HSK Happiness

Anna comes to class with an immense, self-satisfied grin.

"I passed the 初中等 [Intermediate, Levels 3-8] HSK!"

Everyone sits up and pays attention. The questions fly:

"Results are out already?"

"What about the 高等 [High Level, Levels 9-11] results?"

"What did you get?"

With a minimal Level 6 grade, Anna makes a cheerful leap and says that she has high hopes for passing the Level 9 and above High Level. Suddenly, exam anxiety returns, and all the examinees spend an agonising few days constantly checking their exam results online.

Before our results are uploaded to the HSK website, every "There is no record of that name" brings mixed feelings. Relief that failure has been postponed another day, and a flicker of hope beyond hope that maybe, just maybe, the next day will bring a passing grade.

Then, the day I stop checking, I turn up at school to find the High-Level students buzzing with results news. Enxi and Rongshu haven't checked either, but they divine their fates using 八卦 and determine that today is a good day to look at results. I ask them to check my luck too, which is accomplished by comparing my birthday against the current date.

"Very lucky in love, average in business, good luck in friendships ... and zero luck in exams!" I'm superstitious enough to try to leave checking my results until the next day, but can't help myself. I fill out the online form in a few well-practiced keystrokes:

"66, 65, 65, 58, 63 for a grand total of 317". All five of my results are in the Level 9 range. I pass!

I call around. Anna failed but managed one passing grade - in the Speaking section. Rongshu wouldn't say, but didn't sound too happy. Enxi was six marks away from a pass, despite racking up an impressive Level 10 pass in the Speaking section. Six marks short out of 500!

My success greatly annoys the others. In Korea, the HSK is viewed as a major key to better-paid jobs, even those that don't require any Chinese ability. As for Anna, in order to pursue her dream of a Doctorate in Chinese, a high-level pass is useful if not essential. For me though, not only is the exam little-known in England, but I took the exam more on a whim than anything else.

It's official! I'm number 1 in the top class! For the next few days, my classmates resent my scraping a pass, and I don't help the situation by being unbearably smug about the fact.

The certificate itself turns out to be almost identical to the 初中等 version - that is, very ordinary - except for a couple of differences in the few lines of incongruously ill-matching text printed on.

Rongshu tells me that she'll go home and take the exam again anyway.

"Korean companies worry that the HSK taken in China can be faked or bought, so they only really believe results earned back home, where exam security's better".

The importance of the exam to my Korean schoolmates slowly becomes more evident as I hear others discuss results: Each Level opens more doors and brings ever-higher starting salaries; The exam serves as a badge of hard-work and perseverance; the High Level exam is held every two months - three times as frequently as in China itself!

After another few days, the Foreigner Student Center posts up a list of students that have passed Level 8 or above, thus becoming eligible for the 300RMB academic prize. It only numbers nine. By nationality: Koreans 8, Brits 1!

Incidentally and embarrassingly, the notice itself has a typo: 异议 or 'differing opinion' is missing a radical, and has been written 异义 meaning 'different meaning'.