A few days ago, I interviewed a male candidate, a recent graduate from a key university in Wuhan, who had traveled specifically to Beijing to look for a job.
He wore a full set of black sportswear and was waiting for me at the front desk. Upon meeting, he spread his hands outward and said, "You've already seen my resume yesterday, so I didn't bring it today."
"Did you bring a pen?" I had reminded him over the phone the day before to bring one.
"Yes, I did."
"Good."
I led him to the lounge area and handed him a stack of papers. "Here are the written test questions. You have one hour to complete them. Afterward, we can continue our conversation."
He took the test paper, flipped through it, and seemed about to say something. "Are you asking me to do this test?"
"Yes, please start with the test."
He continued looking at the questions, frowning slightly. "Sorry, I can't do this test."
"Why not?"
"Some of these questions are about specific project details, and I don't know how to answer them."
Was he nervous? I tried to reassure him: "Don't be nervous. Just do your best. The test is merely for reference."
He replied, "If you insist on me doing this test, I can tell you right now—I can't do it. These aren't things I'm interested in, so I haven't paid attention. What does this test have to do with the position you're hiring for?"
He had posed a surprisingly challenging question. I didn't engage with his logic but instead asked, "Then what abilities do you think are relevant to this position?"
He closed the test paper and pushed it toward the center of the table. "I don't know, but I'm very different."
I was about to end the interview immediately, but a thought crossed my mind—I decided to give him a chance.
I took back the test paper and sat down across from him. "Alright, then tell me—what abilities do you have?"
He looked at me, slightly nervous but still holding his head high. "The key difference between people lies in their core. " He made a small gesture with his right hand, clenching it slightly. "My core is very strong. I'm deeply thoughtful. My understanding of society and the world is deeper than anyone else's—and this is acknowledged by everyone around me."
"Oh, I see. So, what exactly can you do?"
"My difference from others lies in my core. The content on your test paper is just information—it can be learned quickly. But I have profound thoughts. My thinking enables me to achieve anything I set my mind to."
"What successful things have you done in the past?"
"I worked as a reporter and website editor at school. I interviewed, wrote news stories, and published content online. I'm very familiar with this process."
"Good. How exactly did you do these things?"
"I've read a huge number of books—more than anyone else. My thoughts are deep, and my inner self is powerful. I know this sounds abstract, and you might not fully understand. But I really am very different."
I kept trying to guide him toward concrete examples, but he continually circled back to abstract ideas about his 'thinking.' I was nearly at my wit's end. "Alright, is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"
"The tasks in your job are just details. As long as I want to do something, I can do it. Just like today, coming to this interview—I had full confidence in myself." He paused. "But if you feel I'm not suitable, then that's fine. I can leave now. No problem."
Finally, I said to him, "We've only been together for 10 minutes, but I'd like to share one thought with you—perhaps it will help you in future job searches."
He clearly hadn't expected this. A flicker of surprise and curiosity appeared in his eyes, and he lowered his head slightly.
I said, "A person's greatest value doesn't lie in having thoughts, but in what those thoughts can bring to others. Value isn't declared by oneself; it's demonstrated through society and other people."
He murmured, "Oh," as if suddenly enlightened—or perhaps not understanding at all. Then he raised his head again.
I asked a colleague to escort him to the door, but he waved his hand elegantly, repeatedly saying, "No need, no need."
And so, a black-clad figure walked away independently—yet, lonely—disappearing from my sight.