The world of film and television begins with university lecturers

At 8:25 a.m., when Han Tao arrived at the teaching building, the corridor was already crowded with students waiting to attend class. They all took the initiative to greet him when they saw him coming.

Han Tao smiled and nodded in response before walking into the lecture hall. Looking up, he saw that not only were all the seats full, but even the aisle steps and the corner by the back door were filled with students.

Some students picked up their phones to record, while many others held pens and paper. The perfunctory and carefree attitude in most students' eyes was gone, replaced by intense anticipation.

He walked slowly to the podium, and instead of immediately opening the PowerPoint presentation, he tapped the table twice with his fingertips, the sound spreading to every corner through the loudspeaker.

"Before the last class ended, I wrote a sentence on the blackboard. Do you all remember it?"

He first asked a question, then wrote the sentence on the blackboard again: "Today we'll go over the key points of the presentation slides first, and then I'll tell you what this sentence means."

And they answered questions throughout the entire process, using data to tell everyone the truth, breaking down and explaining this statement thoroughly.

Upon hearing his words, the students below the stage immediately ceased their hushed discussions, many straightening their backs and holding their pens in their notebooks, awaiting his explanation.

Thirty minutes later, Han Tao had clearly outlined all the core points of the textbook, without simply reading the text aloud; he provided real-world examples to support each theory.

When discussing the four steps of career planning—self-awareness, industry selection, internship experience, and long-term development—he also interspersed real-life experiences of previous students, instantly making the dry textbook theories more practical and understandable.

After finishing the presentation slides, he adopted a more relaxed tone: "Alright, that concludes the teaching material."

Next is the Q&A session, which is what you're all most interested in. Please raise your hand if you have any questions about employment, postgraduate studies, choosing a major, or internships.

As soon as the words were spoken, dozens of arms shot up in unison. A male engineering student in the front row was the first to get a question, and he stood up and asked in rapid succession:

"Teacher Han, you once said that 'how you go to school is more important than which university you go to,' but many of my classmates and I don't quite agree with this view."

Although our Shanghai University is not a 985 university, it is still a Double First-Class university under the 211 Project.

Are you saying that even if we get our diplomas, we might not get high-paying job offers?

Han Tao didn't refute, but instead found the employment report he had compiled the night before, flipped to the page with the marked data, and spoke bluntly and sharply.

  

Before answering this question, let's look at the official data released by the research institute.

The average monthly salary of undergraduate graduates in 2014 was 4042 yuan, and the employment rate reached 92.2%.

Sounds impressive, right? But what you don't know is that a huge amount of that is misleading!

He held up three fingers, breaking down the data in a clear and organized manner: "The first thing is to distinguish between majors, and the differences between them are vast."

For positions like computer and internet development, the average monthly salary after six months is 5039, while popular positions in business management and finance are around 4500.

In contrast, traditional liberal arts majors and biochemistry, environmental science and materials science majors have an average monthly salary of less than 3300 yuan, a difference of 1,700 yuan. This is a real income gap that people have in their hands every month.

Secondly, the prestige of a prestigious university is by no means a magic bullet. While Shanghai University is indeed a "Double First-Class" university under the 211 Project, even students from the same university and graduating class are not treated equally.

Some graduates get jobs at big companies with an annual salary of 150,000 yuan, while others, after being unemployed for half a year, can only work in administration at small and medium-sized private enterprises with a monthly salary of just over 3,000 yuan.

Third, the employment rate figures you are familiar with are very misleading.

This 92.2% employment rate includes flexible employment, temporary part-time work, and self-employment.

Many students sign a short-term employment contract with the school after graduation, which is far from a stable and long-term job.

Therefore, your constant self-comfort based on the prestige of your university, thinking that as long as the school has a strong reputation, you can coast through four years of college and live a life of luxury after graduation, is truly the most foolish idea.

He paused here, his tone becoming more earnest:

"Students, remember what I'm saying today: the school is just providing you with a platform; how far you go depends entirely on yourselves."

No matter how good the platform is, if you lie around and do nothing for four years, or just drift through life, you can ruin even the best hand!

"To give an example, imagine two students. One comes from an ordinary first-tier university, but spends all four years of his university years in the laboratory and doing internships continuously. He also has internship experience at a major company and a patent certificate."

