Editor’s Brief
The "996" work culture (9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week) is often criticized as a byproduct of modern Chinese Big Tech and aggressive venture capital. However, Lü Erchen, drawing on research from the South China Morning Post, argues that this grueling pace is actually a 2,200-year-old historical continuum. From the pre-dawn commutes of Qin Dynasty officials to the lethal attendance pressures of the Ming era, the "overwork" gene is deeply embedded in China’s administrative and moral DNA, long predating the internet age.
Key Takeaways
- Historical Precedents:** High-intensity labor isn't a modern anomaly; Warring States diplomats and Qin officials were documented working through the night or commuting at 4 a.m.
- Institutional Rigor:** Ancient attendance laws were draconian. Tang Dynasty officials faced physical punishment for unexcused absences, while Ming records show officials dying in accidents while rushing to avoid being late.
- Moralization of Diligence:** Under Confucian influence, "hard work" transitioned from an economic necessity to a moral imperative. Diligence became a litmus test for political loyalty and personal character.
- The "On-Call" Tradition:** The blurring of public and private time is rooted in ancient "on-duty" (值班) systems where officials were required to handle paperwork overnight without extra compensation.
- The Emperor’s Example:** Figures like Zhu Yuanzhang and Yongzheng institutionalized "diligent governance," creating a top-down culture where rest was viewed as a sign of moral decay.
Intro
Many people think that 996 is a product exclusive to internet giants, but Luerchen, drawing on an SCMP report, points out that this high‑intensity work has actually spanned more than two thousand years of Chinese history. From the early‑morning commutes of the Qin and Han dynasties to the strict attendance rules of the Tang and Song, Chinese society has long held the ability to “endure” as a virtue. This cultural inertia still subtly shapes today’s workplace ecology and personal mindset.
Key Takeaways
- 996 is not a modern workplace anomaly; from the day‑and‑night shuttles of officials in the Warring States to
Editorial Comment
After reading Lu Chen’s piece on the “origin of 996,” my first reaction was a chill down my spine. When we used to talk about the intense competition in big tech firms, we always thought it was a product of the mobile‑internet era—a way capital squeezes surplus value for efficiency. But this article pulls the lens back over two thousand years and tells us that this “overwork” gene has long been etched into our cultural DNA. It isn’t just the greed of a single boss; it’s a long‑standing, collective path dependency.
In plain terms, Lu Chen’s cited article offers a razor‑sharp perspective. The Qin and Han officials who left the capital at four a.m. in the early morning are, in terms of behavioral logic, striking a kind of cross‑temporal resonance with today’s programmers hailing cabs at Zhongguancun or Nanshan at the same hour. The core of this logic is that Chinese society has long equated “diligence” with “morality.” The article mentions the stringent attendance system of the Tang dynasty, even noting that officials once died in a panic because they feared being late. It sounds absurd, but on reflection, isn’t that the ancient version of “clock‑in anxiety”? In that era, punctuality and hard work were not just professional requirements—they were the very baseline of political correctness.
From a credibility standpoint, the historical details cited by SCMP—such as the Tang night‑watch system and the Han‑dynasty story of Huang Xiang’s substitute duty—are well documented. The piece isn’t trying to exonerate modern 996; it’s conducting a deep sociopathological analysis. The value of that analysis lies in explaining why, even as labor laws improve, 996 still thrives in large firms today: our entire societal evaluation system still subconsciously rewards those who can “tolerate, endure, and rise early” with a little red ribbon.
In the past decade, the term “996” has become increasingly common on the Chinese internet.
When people mention it, they usually think of internet giants, workplace over‑competition, overtime culture, and even view it as a problem that only emerged in modern commercial society.
However, a few days ago I read an article on SCMP (South China Morning Post) that left a strong impression.
