The day my master resigned, he took me out for ramen.

I worked for twelve years. Thirty-eight. Middle management.
He said the company hires fresh graduates every year—not to bring in new blood.
It’s to get cheap labor.
An 8,000-yuan worker can replace you, a 35,000-yuan worker.
Three cobblers equal Zhuge Liang.
Besides—you’re not Zhuge Liang. You’re just a skilled worker.
After 35, your salary will exceed the value you create.
It’s not that you’re not working hard.
It’s that the system has already figured it out.
In the year you turn 40, you’ll become a high-cost resource.
Then there was one time when they adjusted the organizational structure.
You’re gone. Your work gets split into three parts and assigned to three fresh graduates.
They don’t do as well as you.
But together, they’re cheaper than you.
He went to a small company. His salary was cut in half.
But there it doesn’t count as cost—it counts as people.
He patted my shoulder: You’re 28 this year, and you have seven more years.
Seven years isn’t for you to get promoted.
It’s to find the place that doesn’t put a price on you before you’re priced out.
I’m 34 this year.