What happens when a group of young people with outstanding résumés compete for the same job opportunity? That is the premise of An Exciting Offer (in Mandarin, 令人心动的offer), a sort of workplace version of The X Factor in which contestants vie for a single position. The show brings together university students and recent graduates trained at some of China’s most prestigious domestic and foreign institutions who, over the course of a month, work in internships under the guidance of experts while a panel of commentators in the studio assesses their successes, failures, and progress.

The format, inspired by the South Korean show Good People, lets viewers glimpse the insecurities of a generation raised to stand out and obsessed with proving it belongs. In its seventh season, broadcast last autumn, the competition moved to Dragon TV, part of the Shanghai Media Group (SMG), one of China’s major state audiovisual conglomerates.

That edition began with 10 aspiring television presenters: two were eliminated in the preliminary test and the remaining eight spent 30 days living and practicing their communication skills in the Shanghai network’s newsroom. Contestants were tasked with finding stories, locating sources, verifying information, writing scripts, conducting interviews, reporting from the street and performing live broadcasts. Across eight challenges, their experiences revealed to viewers the less visible side of a job that starts long before the red tally light goes on.

The tension is seasoned with every ingredient of a talent contest: suspenseful music, close-ups, trembling hands, tears, hugs, rivalries and on-camera confessions. Unlike other reality shows, the audience does not vote and there are no eliminations during the season. Each task gains contestants points and only those who reach 100 advance to the final interview, where the candidate who receives an offer to join Dragon TV is chosen.

Since its debut in 2019, the program had devoted four seasons to lawyers and one each to doctors and architects. But returning to law for two consecutive editions had made the format more predictable and the formula was beginning to show signs of fatigue.

To refresh it, the show’s producer, Tencent Video — one of China’s leading entertainment platforms — brought Dragon TV on as a co-producer in 2025, opening its doors and placing well-known faces in charge of training, such as veteran interviewer Chen Luyu. From the studio, former CCTV presenter Zhang Quanling and debate specialist Chen Ming provide the most substantive commentary, which also serves as short lessons in the craft, while comedians and internet personalities bring a fresher tone.

The move to a new sector proved a digital success: the seventh season led two of Weibo’s (China’s version of X) variety-show popularity rankings for 56 consecutive days and logged more than 1,200 appearances on that social network’s trending lists. The forum dedicated to the contest on Tencent Video also surpassed four million posts, the highest total for an entertainment program on the platform in all of 2025.

Part of that renewed interest lies in the figure of the presenter itself, at a moment when the boundaries of the profession have blurred, with hundreds of influencers speaking daily to audiences of millions and artificial intelligence writing scripts, voicing them, and even presenting news. An analysis in the Shanghai newspaper Wenhui Bao, reproduced by the state news agency Xinhua, presents this edition as a vindication of a profession whose survival can no longer be taken for granted.

Those hoping to fill that role on the show do not lack credentials. For example, Li Yujia graduated top of her class from the Communication University of China; Pang Zheng earned the same rank at the Shanghai Theatre Academy; Wang Yu studied at Cambridge; and Wang Yunlin had already worked as a presenter on Cantonese television. But those merits soon become another source of pressure. “Is that top rank that once brought me glory now my shackle?” Li asks in one episode. “You’re already excellent; don’t be so hard on yourself,” mentor Chen Chen tries to reassure her.

The real premise of the show becomes clear when the contestants — young people who are used to standing out — enter a setting where every mistake fuels comparisons and every compliment from a mentor increases the pressure. The mechanics echo the popular Chinese term neijuan (内卷), used to describe a spiral in which, faced with scarce opportunities, everyone is forced to work ever harder just to avoid falling behind. The result is a vicious cycle of demand that intensifies competition without producing real progress. In English, it could be compared to the idea of a “rat race.”

Anxiety and frustration

In fact, since its early seasons, some viewers have nicknamed the contest “An offer to make you feel bad,” overwhelmed by the contestants’ impressive list of degrees, awards, and experiences. One of the most talked-about moments of the last season was the elimination, before the internships even began, of a graduate from Tsinghua, China’s most prestigious university. Although, according to the network’s data, most of the audience consists of young people with higher education, there has been no shortage of calls on social media for a season “featuring ordinary people.”

