SHANGHAI, June 6 -- Thirty years ago China reinstated its college entrance exams, scrapped for 11 years as a pernicious bourgeois exercise during the "cultural revolution" (1966-76). Tomorrow 10.1 million driven students take the harrowing three-day test that some still consider make-or-break, writes Xu Wei.

Black days. Black June. Days of decision. A time of nail-biting and burning of both the midnight oil by students and the incense by some anxious mothers, to be on the safe side.

In China, everyone knows what this means - it's time for the national college entrance examination, although the element of terror, make-or-break and fatalism has diminished in recent years.

Still, this is a time of hope, fear, high anxiety, even powerlessness in the face of impersonal numbers.

A perfect score is 630 on the very difficult test. Between 400 and 500 is good. To get into China's most prestigious Beijing University, you need around 550, but some top schools have their own exams and interviews before the national test.

The exam and university entrance was once considered the key to success, but that's not necessarily so today. The job market is competitive. Today there are other avenues to a good life in a rapidly expanding economy and successful people are often those who use their wits and creativity, not necessarily book-learning.

Some still expect this fair and open exam system to elevate an individual's future prospects. Critics say it doesn't test fairly to reveal students' real strengths and special abilities. A bad score on a bad day can have devastating consequences.

The exams start tomorrow and end Saturday, but students have been preparing for months. The pressure has been agonizing for students and those around them.

Though the fierce competition is often compared to "thousands of people and horses trying to cross a narrow footbridge," Chinese people still thank the late leader Deng Xiaoping who restored the exam system in 1977. It had been abolished for 11 years during the "cultural revolution" (1966-76) when universities were seen as nurturing elitism.

"It was more than a simple re-introduction of an examination system," says Professor Gu Xiaoming from Fudan University. "Restoration of exams also symbolized the return of a mechanism that highlights social equality, justice and the respect for knowledge."

This year marks the 30th anniversary of the resumption of the national exam system. For millions of Chinese born in the early 1950s, those who suffered the "cultural revolution" in their prime, the exam was the springboard to their careers.

Some who took the exam went on to become the mainstays and elite of the country, such as veteran filmmakers Zhang Yimou and Tian Zhuangzhuang who were enrolled in the Beijing Film Academy in 1978.

Many of their peers, however, have lamented that they missed what they consider the best chance to change their lives.

Huang Weikang, a 55-year-old accountant, has dwelled for years on what different and better turns his life might have taken if he had sat for the exam in 1977.

"Many schools closed during the 'cultural revolution' and groups of teenage middle-school students traveled to remote and backward parts of the country to undergo reeducation through labor," Huang recalls. "Education suffered a lot."

Huang himself dropped out of school in 1966 when he had only studied at a local middle school for one year. After three years at home, Huang was sent to Jiangsu Province, where he worked in the fields and later joined the army. He retired from the army in 1976 and was assigned to be an accountant at a provincial machinery factory.

"I hesitated to apply for the restored examination mostly because of my weak educational background," he says. "I heard that only a few candidates would be recruited." He could have tried but he didn't.

Though Huang didn't stop studying by himself, his long-cherished "college dream" had to pass on to his daughter.

"I had missed the chance for higher education," he says. "That's why I was so strict with my daughter's studies. I was devoted entirely to supporting her study."

His 27-year-old daughter Huang Lin didn't let him down. She was admitted to Fudan University eight years ago and is now a human resources employee with an online business.

"Our generation has undergone so many changes, from the 'three years of natural disaster' (1959-61) and the 'cultural revolution' to the mass layoffs of workers in the 1990s due to reforms in state-owned enterprises," Huang recalls. "Such painful experiences strengthen my belief that knowledge can change a person's fate."

Xu Zuyou, a senior editor with Shanghai Lexicographical (dictionary) Publishing House, considers December 10, 1977, the most special day in his life. Xu, then 30 years old, took the national college entrance exam. His daughter was also born on that day.

