China's higher education disillusionment: practicality over idealism

How college application consultancies became a multibillion-yuan industry through information gaps

The 2024 Chinese National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao) concluded in June, marking a historic high with 13.42 million registrants, an increase of 510,000 from the previous year's 12.91 million.

As the exams approached, Zhang Xuefeng, an internet influencer and founder of a college application consultancy, trended on Weibo again. His livestreams were packed with anxious students and parents seeking advice on choosing majors and colleges.

Zhang is known for his blunt and sometimes controversial advice: "Speak what conditions allow, and don't dream beyond your means.咱有什么条件说什么话，咱没那个条件别做那个梦。" This attitude has made him a regular presence on Chinese social media.

In one instance, he controversially advised a parent whose child was interested in studying journalism, saying bluntly, "Scoring 590 in science? If she wants to go into journalism, you should knock her out."

Zhang Xuefeng advised a parent against choosing a journalism major in his live stream, one of the most controversial pieces of advice he has given.

While some criticize Zhang for being overly pragmatic about the purpose of higher education and overlooking students' true passions and talents, many from ordinary families regard his advice as the ultimate truth to secure a promising career and life. In his livestreams, Zhang mostly recommends majors with better job prospects, urging students and parents to abandon illusions and embrace reality.

Despite facing criticism, Zhang's services remain in high demand. Coming from a small rural town, Zhang graduated from Zhengzhou University with a degree in drainage and water supply. Seeing his classmates preparing for postgraduate studies, he started helping them gather information, eventually joining a colleague in the exam preparation industry.

Zhang's company offers various consultation services, from live streaming courses for 599 yuan to one-on-one consultations for 17,999 yuan. In one livestream, nearly 20,000 one-on-one consultation slots sold out in three hours, bringing in 200 million yuan in revenue. Despite the controversies, many students and parents thank Zhang for his advice, acknowledging that without it, they might have lacked crucial information, chosen the wrong major, and suffered after graduation.

The dilemma: ideals and practicality

In today's newsletter, I want to first share an article from 南方人物周刊 (Southern People Weekly) that covers stories on how the Chinese are choosing between the dilemma of ideals and practicality, and how the giant information gap that gave birth to the "college application consultancy" industry is impacting the destiny of millions of Chinese families. The stories, written by journalist Yang Chen for Southern People Weekly in 2023, still resonate today. Below is the original article translated into English (with some paragraphs abbreviated).

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Zhang Xuefeng's services are becoming more expensive, and the information gap in college applications might be widening.

Given the increasing pressure on the overall economy, the idea that "choices are more important than effort" is becoming more and more emphasized.

The impact of college application choices on an individual's destiny is hard to measure. A good education does not necessarily mean a bright future. However, in these uncertain times, societal pressure is being transmitted earlier and amplified continuously. Young people are prematurely worn down by society, the cost of trial and error is increasing, employment concepts are becoming conservative, and the preference for stability continues to rise. As a result, in the evaluation system of "good majors," the so-called "idealism" is waning while "pragmatism" is being amplified.

On the last day of June 2023, we interviewed two individuals who participated in the college application process to share their insights and confusion about it. They discussed how they view the conflict and balance between "idealism" and "pragmatism," as well as the ensuing controversies and chain reactions. Below are their accounts:

Story 1: Student from a top liberal arts program at a 985 university: Many classmates spent thousands of yuan on agencies to help with their college applications, only to regret it a year later.

(*985 Universities refer to those selected in Project 985, a higher education development and sponsorship scheme by the Chinese central government aimed at creating world-class higher education institutions. Project 985 and the Project 211 select the top universities in China. )

The business of college application guidance has been booming for several years.

In 2021, Liaoning Province, where I am from, fully implemented the "new college entrance examination." Previously, candidates could apply to 16 universities, each with six major choices and the option to accept a different major. After the reform, candidates could set up to 112 "major + university" combinations. While this number seems large, the reality is different. Many universities from other provinces, especially renowned southern institutions, often have only two or three spots for a single liberal arts major in Liaoning. Applying to many schools is the only way to increase the chances of acceptance.