The success of the format thus contains a paradox: why does a generation tired of competing spend its free time watching others fight over a job? Some internet users answer that the show reflects the anxiety and frustration they feel themselves, but at the same time it offers some consolation: on screen, at least, mistakes are explained and talent, discipline, and perseverance end up being recognized.

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On August 26 and August 29, in the bustling port cities of Qingdao and Busan, located in China and South Korea respectively, two medium-sized cargo ships cast off. The Dubai Tower and the PanStar Acro headed for the British ports of Teesport and Felixstowe via the Arctic, before sailing to other destinations in Northern Europe.

This significant double move in the ever-frenetic world of maritime trade is redrawing the economic and geopolitical map. It shifts power and influence toward the Northern Hemisphere, at the expense of the Southern Hemisphere, and it grants yet another dangerous advantage to Vladimir Putin’s Russia.

Regular connections between Asia and Europe via the North Pole were unimaginable just a couple of decades ago. Even though global warming was already wreaking havoc back then, ice still covered the bulk of the Barents Sea. Today, however, the Chinese company Sea Legend intends for the new link between Asia and Europe to result in a weekly route. Its South Korean counterpart, meanwhile, is still in the testing phase.

The shipping sector estimates that navigability in the area will last around three or four months each year, from August to October (although there’s the possibility of an extension toward the end of that period). This means that a new route is now viable, one that drastically brings down shipping times when compared to the most-used alternative to connect Asia and Europe — the one that crosses the Suez Canal — and reduces them exponentially when compared to the route that crosses the Indian Ocean and rounds the Cape of Good Hope, at the southern tip of Africa.

“If the 20th century was the century of the Strait of Malacca, the 21st century will be the century of the Bering Strait,” predicts Arancha González Laya, dean of the Paris School of International Affairs at Sciences Po, in her recently published book, Solos en el Mundo (Alone in the World). “One of the greatest reconfigurations of global logistics has begun,” Spain’s former foreign minister adds.

With the Red Sea, the gateway to the Suez Canal, under constant Houthi pressure and the Strait of Hormuz doubly blocked by the U.S.-Israeli conflict with Iran, the situation could not be more favorable for the so-called Northern Sea Route. It shortens transit times by up to 40%, according to Kjell Stokvik, managing director of the Center for High North Logistics. And, he adds, this figure“will be reduced even further in the future, with transpolar routes.”

The Northern Sea Route allows for greater ship turnover. It reduces fuel consumption — which is crucial in times of scarcity — and it avoids the risk of armed attacks. Additionally, even though the premiums demanded by insurers are high, these have also grown significantly in Middle Eastern waters, which will level the playing field between the two routes.

However, there are significant drawbacks to this new route. The first is the environmental damage: if this route is feasible today, it’s precisely because of the unchecked advance of ocean warming and the continuous melting of the Arctic Circle. Nowadays, icebreakers are only needed in the final stretch of the season, well into October. And, despite the ships’ lower fossil fuel consumption on a shorter journey, the opening of this new route could exacerbate pollution. It could also further damage the biodiversity in a unique region, one that’s a natural sanctuary of incalculable value.

“These cargo ships risk collisions with mammals and other species in an area that also depends heavily on fishing,” notes Javier Arnaut, a professor at the University of Greenland-Ilisimatusarfik.

Anjali V. Bhatt, a research fellow at the Peterson Institute for International Economics (PIIE), points to a second challenge: the control that Russia exerts over the route. If Iran (and now the U.S.) wants to seize control of the Strait of Hormuz, charging tolls at will, it’s Rosatom — the Kremlin-owned nuclear corporation — that issues navigation permits in the far north. Naturally, this generates larger and larger sums of money for the Russian government, at a time of pressing economic need in Moscow. The opposite is true in Egypt: if the Arctic route becomes established, it will represent a financial drain on the already-strained coffers of the North African country, which are heavily dependent on ships transiting through the Suez Canal.

“From Shanghai northward, any ship taking the Arctic route reaches Europe faster [than via the Suez Canal]. But there will always be a drawback: there are no points where ships can make intermediate stops,” explains Jordi Torrent, a consultant and secretary general of the MEDPorts Association. “From Asia to Algeciras [in Spain], ships can call at four or five ports [including Singapore, Dubai, Egypt, Malta]. In contrast, there’s nothing when you pass through the Arctic, and that’s a structural limitation.”

