A Grueling Daily Regime
When the alarm rang at 5:30 AM, Mr. Alan Wang and his cohort of 4,000 students had exactly eight minutes to wake up, make their beds, and assemble on the field. By 5:38 AM, their daily 1.6 km run began. What followed was a punishing 16-hour study session that rarely ended before 10:00 PM. Lights in the dormitories were out by 10:10 PM. This was the routine, seven days a week, for three years at Hengshui No. 2 High School in Hebei province. Mr. Wang, now 23, recalls the strict discipline: quilts folded into perfect rectangles, sheets without a single wrinkle, and just 15 minutes for breakfast and dinner. Every other hour was dedicated to studying. The goal of this ultra-strict schedule was singular: to excel in the gaokao, China’s national college entrance examination, and secure a spot at a prestigious university like Tsinghua or Peking University.
Known as the “Hengshui model,” this educational approach gained infamy for turning schools into exam factories. However, recent data has sparked a debate about the effectiveness and sustainability of such extreme methods. Hengshui High School, the originator of this rigid regime, reportedly sent only 45 students to China’s top two universities in 2025, a sharp decline from its peak of 275 in 2019. Online charts illustrate a steady drop in admissions since 2021. This slump has led Chinese netizens to question whether the model is failing or if it represents a deeper malaise within the education system. Some critics argue that the experience kills a student’s enthusiasm for learning, while defenders claim it provides structure and opportunity compared to other local schools.
The Symbol of Pressure
The debate surrounding Hengshui is about more than just one school’s statistics. It has become a symbol of the intense pressure embedded in China’s exam-centric education system. The gaokao is widely viewed as the clearest pathway to upward mobility, a life-defining event for millions of families. This pressure is exacerbated by demographic shifts; decades of the one-child policy have resulted in families placing the weight of their expectations and anxieties on a single child. Professor Sang Guoyuan from Beijing Normal University notes that despite its limitations in measuring creativity or soft skills, the gaokao remains the most efficient selection mechanism for a nation with an enormous student population. Replacing it without undermining the perceived fairness is a difficult challenge, leaving internal reform as the only viable option.
Approximately 13.35 million students sat for the exam in 2025. While about 80% pursue some form of higher education, less than 0.5% gain admission to Tsinghua and Peking Universities combined. Professor Sang argues that for students from low-income, rural, or ethnic minority backgrounds, this exam-based system can be life-changing, offering a rare chance for social advancement. He himself is a beneficiary, having traveled from a rural area in Qinghai province to a top university in Beijing via the gaokao. Yet, the human cost of this system is high. The annual exam period in June sees cities across China grind to a halt, with traffic diverted, construction silenced, and flights rerouted to minimize noise for test-takers.
The Mechanics of the Factory
Even by the standards of China’s competitive high schools, the Hengshui model stood out for its militaristic discipline. The daily schedule left little room for anything other than academic pursuit. However, experts suggest that the school’s past success may not have been solely due to its rigorous teaching methods. Professor Xiong Bingqi, director of the 21st Century Education Research Institute, points out that for years, Hengshui High School actively recruited the highest-scoring students from across the province. This practice, though illegal, was condoned by local authorities until around 2017. Consequently, the school concentrated the province’s best talent, guaranteeing impressive admission results. Once authorities curtailed this cross-regional recruitment, the school’s ability to produce top-tier numbers naturally diminished. Other schools that tried to copy the Hengshui model often failed because they replicated the strict routines without acquiring the top-tier students.
The psychological toll of this environment has drawn significant criticism. Detractors accuse the system of treating students as exam machines. Wild claims on social media, such as schools installing iron grilles on windows to prevent suicides, have circulated, though often debunked. These rumors highlight the deep anxiety the public projects onto institutions like Hengshui. Some parents, however, push back against this demonization. Wang Luan, a mother whose son graduated from Hengshui High School, argues that the school provided a positive environment with responsible teachers. She notes that students even received holidays off during their exam year, unlike some other institutions. For many parents in less affluent areas, the discipline offered by Hengshui is seen as a necessary trade-off for a chance at a better future.
Systemic Drivers of Stress
Analysts emphasize that individual school choices cannot fix a systemic issue. The pressure placed on students filters down from how schools are evaluated by higher authorities. Professor Sang explains that provincial education authorities often impose ranking pressures based on exam results. In many regions, principal promotions and school rewards are directly linked to the number of students sent to top universities. Until these evaluation metrics change, schools have little incentive to reduce workloads or broaden their curricula. The intense competition creates a feedback loop where schools must push harder to maintain their standings, and students must sacrifice more to keep up.
This environment has fueled a youth mental health crisis. At a recent education forum, prominent academics warned that China’s intensely competitive system is failing the majority of students. They cited widespread academic burnout and rising rates of depression. The scholars called for reforms that move beyond test scores to recognize diverse talents and development paths. This aligns with broader government initiatives like the “double reduction” policy introduced in 2021, which aimed to ease burdens by reducing homework and curbing for-profit tutoring. However, the persistence of the gaokao as the ultimate arbiter of success limits the impact of these auxiliary policies. As long as a single exam determines university placement, the incentive to maximize test scores will override efforts to promote holistic well-being.
Reforming the Unavoidable
The Chinese government has spent over a decade attempting to reform the gaokao system to address issues of rote learning and inequity. The current reform effort, initiated by the State Council in 2014, aims to develop a more comprehensive talent selection system. Key changes include abolishing the rigid division between liberal arts and sciences. Under the new models, students take three required subjects (Chinese, math, and a foreign language) and choose three additional electives from a range of options. In some regions, this follows a “3+3” model, while others use a “3+1+2” model. This flexibility is intended to align education with students’ interests and future career paths.