I took the college entrance examination in 2022, the second cohort under the new system. We didn't have much data or mature cases to refer to. Perhaps considering this, the top high school I attended in the province subscribed to the "Admissions and Examination Newsletter" for every senior student. This bimonthly magazine, published by the local admissions office, contained comprehensive information, including past liberal arts admissions plans from 985 and 211 universities in Liaoning.

Mock exams in the senior year would publish individual rankings within the province. I would compare this with the magazine's information to gauge which schools and majors I could apply to. This not only helped me understand my capabilities but also set appropriate targets.

After the June college entrance exam, the school distributed a special, thick issue of the college entrance examination magazine. Despite these resources, many classmates still purchased college application consulting services. In our senior year, many parents actively sought application information. The more they learned, the more anxious they became, as numerous agencies and experts online emphasized the difficulty of applications, sharing cases of irreversible mistakes. Parents often pay for peace of mind.

Most of my classmates came from urban areas with good family conditions. About a third of the classmates I knew well bought such services. Typically, agency staff would inquire about the student's geographical preferences, whether they prioritized the university or the major, and any special requirements for the major. The service fees generally ranged from 4,000 to 8,000 yuan, depending on the service duration and detail. One of my classmates purchased an 8,000 yuan service package, with the agency starting to assist two months before the exam.

Parents and students had different attitudes toward the agency's plans. One of my science classmates, whose exam score could get him into Xiamen University or Sun Yat-sen University, did not fully accept the agency's plan. He conducted his own research and made minor adjustments before submitting it. I agree with this approach because the agencies' qualifications vary, and the threshold for becoming a "college application planner" is not high. Some classmates, after paying for the service, abandoned independent thinking, which is irresponsible to them.

My family did not spend this money, mainly because we felt it was unnecessary. After the college entrance exam, I attended some agency lectures and followed some experts' advice online. There are many resources available online, and the school-issued magazine was also very helpful. It included a particularly useful section that ranked the previous year's admissions for each university and major in Liaoning. With the exam results released on June 23, I finalized my choices using the magazine's ranking list within a few days and formally submitted my application on June 30. I followed a "60% pragmatism, 40% idealism" principle when choosing majors, ensuring decent employment prospects while maintaining some personal interest.

After a year in university, I found some of the agencies' and experts' advice very agreeable, especially their emphasis on employment. At my 985 university, the counselors conduct one-on-one interviews with students to understand their plans after four years, whether they aim for direct employment or further studies. The college also regularly holds employment-related seminars, prompting students to think about enhancing their employability early on.

Having spent a year in university, I also realized that some of the agencies' advice was absolute. No matter how extensive an expert's database is, there are cognitive limits. Often, you can only grasp the true situation by being in that specific environment.

Story 2: A teacher from a university in Beijing: Since you're destined to endure hardship anyway, why not choose something with a high return on investment?

I took the college entrance exam in 2010, when there were no professional agencies for application guidance. My choice was partly driven by passion, and I was accepted into a 211 university in Beijing with a top-ranked niche major. After my bachelor's, I pursued a master's abroad, then returned to China for work before continuing with a Ph.D. Through this journey, I deeply understood that my passion-driven choice belonged to what Zhang Xuefeng defines as "trap majors."

These "traps" manifest in various employment difficulties. When I returned to China in 2016, I faced reality. Niche social science majors have low technical barriers. Some classmates from the top 20 global universities ended up with jobs that high school graduates could do. After completing my Ph.D., I again faced job-hunting challenges. Only a few classmates, who caught lucky breaks, entered institutional research or academia. Most continued with postdoctoral research, and job searching was tough. Many who worked for a few years switched careers to banking or civil service, seeking stability.

This starkly contrasts with the situation when we graduated with our bachelor's degrees. Back then, most graduates from Beijing's 985 and 211 universities pursued further studies or went abroad. Even those who directly entered the job market rarely considered civil service roles, as the corporate environment seemed more promising, and civil service jobs, though stable, offered limited income. Now, many Ph.D. graduates target civil service positions. Knowing this, they might have aimed for civil service roles right after their bachelor's, avoiding years of struggle.

However, the difficulty of passing the exams for civil service positions is increasing. Ironically, government agencies and the departments most relevant to our major do not recruit students from our field; instead, they hire students with degrees in law, finance, accounting, and Chinese language and literature.

