This year’s gaokao college entrance exam season is over, and China’s Class of 2024 is checking the mail for their acceptance letters. The biggest winners of this annual ritual are those admitted to one of China’s prestigious “985” universities: A set of 39 higher education institutions singled out for increased funding in 1998 by the “985 Project,” which aims to create world-class universities on the Chinese mainland.

But acceptance into a 985 university is no guarantee of an easy life, or even an easy job search. Earlier this year, my research team conducted in-depth interviews with 65 students from 985 universities; what we found was a widespread, shared anxiety about the value of their degrees in a rapidly changing social landscape.

Typically, students who get into 985 universities view themselves as winners of a meritocratic system characterized by a set of strict, clear rules. Study hard, score high enough on the gaokao, and you’ll gain entrance into the country’s elite. But this approach is no longer the only route into a top school. College admissions officers now factor extracurriculars, work experience, and even scientific research in their decisions, meaning high schoolers not only need high test scores, but proof that they are well-rounded applicants — a far higher bar to clear.

“I’m not the only one who feels like this — while you’re no longer shackled by taking tests and can explore your interests freely, you also start to notice all your shortcomings outside of tests,” explained one of our interviewees.

“About 80% of our lives are spent studying, all for scores, all for rankings,” explained another. “Now we also have to take part in lots of extracurricular activities and develop outstanding personal skills, which is difficult for us to do in our day-to-day lives.”

China’s current education system is characterized by a clear hierarchy, with elite schools like Tsinghua and Peking University at the top, followed by institutions like the 985 schools, then more general universities and technical colleges. Interestingly, the higher students start in this pyramid, the more they feel they have to lose. One student we interviewed brought up the common practice of trying to jump a level on the postgraduate exam, such as going from a general university to a 985 school: “When choosing their goal for the postgraduate entrance examination, 60% to 70% will try to take one step up the ladder.”

The higher one’s starting point, the more difficult it is to move up. Meanwhile, students who start at the institutions at the top of the pyramid feel pressure to stay ahead. “Many other Peking University students who are in a similar situation as me worry about ‘going down,’ which leads some to choose to study abroad,” explained one interviewee. “It’s kind of tragic. Many students who enter Tsinghua or Peking think they’ve reached the peak of China’s education system. Then they struggle to stay at the top amid ongoing fierce competition.”

Meanwhile, the model of professional advancement implied by the system’s meritocratic rules has begun to falter. While many students at 985 schools are talented learners, they may not be able to convert their educational experiences into workplace success. One interviewee explained it to me like this: “I want to live in that mythical era where if you worked hard, you could make something of yourself and earn money.” Another expressed it more directly: “In terms of changing living standards, any hopes you had of a bright future are dashed by the reality that salaries are moderate while house prices are high. You discover that life is really hard — so what even was the point of my getting into a 985 university? I can’t change this kind of situation by studying at a 985 school.”

These students have grown up with the idea that if they work hard, then a bright future is all but guaranteed. Among those who share this belief in meritocracy, 985 students are the most convinced, hard-working, and hopeful. When this rule gradually breaks down, however, they are also left the most confused, frustrated, and anxious.

The complex, diversified, and rapid process of modernization in East Asia has been dubbed “compressed modernity” by the Korean scholar Chang Kyung-Sup. It produces a society lacking in long-term thinking and leans more on using quantitative indicators to evaluate various development achievements, as well as to evaluate people or talents. Young people, as the backbone of society, are deeply affected by this approach and are dragged into comparisons over performance, quantification, competition, and efficiency, leading to a spike in anxiety that affects everyone, even those who seem to come out on top.

Translator: David Ball; editor: Wu Haiyun; portrait artist: Wang Zhenhao.

(Header image: Graduates prep for a photo shoot at the Dalian University of Technology, Liaoning province, June 2024. Zhang Jinhao/VCG)