Another significant reform is the “two bases, one reference” admission framework. This transforms university enrollment from a score-only process to a more balanced evaluation. The “two bases” refer to the traditional gaokao score and grades from high school academic proficiency exams taken throughout the three years. The “one reference” is an Overall Quality Evaluation system, which assesses soft skills such as social responsibility, physical and mental health, and artistic achievement. This system is designed to give universities a broader picture of a student’s capabilities, theoretically reducing the life-or-death stakes of the final exam.
The Reality on the Ground
Despite these structural changes, the lived experience of many students suggests that pressure has not abated. In pilot provinces like Zhejiang, the ability to take certain portions of the exam multiple times was meant to reduce anxiety. Instead, students reported feeling more stressed because preparation started earlier and happened more frequently. Teachers often rushed through two years of curriculum in one year to accommodate the new testing schedule. Yao Nanfang, a student in Zhejiang, described studying until 1:00 AM or 2:00 AM daily. She noted that even with the opportunity to retake exams, parents and teachers treated every sitting as if it were the last and only chance. The fear of failing to improve a score after repeating a test created immense psychological distress.
Furthermore, the promised shift to holistic education has been slow to materialize in classrooms. Principals admit that instruction still focuses intensely on preparing for the exam rather than fostering well-rounded growth. Students echo this sentiment, noting that despite new question formats, the strategy remains endless practice exercises to master test patterns. Yao Nanfang sarcastically remarked that students do not need physical education, food, or sleep, only more exercises. The reality is that as long as university admissions rely primarily on test scores, teaching methods will inevitably center on maximizing those scores.
Challenges of Equity and Migration
Equity remains a central tension in the reform process. Historically, the gaokao has been tied to the household registration, or hukou, system, forcing migrant children to return to their hometowns to take the exam. This created immense disruption for families who had lived in cities for years. Reforms implemented since 2012 have gradually relaxed these restrictions, allowing eligible migrant children to take the exam in their province of residence. Research indicates this policy has significantly increased the migration probability of secondary school-aged children, allowing families to stay together and children to access urban educational resources.
However, disparities in educational quality between regions persist. Wealthier provinces and cities have better facilities, more experienced teachers, and greater access to enrichment activities. While the government has implemented special enrollment plans to increase quotas for students from central and western regions, the resource gap continues to influence outcomes. The bonus point system, which previously gave extra points for competitions or achievements, was significantly scaled back to prevent privileged families from gaming the system. Yet, wealthier families still spend billions on supplemental education, maintaining an advantage that is hard to regulate away.
The Mental Health Crisis
The human cost of this relentless academic pressure is becoming increasingly visible. Studies on adolescent suicide rates in China reveal a troubling trend where students from affluent, well-educated families sometimes show higher risks than those from poorer backgrounds. This contrasts with global patterns and points to the unique pressure exerted by parental expectations in a competitive environment. “Left-behind” children in rural areas, who suffer from loneliness and lack of parental support, also face high risks. The intense pressure to succeed, even from parents who care deeply, has become a tragic factor contributing to youth depression.
Authorities have responded with measures like banning paid tutoring during weekends and holidays. Yet, the cultural roots of exam-oriented education run deep. The gaokao is not merely a test but a cultural institution that has dictated the rhythm of Chinese life since its restoration in 1977. Changing the mindset of millions of parents who view education as the only ladder for social mobility is a generational challenge. Even as policymakers advocate for “well-rounded” individuals, the market reality often dictates that graduates from top universities secure the best jobs. Until the economic link between specific university pedigrees and professional success is weakened, the incentive to chase high test scores will remain.
The Path Forward
The recent decline in Hengshui’s results may signal a turning point, or it may simply be a statistical correction after the end of aggressive student recruiting. Regardless, the scrutiny it invites is necessary. It forces a confrontation with the limitations of an education model that prioritizes efficiency and standardized metrics over individual well-being and creativity. As China moves into an era driven by artificial intelligence and innovation, the ability to think critically and creatively is becoming more valuable than the ability to memorize facts. The current education system risks producing students who are excellent at taking tests but ill-prepared for the complexities of the modern workforce.
Real reform will require more than tweaking exam formats. It demands a shift in how success is measured at the school level. If provincial authorities stopped tying school funding and principal promotions solely to the number of students entering top universities, schools would have the freedom to diversify their offerings. It requires strengthening the “Overall Quality Evaluation” system to ensure it is a fair and consistent measure of student potential, rather than a subjective add-on. Most importantly, it requires providing students with the career guidance and psychological support needed to navigate a less rigid, but potentially more confusing, educational landscape.
For former students like Mr. Wang, the Hengshui experience is complex. He acknowledges the hardship but also values the resilience it built. He fondly remembers teachers who showed kindness amidst the rigor. Reflecting on his time there, he recalled a popular saying among students: “Once you have endured the bitterness of Hengshui, every hardship that comes after tastes sweet.” This stoicism is admirable, but it should not be the only defining characteristic of a Chinese education. The challenge for China is to maintain the fairness of the gaokao while dismantling the factory mentality that produces such bitterness, aiming instead for a system that cultivates both excellence and joy in learning.
Key Points
- The “Hengshui model” of education is facing scrutiny after reports of declining admission rates to top universities, sparking a debate on the limits of exam-driven instruction.
The Chinese gaokao remains the primary pathway for social mobility, but it places immense pressure on students, contributing to issues like academic burnout and mental health challenges.
Government reforms, such as the “double reduction” policy and changes to exam subjects, aim to reduce stress and promote holistic development, though implementation often lags behind policy goals.
Equity issues persist, with resource disparities between regions and the historical barrier of the household registration system affecting opportunities for rural and migrant students.
Experts argue that meaningful change requires shifting evaluation metrics for schools away from purely numerical results to allow for a more diverse and humane educational approach.