The author is Zoey Zhang, and the original title is “China ‘996’ work culture dates back 2,200 years, shows work‑life balance struggles through the ages.” I think she writes very well because she reminds us of something that is easy to overlook:
The issue of “overwork” among Chinese people may not have arisen only in
Article Illustration 1 In today’s article, I will combine Zoey Zhang’s report in the SCMP with some of my own insights to re-examine this topic in a more accessible way.
The article mentions that modern China’s so-called “9
There has long been a tradition of regarding “waking up early, long working hours, and the ability to endure” as the norm.
In ancient times, there was certainly no such term as “996,” but the living conditions of many people were, in fact, already very close to
Go on.
And this extra work didn’t come with the “overtime pay” we think of today.
In ancient times, officials’ hard labor was largely a matter of duty. Of course, diligence could also bring rewards. The article mentions that during the Eastern Han, an official named Huang Xiang frequently covered for his colleagues. The emperor noticed him and promoted him.
That logic feels familiar even today. Often, extra effort doesn’t immediately translate into higher income, but it shows up in evaluations, opportunities, and the impression you make on superiors.
It wasn’t just ordinary people who had to prove themselves through “hard‑working governance”; even the emperor had to demonstrate diligence.
The piece also notes that in antiquity, it wasn’t only common folk who labored; emperors were routinely expected to exhibit high levels of diligence.
For example, Ming’s founding emperor Zhu Yuanzhang would review a huge volume of petitions in a short time and demand that ministers handle a flood of official documents. In the Qing, Emperor Yongzheng was famed for his industriousness—he supposedly took only a handful of days off a year, and spent his evenings reading and working.
These details may seem like mere anecdotes of imperial hard work, but they carry deeper cultural significance.
In the context of traditional Chinese politics, a ruler who appears too relaxed or indulgent risks losing moral legitimacy. Conversely, the more diligent and laborious a ruler is, the more likely he is seen as “responsible” and “accountable.”
This mindset trickles down through society. Officials must be diligent. Ordinary people must be diligent. Even the emperor must be diligent.
Over time, busyness itself acquires a moral hue.
From a purely institutional perspective, that explains part of it. But why has Chinese society long placed such emphasis on “hard work,” “endurance,” and “tolerance”? I think…
It is still necessary to discuss Confucian culture.
One of the deepest influences of Confucianism on Chinese society is that it has long turned many everyday habits into moral imperatives.
Qualities such as diligence, self‑control, discipline, responsibility, and propriety are all regarded as commendable within the Confucian framework.
A diligent person is not merely someone who works carefully; they are often seen as upright in character.
Conversely, a lazy person is not just inefficient; their attitude is frequently judged as problematic.
This tendency easily pushes the notion of “work” beyond its economic meaning and imbues it with an ethical dimension.
When you work hard, it is not merely to earn a little more.
When you are industrious, it is not just to get the job done.
In many people’s subconscious, diligence itself is a “must‑do.”
Across all cultures, Confucianism has long viewed “hard work” in a positive light—an observation that is crucial.
In traditional Chinese culture, “hard work” has always been highly valued.
From childhood onward, many have heard sayings such as:
- “Endure hardship and be industrious.”
- “Hard work can make up for lack of talent.”
- “Suffer first, then enjoy the sweetness.”
- “Heaven will bestow great responsibilities upon such a person.”
- “Worry and toil can strengthen the nation.”
Behind these phrases lies a common thread: hardship is not entirely negative.
Often it is seen as a means of training, refining, and completing one’s character.
This cultural mindset has a positive side.
It makes people more resilient, more willing to take responsibility, and more likely to persevere in difficult circumstances.
But it also has a side effect.
Many inefficiencies, excesses, and over‑exertion that should be questioned are eventually wrapped into narratives such as “hard work is a blessing” or “young people must fight.”
Over time, even if a person is already very tired, it is not easy for them to readily admit that they need to stop for a moment. Because in many people’s hearts, stopping is not simple rest, but feels like “not working hard enough.”