In 2022, I assisted with interviews at a state-owned enterprise. You would notice that the candidates interviewing for computer-related positions came from schools I had never heard of, and yet the leaders, upon reviewing their resumes, would jokingly commend the candidates' qualifications, saying, "In previous years, we had bachelor's degree holders, but this year, they are all master's degree holders." However, when it came to interviews for niche specialties, all the candidates were Ph.Ds. from prestigious institutions like the Chinese Academy of Sciences, Tsinghua, and Peking University, significantly elevating the level of schools and degrees. This is the reality of the current job market.

Given this reality, if I could go back to my application days, I would adopt a more pragmatic approach. So, when my relative's child faced this choice, I hoped to offer advice to avoid unnecessary detours. Any major is tough to master, so why not choose one with better returns?

In 2022, a distant relative's child in Hebei took the college entrance exam. For rural children, education can change their fate, so I was particularly concerned about their application. Despite the plethora of seemingly legitimate online application information websites, many require payment after a few steps. The fees range from a few hundred yuan to unlimited VIP services. Rural families often can't afford this. I remembered the "thick book" from my application days, which was very useful with comprehensive school and major score information. Since I couldn't visit their home, the child's mother selected several schools from the book, and we decided together remotely.

Some Ph.D. classmates also faced helping rural relatives with applications, encountering the same paywalls for information.

Whether in urban or rural areas, across all score ranges, application anxiety is prevalent. The most time-consuming part is gathering information. Why can't online information be more open and transparent? Families willing to pay for professional services should certainly have that option, but we shouldn't block the information channels for those who want to apply on their own. Otherwise, isn't it forcing people to spend money?

Experts like Zhang Xuefeng, sharing practical information online, have indeed provided valuable guidance to many students and families, especially those with limited financial means. However, the other side of the coin is that such fragmented free information often requires more detailed paid services. With Zhang's popularity, industry service fees are also rising.

These experiences raise questions: As service fees rise and information transparency remains inadequate, will information gaps widen? Will societal sentiments escalate, making parents feel uneasy without spending on application services? With parents dominating the process, ignoring children's interests, and chasing "hot" jobs, could we be pushing them towards unsuitable careers?

Over these days, I've developed many questions: Once fees skyrocket without clear improvements in information openness and transparency, might the information gap actually widen further? Might this popularity amplify the anxiety in society, leading many parents to feel uneasy if they don't spend money on college applications? Moreover, children often have low involvement in the application process, with parents predominantly steering. Given that the popularity of majors can shift drastically over decades, if parents blindly follow agencies' advice, might this cause children to become passive or neglect their own interests, leading them to pursue careers that are ultimately unsuitable for them?

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My reflections: problems beyond "involution"

The surge of Zhang Xuefeng and other college application consultancy services highlights the real dilemma faced by many Chinese families—whether to pursue ideals or to be more practical.

Since the reinstatement of the Gaokao in 1977, it has been the best opportunity for most Chinese students to change their destiny. However, as the number of Gaokao participants has grown, the competition has become fiercer, universities have expanded enrollments, and the majors offered have sometimes been out of sync with the job market. Getting a university degree no longer guarantees a good job or life. Choosing the wrong major could mean unemployment upon graduation — a reality faced by millions of Chinese students and families today. In this context, the "college application consultancy" industry, led by figures like Zhang Xuefeng, has emerged and rapidly grown into a multi-billion yuan market.

To millions of ordinary Chinese families, practicality often outweighs idealism when choosing a major. For many, the Gaokao is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and selecting the wrong path can have destiny-altering consequences that materially impact their careers and entire lives. For these families, the purpose of higher education is to secure a job, not to achieve lofty ideals. It’s seen as an investment that needs a return, not a means to explore the world and pursue dreams that don’t promise an economically stable future.

In China and overseas, criticism of the Chinese education system is ongoing, and most often, people summarize all the problems with China's education system using the single word "involution." This term, also used in manufacturing contexts, refers to a situation where there are too many people but too few opportunities available. But isn't that overly simplified? At least a couple of important realities are ignored if we oversimplify the problem with the word "involution" or "overly competitive environment":