Another one is a classmate from our university. He slept in class, crammed for the final exams to pass, and didn't participate in any competitions or internships over the four years.

If they graduate and look for jobs together, who do you think HR departments would choose?

A degree from a prestigious university is just a stepping stone. Once that door is open, whether you stay or not depends entirely on how you spend your four years of university!

The students in the audience lowered their heads to take notes, and the engineering student who had just asked the question suddenly realized what had happened and silently let go of his wishful thinking that he would be accepted by a prestigious university.

At this moment, another female liberal arts student stood up, her eyes filled with confusion: "Teacher Han, I study Chinese Language and Literature."

My family has been urging me to take the postgraduate entrance exam, and half of my classmates are also preparing for the 2016 postgraduate entrance exam.

But I really don't know if I'm suited for graduate school; I'm just following the trend. I'm afraid of being unemployed after graduation, and I'm also worried about wasting several years of my life.

Han Tao nodded slightly upon hearing this, and quickly pulled up the official data for the 2015 postgraduate entrance examination, continuing to use objective figures to dispel the misconception of blindly following the crowd:

"These are some official figures: the number of applicants for the national postgraduate entrance examination this year is 164.9 million, a decrease of nearly 6.5 compared to the previous year."

However, the application-to-admission ratio of popular liberal arts colleges is generally as high as 10:1, and some popular majors in Fudan University's School of Economics are even close to 20:1.

In other words, only one out of ten applicants can be admitted.

"In fact, many students take the postgraduate entrance examination not to pursue further education, but to avoid employment, treating postgraduate studies as a safe haven to delay entering society."

I've seen too many students like this who, after getting into graduate school, continue to drift through life, and after three years, their professional skills haven't improved at all.

I can say with certainty that by the time they graduate with their master's degrees, the competitive pressure they will face will only be greater.

His gaze swept over the eager eyes in the classroom once more before he gently tapped the podium and continued, "Remember, the most valuable thing about postgraduate entrance exams is not the degree certificate."

Rather, it's your ability to utilize resources, the library's document repository, your mentor's network, and even more so, your alumni's industry network.

Some people only know their classmates after four years, while others accumulate connections across departments and cities through lectures, internships, and competitions.

Finally, it's about building a sense of risk resistance. I suggest that anyone planning to take the postgraduate entrance exam make a Plan B list.

For example, if you fail the postgraduate entrance exam, what solutions can you immediately implement? If the job market changes drastically, can your skill set be quickly transferred?

Putting all your eggs in one basket is the biggest risk.

He then looked at the girl and said in a gentle but firm tone, "So, don't rush to decide whether or not to take the postgraduate entrance exam."

First, answer three questions for yourself: With my current professional skills, what position can I be competent for?

If I go directly into the workforce, what are my weaknesses? Can pursuing a master's degree truly address these weaknesses?

It's not too late to take action once you've thought all of this through.

A brief silence fell over the classroom. The girl who had just asked the question slowly raised her head, her eyes no longer filled with confusion, but with a thoughtful glint.

She put down her pen and asked softly, "Professor Han, if I've decided that I really need to pursue graduate studies, how should I choose my research direction?"

"That's a good question." Han Tao smiled slightly, turned around, and wrote a few keywords on the blackboard.

"First and foremost is your mentor's network of contacts. Don't overlook it; it's your greatest asset."

For example, many professors in your Chinese Language and Literature department also hold positions such as consultants for publishing houses and literary planners for film and television companies. A casual remark from them could be an internship opportunity.

Secondly, there's the alumni network. Let me give you a real-life example about this.

A classmate majoring in Chinese literature contacted the operations director of a leading MCN agency through an alumni group during his sophomore year. The director was a senior who graduated five years ago.

She volunteered to help her senior with content research, and three months later she received an internship offer.

She is now a senior in college and is already independently in charge of copywriting for a product line.

Therefore, choosing a direction is not something you can decide on a whim. You need to first take stock of what resources you have, and then use those resources to verify which direction has real demand.

Whether you pursue graduate studies or enter the workforce directly, the essence is the same: what makes you think others should pay for your abilities?