Jing Chen
- MUH_mod
- Jan 4
- 6 min read
Name: Jing Chen (陈静)
Age: 30
Occupation: Corporate Lawyer specializing in Mergers & Acquisitions
Nationality: Chinese
City: Shanghai
Weight: 48 kg
Marital Status: Single (by choice, focused on career advancement)
Children: None
"My name is Jing, which means 'calm' or 'quiet,' and I've spent 30 years proving that calm waters can move mountains."
I'm 30, born and raised in Shanghai, and I practice corporate law at one of the city's most prestigious firms. While other women my age are navigating the "three major battlefields" of workplace, marriage, and parenting, I've chosen to master only one: my career. People call women over 30 in China "leftover women" if we're unmarried. I call myself exactly where I need to be, building something that can't be taken away by anyone.
They say a woman's 30s are the golden period for careers, when experience meets ambition. I embody that completely. By day, I'm negotiating M&A deals worth hundreds of millions, wearing tailored black suits that cost more than my first month's salary. By night, I'm in my high-rise apartment overlooking the Bund, wrapped in silk, reading contracts and sipping wine, refusing to apologize for choosing this life.
Growing up in Shanghai meant understanding early that success requires sacrifice. My parents wanted stability for me, maybe a government job or teaching position. Instead, I studied law at Fudan University, graduated top of my class, and joined a firm where I was the youngest woman in the corporate department.
Chinese women over 30 face incredible pressure. During job interviews, over 61% of women are asked about marital status and pregnancy plans. When I interview now, as a senior associate about to make partner, I watch younger women navigate those same invasive questions. I want to tell them: your uterus is not a business plan. Your value isn't determined by your willingness to produce heirs.
Last week, I led a major cross-border acquisition, standing at the head of a conference table in a red dress that commanded attention without saying a word. Behind me, a screen full of shareholders on video calls. In front of me, clients who'd initially questioned whether someone "so young" could handle their deal.
Female lawyers in China are making waves, being recognized among top practitioners in M&A and capital markets. I'm part of that generation, women who work harder than men because we have to, who stay later because leaving "on time" looks like lack of commitment, who master English, Mandarin, and legalese with equal fluency because competence in one language isn't enough.
People see the lawyer, the professional in sharp suits and sharper arguments. They don't see the woman who comes home at midnight, kicks off heels that cost a fortune and hurt beautifully, and immediately wraps herself in silk robes while reviewing depositions.
My apartment is minimalist luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Shanghai's glittering skyline, a small kitchen I rarely use because I'm always working, and a bedroom that's equal parts sanctuary and secondary office. Sometimes I work from bed on winter mornings, laptop balanced on my knees, wearing nothing but a red robe and determination, watching snow fall over the city while I draft contracts that will close by spring.
I have small beauty marks on my face, little reminders that perfection is boring. In a culture obsessed with flawless skin and youth, these tiny imperfections make me memorable. During negotiations, I've noticed men fixating on them instead of listening to my arguments. That's when I know I've already won, because they're distracted and I'm not.
Chinese beauty standards are exhausting: fair skin, delicate features, eternal youth. At 30, I'm supposed to be panicking about aging. Instead, I'm celebrating the confidence that comes with this decade. I know which lighting makes me look powerful in video conferences. I know which perfume makes clients remember me. I know exactly how much to reveal and when to close the door.
My secret rebellion: weekend cooking classes. While everyone expects me to spend Sundays reviewing case files, I put on an apron over a simple tank top and learn to make dishes my grandmother used to cook. There's something grounding about using my hands for creation instead of contracts.
The instructor, an elderly woman from Hangzhou, treats me like everyone else. She doesn't care that I'm a corporate lawyer or that I bill 2,000 yuan an hour. She only cares if my dumplings are properly sealed. In that kitchen, wearing a brown apron, hair tied back, I'm just Jing, the girl who still can't fold wontons correctly but keeps trying anyway.
Chinese society has strong opinions about single women over 30. Family gatherings become interrogations. Dating apps suggest I lower my standards. Articles warn about declining fertility and shrinking marriage prospects. My response? I upgraded to a two-bedroom apartment and converted the second room into a home office, because my career needs more space than hypothetical children.
Some women my age are studying abroad to escape the pressure and bias in China's labour market. I respect that. I chose to stay and fight, to become so undeniably excellent that firms compete for me, not the other way around. Last month, I received an offer from a Hong Kong firm specializing in Greater China corporate transactions, the kind of opportunity they usually reserve for men.
There's this ritual I have. After particularly brutal days, closing deals where I've been the only woman in the room, I stand by my floor-to-ceiling windows in winter, wrapped in a red cardigan over a white slip, coffee or wine in hand depending on the hour. I watch Shanghai's lights blur through the snow and remind myself why I chose this path.
I'm building something permanent. Not a marriage that might end, not children who will grow up and leave, but a career that's mine. A reputation that precedes me. A bank account that answers to no one. A life where "leftover" is redefined as "choosy".
Asian Legal Business keeps lists of top female lawyers in China, recognizing outstanding performance in venture capital, private equity, M&A. I study those names like scripture, women with 20+ years of experience advising on China-related corporate finance, pioneers who set precedents for the rest of us.
I want to be on that list. Not for ego, though that's part of it, but because visibility matters. Every time a woman is recognized at the top of her field, we rewrite the narrative about what Chinese women over 30 can achieve. We're not leftovers. We're not past our prime. We're just getting started.
At 30, I'm not who my parents imagined. I'm not married. I don't have children. I work 60-hour weeks and sometimes forget to eat until my assistant reminds me. But I'm also the woman who closed three major deals this quarter. Who speaks at industry conferences. Who mentors younger female associates. Who owns her apartment outright in one of the world's most expensive cities.
My name, 静 (Jìng), means calm, serene, quiet. But I've learned that calm can be strategic, that quiet confidence speaks louder than desperate proving. When I walk into a boardroom in a tailored black suit, when I stand at a podium giving a presentation in a red dress, when I negotiate terms that favor my clients while men twice my age watch in surprise, I'm not loud. I'm just undeniably present.
So here I am, love. Thirty years old, with a bob that frames my face perfectly, beauty marks that make me memorable, and a career trajectory that terrifies men who peaked at 35. Sometimes I'm the lawyer in the corner office reviewing contracts until midnight. Sometimes I'm the woman in silk at home by the window, watching snow fall over Shanghai, sipping wine, living a life I designed myself.
If you ever see a petite woman in a law firm lobby, hair glossy and perfectly styled, expression calm but eyes calculating everything, it might be me. Rewriting the rules for Chinese women over 30, one precedent-setting deal at a time, proving that "leftover" is just another word for "irreplaceable."
And trust me, in my world, calm always wins.
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