Additionally, Confucianism emphasizes responsibility, which also makes many
The high‑intensity work style is something everyone feels exhausted by, yet it remains stubbornly entrenched.
It’s no longer just a matter of work scheduling; it’s also tied to deeper cultural and psychological factors.
Of course, even though we’ve talked a lot about the culture of “hard work” and “grinding,” it’s worth noting that ancient societies were not entirely devoid of rest.
Although labor was intense in antiquity, rest was not entirely absent.
In the Han dynasty, officials enjoyed a “Rest and Bath Day” – a day off every five days.
During the more prosperous periods of the Tang and Song dynasties, rest arrangements were comparatively more relaxed.
Tang officials had fixed days off, as well as holidays for festivals, family visits, and even marriage leave that could be quite long.
By the Song dynasty, officials could accumulate a substantial number of rest days each year.
This shows that Chinese history has never been one‑dimensional in emphasizing “卷” (overwork) and “熬” (endurance).
On one hand, society has always praised diligence; on the other, it has
Source
Author: Lu Erchen
Published: March 10, 2026 14:10
Source: Original post link
Editorial Comment
When we talk about the 996 work culture, the conversation usually centers on late-stage capitalism, the "involution" of the tech sector, and the ruthless efficiency of companies like Alibaba or Huawei. We treat it as a modern glitch in the labor market. But Lü Erchen’s analysis pulls the rug out from under that narrative. By tracing the roots of overwork back to the Qin and Han dynasties, he suggests that 996 isn't a new bug—it’s a core feature of a 2,000-year-old operating system.
The most striking takeaway here is the "moralization of exhaustion." In many Western contexts, overwork is often seen as a failure of management or a temporary sacrifice for a specific goal. In the Chinese historical context, as Lü points out, "eating bitterness" (吃苦) became a virtue in itself. When you look at the Ming Dynasty official who died in a frantic rush to reach the palace on time, you aren't just looking at a tragic accident; you’re looking at the spiritual ancestor of the modern programmer terrified of missing a Slack notification. The "clock-in anxiety" we feel today is simply the digital version of a political discipline that has been refined over millennia.
This historical perspective changes how we view modern tech giants. They didn't invent the culture of the "grind"; they simply optimized it using big data and mobile connectivity. They tapped into a pre-existing cultural API that equates being busy with being "good." As the article notes, even the Emperors had to perform diligence to maintain their moral legitimacy. If the Son of Heaven is staying up all night reading scrolls to prove he’s a worthy ruler, how can a middle manager justify going home at 5 p.m.? This creates a trickle-down effect where "performing" busyness becomes a survival strategy.
However, there is a dangerous selective memory at play in modern corporate China. Lü correctly notes that ancient dynasties *did* have systems for rest, such as the "Xiumu" (休沐) days in the Han and Tang dynasties, where officials were given time off to bathe and rest. Modern 996 culture has inherited the ancient pressure to perform and the Confucian duty to the collective, but it has largely discarded the traditional buffers that kept the system sustainable. We’ve kept the "bitterness" but lost the "rest."
From a senior editorial perspective, this piece is a necessary reality check. It suggests that labor laws alone might not be enough to "fix" 996. If the pressure to overwork is rooted in a deep-seated path dependency—where your social and moral value is tied to your level of visible exhaustion—then a change in the legal code won't solve the problem without a change in the cultural code.
The "spine-chilling" realization Lü mentions is that the programmer in Nanshan or Zhongguancun catching a Didi at 2 a.m. is operating under the same logic as a Qin Dynasty clerk 2,200 years ago. Both are trapped in a system where time is not their own, and where the act of "staying late" is the only way to signal worth to a higher power. Until we stop romanticizing "bitterness" as a prerequisite for success, the 996 ghost will continue to haunt the Chinese workplace, regardless of how many "anti-burnout" memos are circulated by HR. It’s a sobering reminder that some of our most "modern" problems are actually ancient burdens in new packaging.