Spain has benefited from the diversions around the Cape of Good Hope, reinforcing its role as a gateway to Europe via the Strait of Gibraltar, one of the few remaining open shipping lanes. The cities of Valencia and Barcelona have seen their business boom, while Algeciras has established itself as a critical port on a global scale. The Arctic route could diminish this influence.

Although there’s still no regular service, a total of 103 transits (outbound or return journey) were recorded last year via the Arctic route. That’s six more than in 2024 and 60 more than in 2022, according to figures from the Center for High North Logistics, based in Kirkenes, Norway. Most of these vessels were Russian and Chinese. Those numbers, however, still pale in comparison to the more than 24,000 ships that passed through the Suez Canal in 2024, the last year before the war in the Middle East reached its peak.

Neither North America nor Europe remains untouched by these commercial shifts (as well as military and energy-related ones) in an Arctic that has become one of the world’s hottest flashpoints in terms of clashes between global powers. The Trump administration has combined repeated annexation threats against Greenland with the announcement of a major purchase of Finnish-built icebreakers, bringing its fleet to over 50. Canada, not wanting to be left behind, has just announced the construction of six more of these vessels.

“The opening of these routes is generating anxiety in the U.S. to use the other Arctic route, the Northwest Passage, which Greenland has the rights to,” Arnaut explains. “It increases the value [of the island that’s under Danish sovereignty] for Trump and demonstrates that the gradual commercialization of the Arctic goes far beyond monetary value: it has strategic value.”

Meanwhile, in the next few weeks, the European Union is preparing to unveil the main points of its Arctic strategy for the coming years. It holds a strong hand: the continent has the advantage of geographical proximity, while Finland, Denmark and Sweden have historical hegemony in the area. But, as in so many other areas, many argue that it lacks ambition, that its instinctive caution risks holding it back at a time when the major powers, from Russia and the United States to China, are baring their teeth.

Summit in Lapland

Aware of the urgency, Helsinki (perhaps the EU capital with the most influence in a region where its future is at stake) has convened a high-level summit, to be held on September 13 and 14 in Rovaniemi, a town in Lapland, the northernmost region of Finland. “The Arctic region is an increasingly important part of Europe’s security environment. The European Union has direct interests in its stability, security and sustainable development,” said Finnish Prime Minister Petteri Orpo, while extending an invitation to several EU leaders.

“Europe’s challenge isn’t a lack of involvement. Rather, it’s about ensuring greater coordination and a clearer strategic direction,” Stokvik argues, from the Center for High North Logistics.

Michael Bravo, from the Scott Polar Research Institute at the University of Cambridge, also believes that the 27 member states can “benefit from these advances [in Arctic navigation].” The EU, he says, “has both the opportunity and the capacity to contribute constructively to shaping the region’s future, ensuring adequate environmental protection and economic stability.”

However, Alla Pozdnakova, from the Scandinavian Institute of Maritime Law at the University of Oslo, is more skeptical. “It’s fascinating to see China and South Korea’s plans, but I doubt these routes will have positive implications under the current circumstances, either for Arctic states or for the rest of Europe.”

On the contrary, she writes to EL PAÍS in an email, “Geopolitical tensions are likely to increase. And Arctic coastal countries, like Norway, will be exposed to greater risks of polluting accidents in the harsh conditions of Arctic waters. The ecological damage that a container ship accident can cause to the marine environment is enormous.”

Moscow’s leverage

“Russia not only uses natural gas to exert pressure on Europe, it can also use the Arctic as leverage: it can raise or lower the fees it charges shipping companies to transit the route, and it has the ability to shut it down whenever it chooses, much as Iran can with the Strait of Hormuz,” Vasco Sánchez Rodrigues, an associate professor at Cardiff University, warns by phone.

He also stresses the importance of the route as an outlet for Russian oil and gas exports, as well as a regular corridor for the movement of troops and military equipment to and from the Eurasian power.

In the words of Carlos Santana, director of IE University’s Advanced Supply Chain Management Programme in Madrid, the shift represents “a changing of the guard,” with a new lord and master of shipping routes. And it means more power for Moscow and Beijing. “For China,” he notes, “the Arctic isn’t just a potentially shorter route; it is, above all, a new strategic option.”

And for the Kremlin, concludes Torrent, the Arctic has been an obsession for four centuries. “Russia’s only maritime outlets were through the Black Sea, controlled by Turkey, and the Baltic. That is why access to the Arctic was one of Putin’s five priorities for this century. Thanks to climate change, that goal has now been achieved.”

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