Chinese Graduates Look to Germany As Job Market Tightens

Two years ago, Yuki Liu was a university student in the northern Chinese province of Hebei, studying traditional Chinese music and the pipaa pear-shaped Chinese luteweighing the usual paths considered by her peers: postgraduate degree or civil service exam.

Today, her day begins at 1am in Germany.

While many people sleep, she is already working as an apprentice at an industrial bakery in a small town outside Stuttgart in the country’s southwest, preparing the shop for the morning rush.

The turning point for Liu came as she approached graduation and grew increasingly unsure about the path her studies could offer her in China. “With a music degree, your only option is to teach,” she said. “Otherwise you starve.” Liu came across Germany’s apprenticeship system almost by happenstance, discovering a path that the musician had never imagined: becoming a blue-collar worker in Europe’s largest economy.

Liu is among a growing number of young Chinese turning to Ausbildung, Germany’s dual vocational training system, as an alternative to an increasingly competitive graduate job market at home and as a potential route to staying in Europe. Many applicants, like her, already hold university degrees or have worked for well-known companies.

On Chinese social media, the pitch is straightforward: little upfront cost and the prospect of a job at the end. 

Apprentices are employed by a company in Germany and paid a training allowance while attending a state vocational school tuition-free. 

Most stay on as regular employees once they qualify. Back in China, there is a popular cultural refrain that students and degree-holders often use to describe how hard it is to find a job: “graduation mean sun employment”.

A record 12.7 million students graduated from Chinese universities this year, up 480,000 from 2025. Unemployment among people aged 16 to 24, excluding students, rose to 17.9 per cent in July an 11-month high.

For some, Ausbildung – literally translated as “education”, “training” or “apprenticeship” – offers more than a pay cheque. It is also one of the cheaper routes to relocating abroad, particularly for those looking to escape a working culture epitomised by a notorious “996” schedule – working from 9am to 9pm, six days a week.

Social media has helped fuel the appeal. Liu recalled a video on Douyin China’s version of TikTok – featuring a philosophy postgraduate student who had dropped out and moved to Germany to train as a gardener, listing what he found different about working there: no rat race, no overtime and no office politics. The video drew thousands of likes, with viewers asking in the comments how they could follow a similar path.

The financial incentives also blunt some reluctance towards blue-collar work. Workers in Germany with a recognised vocational qualification earned about €4,125 ($4,800) a month before tax in April 2025, according to Germany’s Federal Statistical Officeroughly five times the average pay of production workers in China last year, data from the National Bureau of Statistics shows.

“You can really feel it: far more people are talking about it than before,” said Emilie Xie, a former media worker in China who is now applying to become a carer in Germany.

Lin Chenxi runs a youth hostel in Hamburg and helps place Chinese apprentices with German employers, supporting them after they arrive. “Only about a third of the students we placed made it through,” she said.

“The other two-thirds either got weeded out or lost heart and left.” The language, Lin said, can be the biggest hurdle. She explained how applicants need a B1 proficiency level in German – an intermediate stage in which they can handle everyday situations and communicate familiar topicsbut many appear to have drilled their way through the German language exam in China, and they arrive unable to hold a conversation.