections in Chinese culture have their own distinct features, but to suggest that in the West you can get things done without connections—or that relationships don’t matter there—doesn’t seem accurate either. I remember during my MBA studies in the United States, we had dedicated networking sessions where you were expected to build ties with company representatives over banquets or cocktail events.

In fact, I think that in most countries and societies, the importance of connections is more or less the same. What differs are the forms these connections take and how they are cultivated [tea versus coffee, for instance]. If a Chinese student believes that working within the system is impossible without preexisting connections, that is absolutely a misconception. Every individual, as a member of society, is constantly building a personal network throughout their career. These networks inevitably shape the development of both their work and their lives—and this is by no means unique to China.

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A senior high school teacher sought advice from Zhang Xuefeng about his students’ future paths

Excerpt from 00:00-07:08:

[Editor's note: This section of the dialogue has been partially abridged for brevity]

Teacher: Our school is at a relatively low level. For example, when the full score of the zhongkao (senior high school entrance exam) in our town was 850. The top high schools set their cutoffs around 750, while our school admitted students with scores as low as 400.

Zhang: Let me ask you one question. Each year, how many of your students go on to an undergraduate program?

Teacher: We have a little over 300 students in the graduating class, and only about 10 make it into undergraduate programs. My first question is this: if some students barely meet the cutoff for the Second Enrollment Batch (二本/Erben), what should I tell them when they ask whether to pay the high tuition for Erben or to choose a public vocational/junior college instead?

[Editor's note: In China, universities used to admit students in different “enrollment batches” — Yiben (first batch), Erben (second batch), and Sanben (third batch) — with Yiben generally seen as the most prestigious, though the government is now reforming the system to phase out these divisions.]

Zhang: Which province are you in?

Teacher: Gansu. Also, what we now call Erben in some places includes what used to be the third enrollment batch (Sanben), and the tuition can be quite high—18,000 yuan (about 2,500 U.S. dollars) a year, even over 20,000. Many of our students are from poor rural families. That’s why I’m raising this: our students’ families have limited means and limited exposure, so when it comes to filling out applications after the gaokao, the only people they can really turn to are us teachers. So for those who just scrape past the Erben cutoff (二本线), should we encourage them to enroll in Erben, or advise them to step down a notch and choose a public vocational college with stronger programs?

Zhang: First, let’s give this teacher a big round of applause. I truly want to thank you on behalf of your students. If most high school teachers in China had your mindset and sense of responsibility, our education would only improve. What you’re doing is far greater than what I do—you’re working directly at the grassroots to help many students. In our respective fields, we’re both doing our part for the country.

Now, to your question: if a family’s finances are tight, I don’t think it’s necessary to pay such high fees just to enroll in Second Enrollment Batch (二本). That’s why I asked which province you’re in—baseline standards differ by region. Frankly, in the Northeast and Northwest, if a student only just meets the Erben line, their academic foundation often isn’t comparable to peers from some other provinces. For example, the Erben cutoff in Heilongjiang might be just over 300 points; in Gansu it may be under 400. If a student is scoring in the low-to-mid 300s, it’s unrealistic to expect that they’ll scrape into an undergraduate program and then go on to a master’s. It’s very hard.

Second, many vocational/junior colleges now lead to strong employment outcomes. In Suzhou, for instance, many manufacturing firms are in real need of highly skilled technicians. If someone picks up solid skills in certain science-and-engineering fields and works steadily for a few years, the pay is not low. People often say blue-collar wages and status in China lag behind those abroad. But consider this: in many countries, people treat so-called blue-collar work as a lifelong career. How many of us do that here? You often see young people quit factory or corporate jobs after a year because the work feels too hard.

I think this reflects a broader social restlessness—people are dazzled by talk of million-yuan salaries, and inflated consumption desires make everyone impatient, which really affects young people.

So, if a student can learn strong technical skills at a good vocational/junior college and then enter a quality firm, in many cases their employment prospects won’t be worse than those of undergraduates. If the family is well-off or the student is personally determined to continue studying, then a First Enrollment Batch (一本/Yiben) undergraduate path is an option. But if money is tight, I would recommend a solid vocational/junior college, learn a trade, and broaden one’s horizons.

In my view, if a student at a good vocational school is humble, grounded, and sticks with a field for three to five years—or five to ten years—they won’t be worse off than so-called undergraduates. That’s my personal take. Enditem

Comment: The reason Zhang Xuefeng publicly praised this teacher during the livestream is that he knows many middle and high schools in China evaluate teachers largely based on their students’ gaokao results. Yet enrolling in so-called “better” universities does not always mean choosing the path best suited to a student’s personal circumstances. This teacher, by putting students’ long-term interests first even at the expense of his own performance evaluation, showed a rare sense of dedication.

At the same time, Zhang’s remarks about some young Chinese quitting blue-collar jobs quickly—or being unwilling to take such jobs at all—do reflect reality. This is also why, in recent years, some media outlets have urged students to “take off Kong Yiji’s long gown,” meaning that even those with higher education should have the openness and awareness to consider blue-collar work, and to take a more practical approach in choosing careers. This reflects broader dynamics tied to China’s economic transition, challenges in the job market, and attitudes among students toward employment.