"The turmoil and the halt of the exam during the 'cultural revolution' had almost buried my 'college dream'," he says.

Luckily Xu's passion for knowledge had kept him studying, even when he was sent down to the countryside to learn from the peasants. The restoration of the exam thrilled him and rekindled his dream. "That day turned a new page in my life."

Xu earned a high score and was admitted to the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at Fudan University.

In 1977, the year of exam restoration, more than five million candidates from 15 to 36 years old across the nation, sat for the exam. Only about one out of 29 candidates was enrolled.

Others with a background similar to Xu could have passed, but they didn't even apply. They were busy supporting their families and could not imagine that the long years in college would really improve their lives.

"Almost all the graduates from our university in those days received enviable positions," Xu recalls. "Due to the huge demand for young talents in the early 1980s, each of us had several offers, such as college teacher, editor, journalist or governmental official."

And from tomorrow about 10.1 million students will take this year's nationwide exam across China.

However, the original belief that entrance to university will ensure a decent job, high salary and a bright future has already eroded. A higher education certificate no longer guarantees a good job.

"A lot of colleges have expanded enrollment recently," says Zhu Xuebing, a 51-year-old technician. "In this increasingly competitive job market, people with a bachelor's degree are very common. They can also be jobless or do low-paying work."

Zhu pushes his daughter, a sophomore at a prestigious university, to gain certificates or diplomas covering English interpretation, computer science and legal studies.

"My father used to tell me that everything would be okay if I went through the national college entrance examination and later studied at a good college," says his daughter Alice Zhu, who looks exhausted and depressed. "But now I realize that there will be no end to competition no matter where I am. I have to carry on."

The national exam now seems to play a smaller part in determining one's future. Modern society provides many possibilities for a high school student.

Moving into stardom through talent TV shows is a dream for many, though few succeed.

"I don't think the exam itself outweighs my dream," Zhang Chao, a contestant this year's star-making show "My Hero," said in an earlier interview.

Zhang, a Beijing high school senior, skipped this year's national college entrance examination due to the contest. He can take it next year.

Zhang himself is a loyal follower of Donald Trump's reality show "The Apprentice," which usually divides candidates into two groups - "Book Smarts" vs "Street Smarts." Many people think street smarts are what they need to succeed in China today.

"It's odd to connect a high mark for this exam with real success. I have my own definition of success: be brave enough to pursue what you really want," he says.

Today there are many young people like Zhang who shrug off this examination that was and still is regarded with such awe by many young people and others.

Defiant Han Han, a 25-year-old popular writer and race car driver, even doubts if an examination-oriented education system can really encourage and foster talent, creativity and innovation.

At the age of 17, the Shanghai-born Han rose to fame with his "Three Successive Gates," a sarcastic novel criticizing the education system in which the examination was taken far too seriously by parents and teachers.

Han didn't bother to apply for the exam as did his classmates and he turned down an opportunity to enter Fudan University as a "guest student." His rebellious experience has fueled heated debates over education and the examination system. Many youth consider him an idol.

Professor Gu from Fudan University says resumption of the examination system was necessary in order for the country to rejuvenate its economy, science and technology.

"However, in the past decades, it has also generated a few problems such as a utilitarian attitude towards knowledge and many graduates with high scores but low qualities and poor eyesight," Professor Gu says.

According to Professor Wu Gang, an education expert with the East China Normal University, the exam system so far is still the best way to select talent, considering China's current situation.

"For a nation with a big population and inadequate resources to popularize college education, it is really hard to find any better substitute."

Nevertheless, Wu says the substance of the exam could be modified based on the experience of other countries.

"Perhaps in the future it could include face-to-face interviews and several tests on a student's practical side and personality," he says. "A student's after-school activities, typical performance and special abilities and interests should be integrated into the exam process to develop a more correct analysis and evaluation."

