2026 National College Entrance Exam Begins Today
12.9 million – this number is like a boulder crashing into the pond of public opinion, stirring not ripples, but waves of widespread anxiety. As the 2026 National College Entrance Examination (Gaokao) begins, the number of exam sites and candidates once again sets new records. But are we truly celebrating a feast of knowledge? Or silently endorsing a giant screening machine that crushes youth year after year?
Analysis
Look at these numbers: 7,981 exam sites, 348,000 exam rooms. Behind these cold figures lie countless families’ all-in bets. Exam rooms become temporary fortresses, examinees are well-trained soldiers, and the exam subjects—Chinese, mathematics, foreign language—are nothing but standardized ammunition. The Gaokao’s first day covers Chinese and mathematics—does this arrangement make sense? Squeezing mathematical logic and linguistic emotion into the same day is practically a disregard for cognitive science. Not to mention the “elective subjects” dragged out over the following two days, as if to say: “Don’t rush; let’s extend the pressure a bit longer.”
The comprehensive reform of the Gaokao has been implemented in 29 provinces, sounding like progress. But implementation often comes with discounts. Provinces determine elective subjects and schedules themselves, praising it as “adapting to local conditions,” while in reality, it offloads inequality to be digested locally. Wealthier provinces can provide more resources to support students’ subject choices, while less developed regions may lack even basic laboratories. This “reform” is like repainting an old machine—the core gears remain rusted.
The most nauseating part is the entire society’s “sense of ritual” around the Gaokao. Parents wait anxiously outside exam sites, and the media floods coverage with “Gaokao essay topics,” as if it has become an intellectual Olympics for all. But the truth is, the Gaokao is merely the peak performance of educational involution. Students start grinding from kindergarten through high school, all for those two days of papers that decide their future. Under such pressure, creativity and curiosity are ground to dust. Are we cultivating problem-solving machines or living, breathing human beings?
Can data lie? The 12.9 million registrants sound impressive, but behind this is it a peak in the eligible population or a victory of educational popularization? Probably both, but more so it’s society’s morbid worship of academic credentials. In the job market, “985/211” labels work better than abilities, forcing everyone onto the narrow bridge of the Gaokao. Reform has been shouted for years, but the evaluation system remains singular, as if life has only one major exam.
To put it bluntly, the Gaokao is like a large-scale social experiment testing endurance rather than wisdom. Exam discipline is strict, surveillance is omnipresent—but outside the exam rooms? The loopholes of educational equity are ignored. Urban children can attend cram schools, rural children can only rely on self-study; wealthy families plan international pathways, ordinary families can only cling to the domestic Gaokao. This divide is not something reform can cover up.
Critiques aside, the Gaokao remains the only channel for many from humble backgrounds to change their destiny. It is cruel, but at least it offers a relatively fair platform—if you can endure the mountain of papers and the late-night desk lamp. The question is: Are we satisfied with this “relative fairness”? Why not explore diversified evaluations that seriously consider arts, sports, and practical abilities? The slogans for reform echo loudly, but action moves at a snail’s pace.
Outside the exam rooms, parents’ group chats revolve around “which university can my child get into.” This collective anxiety reflects society’s uncertainty about the future. Technology is advancing, AI is disrupting industries, but the education system remains stuck in the industrial age, mass-producing standardized talent. By the time these examinees graduate, the world may have changed beyond recognition, and what they have learned might only be how to take a test早已过时.
The exam is scheduled for June 7 to 8—why must it be these two days? The weather is hot, examinees are under great pressure—could the dates be adjusted? This rigidity reflects the laziness of institutional design. Elective subjects are arranged for the 9th and 10th in various provinces, seemingly extending the battle line, but actually adding drama to anxiety. Students and parents must stay tense for multiple days, which is no less than psychological torture.
Ultimately, the Gaokao is not just an exam but a mirror reflecting the chronic ills of the education system and the restlessness of society. Behind the 12.9 million examinees are 12.9 million dreams compressed into a single exam paper. We praise the fairness of the Gaokao but close our eyes to its hidden costs: the loss of innovation, the collapse of mental health, the solidification of social strata. Reform is moving forward, but the steps are so small it feels like marching in place.
Perhaps true progress is not adding more exam sites or adjusting subjects, but daring to question the necessity of the Gaokao. Why not have more open, personalized educational paths? Let every young person find their own track, rather than being measured by the same ruler. But today, the exam bell rings, and everything remains the same—because change requires courage, and we are accustomed to deceiving ourselves within our comfort zones.
Disclaimer: The above content is generated by AI and is for reference only.