'Zzzhhhhm"—a workshop is filled with the sounds of drones slicing through the air, sharp, electric and kinetic. Decked out in their black-and-white streetwear-inspired uniforms, students at the Yancheng Technician College in Yancheng City, Jiangsu Province, are putting their newly acquired remote piloting skills to the test at the on-campus drone training facility. 

"It's about passion, a passion for cutting-edge technologies. I basically turned enthusiasm into action," one student told Beijing Review while adjusting a drone's rotor to give a demonstration of his high-flying abilities.

In 2020, this powerhouse of higher vocational education, where cafeterias with neon-lit American diner-style signs are surrounded by sprawling sports fields and lush greenery, established the Unmanned Aerial Vehicle (UAV) Department, catering to the rapid rise of China's low-altitude economy, which is defined as economic activities in airspace below 1,000 meters. But the students here aren't just learning to fly UAVs; they're piloting China's next economic transformation.

This is the story of China's next giant leap—not in GDP, but in how it values the hands that will build its future.

A new economic reality 

The numbers tell a compelling story: Last year, China saw a record high of around 11.79 million university graduates, a whopping increase of 210,000 compared to 2023, according to the Ministry of Education (MOE). And another record-breaking 12.22 million university graduates are expected to enter the workforce this year.

Since the radical expansion of Chinese college enrollment began in 1998, universities have churned out a tidal wave of graduates, flooding a fiercely competitive job market with degrees that have not always befitted the actual opportunities out there.

The result? An unexpected imbalance: Even as diplomas multiply, factories and tech firms scramble to fill millions of high-skilled technical positions that don't require a traditional university education. Some of these positions are currently filled by university grads unable to find jobs matching their qualifications.

With automation and digital transformation accelerating, China's competitive advantage now lies in productivity and innovation rather than cost efficiency alone, and relies more on services and sophisticated manufacturing. This shift has reduced reliance on manual labor while creating unprecedented demand for highly-skilled, tech-savvy workers. High-demand sectors, such as renewable energy, smart logistics and advanced manufacturing, often offer entry-level salaries exceeding those of graduate white-collar roles—for those with the right technical training.

Vocational education, long perceived as low quality and inferior, is emerging as an unexpected solution to these talent mismatches.

Additionally, according to the State Council Information Office, the country has over 200 million skilled workers (those with vocational diplomas) today, including 60 million highly skilled workers (those with vocational diplomas, advanced certifications and experience), accounting for more than 26 percent of the national total workforce. However, a structural imbalance lingers, with a lack of supply of highly skilled workers. And this is where higher-quality vocational education comes into play.

China already boasts the world's largest vocational education system, with over 11,000 schools and roughly 35 million students concurrently enrolled as of 2023, according to the MOE. Vocational secondary schools offer three-year programs to train teens in skilled trades starting at age 15, while vocational colleges provide two- to three-year programs upgrading students to highly skilled experts from age 18.

Under the current system, supply of skilled students is expected to match the demands of social and economic growth by 2035, according to the MOE.

For policymakers, the benefits of creating a well-rounded, alluring vocational education system are obvious and structural changes to achieve this goal are in full swing, with multiple major announcements made in this year alone.

The Central Government in January announced plans to cultivate 15,000 top-notch professionals who can spearhead the development of the industries or fields they work in and 5 million highly skilled workers within three years by enhancing training bases and improving benefits. In February, China announced that it will increase government funding for skills training programs. On May 22, the MOE announced a plan to approve the establishment of 32 undergraduate higher education institutions, including 23 vocational universities.

However, transforming vocational majors, like the UAV program at the Yancheng Technician College, from "second best" options into respected career launchpads requires something more challenging than policymaking: a cultural reckoning. Even as the nation's factories hunger for skilled technicians, a centuries-old social perception persists. Many parents still cling to the gaokao, the national college entrance examination, as the only path to prestige, financial security and a "happy life" for their children.

So perhaps the real test will be whether China can unlearn what it has taken millennia to perfect: the idea that a single exam at a young age should determine a person's destiny.

Stick much? 

The imperial examination system was established in the Sui Dynasty (581-618) to select state bureaucrats based on merit rather than birth, and for over 1,000 years since then, China has largely equated academic achievement with social worth.

"The scholar's robe commands respect; the artisan's apron invites pity," goes an old saying that still echoes today. Even after the country embarked on its journey of reform and opening up in 1978, when skilled workers became the foundation of China's rise as the world's factory, the cultural hierarchy remained stubbornly intact.