That said, tomorrow's the big day.

Writer passes tests of time and life

Lala Song and Douglas Williams

At the outset of the "cultural revolution"

in 1966, China's college entrance

examination was scrapped. From that point forward, the government decreed, nobody would be going to university.

Just 19 years old at the time, Wang Xiaoying had completed her schooling at Shanghai's prestigious Xiangming High School. A straight-A student, she was eager to go on to university where she hoped to study history.

"We first heard that the exam wasn't happening through notices published in newspapers," says Wang, now one of China's most successful fiction writers. "I pretended to be happy about the news - you had to - but inside I was very depressed."

The reason given for ending exams was that universities were said to be "fertile breeding grounds for capitalism."

"I just didn't understand, but I didn't say anything, you couldn't actually," says Wang. "People who voiced opinions that were contrary to the government message would disappear."

Something entirely absent from Wang's being at that time was anger. "I just felt bleak and all at sea, my heart was sunk."

The "thought wave" emanating from Beijing at the time was that going to the countryside to toil was a glorious and noble thing to do. Heilongjiang Province was the most heroic outpost to choose at the time, guarding the northern border, but that wasn't an option for Wang.

"At that time, my parents were moved from our Ruijin Road house out to the Shanghai countryside. My father was a painter, a poet," she recalls.

Wang chose the Yellow Mountain region in Anhui Province, "the furthest away I could get from my sad memories of Shanghai. I cried all the way there on the train."

It was her first time out of Shanghai. Fortunately she traveled with 10 of her former classmates, so of the many hardships she was to endure, stultifying loneliness wasn't one of them.

"I just felt so terribly isolated. The countryside was beautiful but my love was for books and I had almost none. We were fed but with no books I was empty inside."

They had food but meat was served just once a month and they lived in primitive mud huts with no electricity. Through all this time Wang was never far from Wang Yijie, the boy she met at elementary school, whom she would later marry, the father of their daughter Bonny.

Wang Xiaoying worked on a tea plantation growing, harvesting and cutting down old plants. It was arduous work. There was no time for reflection. "Nobody went to university so there was no need to feel sad because we were all in the same boat."

The future was an imponderable. "We just didn't dare to think what might happen in the future. I certainly never thought I'd get the opportunity to study again, in fact there was nothing to suggest I'd ever return to Shanghai or even leave the tea plantation again."

But Wang did study again and though she had no idea at the time, her future could hardly have been brighter.

A rumor was filtering through during the many meetings held on the tea plantation. Shanghai factories were hiring and many of the workers were being shipped back to the city. Again, due to her parents' background (considered "bourgeois intellectuals"), Wang had to wait and wait until it was finally her turn to return.

Working in the factory was a great improvement and there were many signs that the "cultural revolution" was nearly over. "All the media were talking about it and when Premier Zhou Enlai died there was a huge march in Shanghai, partly through sympathy for Zhou and partly protesting about the so-called 'Gang of Four.' It was very exciting. When it was finally over there was a tremendous feeling of relief and great happiness."

In 1977 a new notice appeared in the newspapers, the college entrance exams were back on. "I was so happy to see that the exams were resumed," says Wang who successfully applied for admission and began studying literature at East China Normal University. "I was the oldest student in the classes."

The 60-year-old author has published more than 30 books, notably "Golden Spring Girl." Several have been made into films and a TV series. Her daughter Bonny will begin studies at Yale in the fall.

"I was always going to be a writer, I grew up surrounded by books, my father was a poet, there was never anything else. I suppose my experience of the 'cultural revolution' helped me in that respect. As a writer it was a very useful experience," says the sprightly lady amid her cluttered studio.

During those difficult years on the tea plantation, Wang's most treasured possession was a book of poetry from the Tang Dynasty (618-907 AD). She still has the very same book, in remarkably good condition, and it is still one of her most valued possessions.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, destiny is a recurring theme in Wang's novels.