Illustration: Liu Rui

Tizhinei, "within the system," is quite an alluring word in China. It basically refers to those working for government organs. In the eyes of the public, this represents political privileges, economic benefits, job security and high social status. That's why I chewed over the decision before I submitted my resignation from a much envied tizhinei job to my superior, a government official in Shanghai.

Almost all of my then colleagues concurred with my decision. One of them even patted my shoulder and said, "Young man, you did something that I wanted but lacked the courage to do 15 years ago!" Their unanimous attitude may shock many young Chinese who see "squeezing inside the system" as their main goal during job-hunting.

I'm not a loyal tizhinei employee - I quit the job just 12 months after I managed to get inside the system. In December of 2008 amid the global financial crisis, the cold winter arrived while I had only two unsatisfying job offers.

After failing an interview at KPMG, I figured that my hopes of finding a decent job before the Spring Festival couldn't come true. So I chose to take the civil servant examination.

After a written test and an interview, I got the offer in March 2009. In the contract, there were no specific figures on how much I would earn. It only read: "Salary will be paid with reference to the government's specific regulations."

Just like everyone else, I had "heard" that civil servants are very well paid and have more access to social resources. It didn't take much hesitation before I rejected job offers from two multinational corporations, each of which had an annual salary of roughly 100,000 yuan ($ 16,000).

Nevertheless, entering the government building and talking to colleagues there taught me one thing: The job could not bring me the expected high income. Instead, my monthly salary was barely enough for rent and living expenses in Shanghai, and was significantly lower than the salary of the offers I had rejected.

What was worse, we were not allowed to complain about our income, because it did not meet our "political identity." Sure, there was grey income, such as gift cards. However, the pay was really just ok, without the level of hidden benefits I was anticipating. You can "blame" the reforms in big cities for that.

The job is certainly stable. As long as you don't screw up completely, it's a job for life. But this also closes off your possibilities. On my first day at work, I could already imagine how the rest of my life would go. 

If I wanted to get more social resources, I would have had to be promoted to a higher position, which would take at least a decade. That would have taken boot-licking and serious drinking skills. And nepotism always helps, but I had no particularly useful relatives.

So I finally made the decision to quit this job, and offered myself a second chance. After several rounds of written tests, interviews and presentations, I was successfully recruited as a management trainee by a Fortune 500 multinational company.

I could call my new boss "Ted," rather than "Secretary Wang." I could identify problems, and come up with solutions to achieve goals, instead of just saying some pleasant but useless words.  Furthermore, I no longer needed to write articles of great length but of no actual content.

But nearly all of my new colleagues asked me the same question, "Being a civil servant is such a good job, why did you quit?" Some even advised, "You are still too young. You will regret the decision later!"

I work with tizhiwai ("outside the system") people everyday, but often hang out with my former colleagues who are considered tizhinei. I always hear their mutual envy. Maybe this is a good thing.

Previously the wall of tizhi was quite rigid and solid, and tizhinei was undoubtedly superior to tizhiwai. Today for most ordinary people, the difference is not as colossal as before.

The author is a management trainee with a global Fortune 500 transnational company in Shanghai. opinion@globaltimes.com.cn