The consequences are sometimes painfully personal. Scrolling through social media platforms such as Douyin, the Chinese version of TikTok, this author found that netizens posting under hashtags such as "vocational grad seeks significant other" sometimes report being passed over once their education is revealed.

In the job market, the bias takes institutional form. Many corporate positions list bachelor's degrees as non-negotiable requirements, even for technical roles that vocational graduates are better trained to perform.

These societal factors can result in a psychological burden that follows graduates throughout their careers, with many perhaps feeling compelled to prove themselves repeatedly.

Yet cracks are appearing in the centuries-old prejudice. As factories struggle to find skilled workers while offices overflow with underemployed graduates, the old certainties are being questioned. The stigma may still stick, but not as much as just five to 10 years ago. Its foundations are shaking—one skilled professional at a time.

Back at the Yancheng Technician College, student Zhao Zhijun explained how he managed to turn the tables against the odds after failing the zhongkao, the high school entrance examination taken at age 15. Zhao is now a vocational education world champion, having won a gold medal in electrical installations at the 47th WorldSkills Competition, an international event held every two years that showcases competitors' expertise in skilled trades, hosted last year in France.

"My zhongkao grades weren't great," he told Beijing Review. "Given I've always loved working with my hands, I figured vocational education could give me more [job] opportunities—as opposed to attending an 'average' high-school. And so far, so good!"

The job market is proving his gut feeling right. On May 8, human resources authorities unveiled 17 newly recognized professions, including e-commerce operations manager, drone swarm flight planner and electronic circuit designer—signaling where the nation's economic priorities lie. These aren't just jobs; these are golden tickets for trained talent.

Need more proof of that? At the Yancheng school's drone testing site, one student stated that, after graduation, "I intend to become a drone operator for crop protection. This is the future of agriculture." Nearby, another student, who turned out to be a photography buff, was calibrating a camera-equipped drone, clarifying, "I want to capture the beauty of China—and the world at large."

Where diplomas once dictated destiny, today's circuit designers and UAV maestros are writing new rules—one solder joint and flight path at a time.

All the buzz 

Is attending university the only path to a promising future? Is vocational education less valuable? Today, these questions are being reexamined in China, particularly by enterprises that urgently require practical talents—such as auto makers. From their standpoint, vocational education is no longer a "secondary option," but rather an alternative fast track to success.

Take, for example, Yancheng's biggest car manufacturer: Jiangsu Yueda Kia Motors Co. Ltd.—opened in partnership with Kia Corp. from the Republic of Korea. The facility has partnered with the Ground Transportation program at the Yancheng school's Automotive College, providing the department with its latest products to use as teaching equipment.

"Compared with university graduates, technicians come to us with skills that go beyond theory—their hands-on training is exactly what the industry needs," said Wang Liping, the facility's deputy general manager. Her observation cuts to the heart of China's vocational advantage: school workshops that double as real-world proving grounds.

This industry-education conduit thrives on partnerships like automation and electrification company ABB China Ltd.'s collaboration with the college. "We don't just hire graduates—we help train them," said Wang Dajiang, an ABB electrical tech expert who serves as an external mentor at the college. "From supplying cutting-edge equipment to co-designing curricula, we're building the workforce in real time."

But vocational education's reach extends far beyond factory floors. These schools are also future-proofing China against two seismic shifts: a swiftly aging population, with official projections painting a picture of a nation where over one third of its citizens are aged 60 and above by 2030, and the country's push for a birth-friendly future.

During our visit to the Yancheng school, Vice Principal Xia Jianyou took us inside one of the nursing classrooms, where some 30 young women carefully swaddled practice dolls like tiny burritos—some giggling as they adjusted the folds. "They won't have to worry about finding employment; the prospects are quite diverse, but demand for these talents is on the rise," he said.

Also fulfilling the growing demand for nursing skills is the newly minted China Civil Affairs University, established in Beijing by the Ministry of Civil Affairs last May and officially starting classes last September. The university has rolled out a curriculum that feels less like academic training and more like a blueprint for societal transformation. The school offers 25 undergraduate majors, including Nursing, Smart Senior Care, Social Work, Modern Funeral Management and Marriage Services—taking care of society's needs from conception to cremation. Whereas Nursing undergrad programs already existed at several universities in China, the other majors mentioned here were previously strictly vocational.

This academic upgrade, transforming hands-on training into full-fledged undergraduate majors, is perfectly tailored for China's future. From eldercare innovators to matchmakers, these programs aren't just keeping pace with the nation's needs, they're helping define them.

China's vocational revolution isn't just a plan—it's a vision in motion. BR 

Copyedited by G.P. Wilson 

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