A widely shared chart on artificial intelligence's impact on various professions has been circulating on social media, placing "basic accounting" at the top of the high-risk list with a substitution rate of over 90%. One netizen tried to defuse the anxiety with a joke: "The profession hardest to replace by AI is accounting, because serving time in prison requires a real person."

For a long time, however, accounting was one of the most reassuring career options for ordinary families. It offered respectable, stable work where experience could be accumulated, carrying the allure of "becoming more valuable with age." Putting in years and obtaining certifications seemed to guarantee a clear, predictable professional path. Today, that path is breaking down. Basic bookkeeping roles are being rapidly replaced by financial software and automation, while employers now demand accountants who "understand the business and control risks," rather than just "calculating accurately." The entryway is narrowing, and those who remain are shouldering far more complex responsibilities. Accounting hasn't disappeared, but its most attractive feature—stability—is becoming scarce.

Accounting's Predicament: Can't Leave, Can't Get In

Online, many women in accounting have posted before-and-after photos of their work life. @饶漂亮 appears immaculately made-up with silky hair and captivating eyes in one image; in the other, she wears thick glasses, looks pale, and stares intently at a screen with a look "as determined as someone seeking party membership." This stark transformation is an unspoken norm for accounting professionals. The job carries a heavy "work smell," high risk of being scapegoated, and the financial prospects aren't always as promising as imagined. Some want out, yet hesitate to resign. A veteran accountant repeatedly advises peers on social media: "Don't quit, don't quit, don't quit," arguing that finding a new job now is like facing a violent storm. The top comment under her post used a blunt but honest saying to capture this mindset: "When the excrement gets cold, it suddenly seems like chocolate again."

熙熙 is a mid-level financial accountant. She never liked the work; she ended up in accounting only because a failed college entrance exam placed her in the major. After graduating in 2017, thinking she had already studied it for four years, she entered the finance industry. Over the years, she has tried to leave. She attempted web fiction, wrote eight openings, but never finished a single book; the money earned from writing was less than what she got from reading platforms. She tried self-media, landing only one 80-yuan advertisement. Later, she tried being a tour guide and a script murder mystery host, all ending in failure. She eventually returned to accounting. "After all that running around, I failed at everything and came back to accounting—and I didn't starve," she says. She views the job as a craft, a fallback. 熙熙's generation entered the field when the halo of stability had already faded.

Ten or twenty years earlier, the imagination of accounting in ordinary families was far more assured than her experience. For 滕云, a small-town girl, choosing accounting as a major was a decision made after much family deliberation. At that time, her options were limited: nursing was too exhausting, preschool teaching she disliked, and accounting seemed the most respectable. Her parents believed it was secure with promising income, as every company, regardless of size, needs financial personnel. With years of effort and certificates, there was no doubt about rising up. Accounting consequently remained a popular major for years. According to People's Daily Online, at its peak, there were over 2.6 million accounting students nationwide, roughly one-tenth of all university students then. Choosing accounting in that era was almost like choosing a predictable, secure road. But a few years later, the tide turned. Data from the higher education research firm MyCOS, summarizing first-round supplementary volunteer data for undergraduate admissions in 2026 across provinces like Anhui, Guangxi, and Guizhou, showed accounting ranked first and financial management second among majors with unfilled spots. Meanwhile, universities including Communication University of China and Tsinghua University have begun adjusting or even abolishing related programs. The once-popular major now relies on supplementary admissions to fill seats.

Ge Yuyu, an associate professor at the Shanghai National Accounting Institute, told media that returns on finance and accounting majors have declined in recent years due to oversupply. "Some people work hard to obtain their CPA certificate but find income isn't as high as expected." Coupled with advancements in AI and financial digitalization, the most basic finance positions are hit first. This impact has landed directly on graduates' job searches. Data from the Ministry of Education's "Sunshine College Entrance Exam" platform shows that in 2026, both accounting and financial management programs each had over 100,000 graduates. The 2026 "China Undergraduate Employment Report" from MyCOS indicates that the proportion of 2025 liberal arts graduates entering finance, auditing, tax, or statistics roles was 10.6%, down 1.9 percentage points from the 2021 cohort. This signals a clear weakening in the sector's ability to absorb new graduates.

People keep graduating, but the positions left for them are diminishing. Netizen @阿炫 spent over a year in Shenzhen without finding a job matching his major. He had upgraded from a vocational college to an ordinary private undergraduate institution, graduating in finance and accounting in 2024 without a prestigious background or internships, making his job hunt "hellishly difficult." The job apps showed many finance positions, but most offered around 4,000 yuan a month with demanding requirements. Even basic accounts payable assistant roles often specified "two years of experience." 阿炫 applied to over a hundred accounting posts, received only a handful of interviews, and landed nothing. He resorted to applying for warehouse keeper and store clerk jobs, though these were equally competitive. Under his post, a senior shared a similar story: "Before getting certified, I sent resumes and got no response. After studying hard and getting certified, still no response."

Basic Accounting Roles Shrink, Pushing Survivors Upward

Young finance graduates increasingly find it hard to enter the profession, not simply because the job market has deteriorated. Over the past decade and a half, the fundamental financial work—ideal for newcomers and requiring large workforces—has been steadily reduced through waves of technological upgrades. In 2012, 滕云 graduated and joined a paper manufacturing company in Jiaxing. The finance office had about ten people. Daily tasks involved sorting invoices, compiling factory purchasing and sales data, then handling declarations, invoicing, and settlements. Much of this was taught at school, so 滕云 picked it up easily. The real grind was repetition. A hundred paper invoices would pile up, requiring a whole afternoon of calculator work. At month's end, the office was filled with the clatter of keys. In her early years, she practically replaced her calculator annually, the "AC" button always wearing out first. Back then, an accountant's experience was built one invoice, one ledger entry at a time.

In 2018, 滕云 left to work at a hometown accounting firm. The intensity was high, but exposure to different industries and company sizes in bookkeeping and audits provided significant growth, and two years later, she opened her own firm. Around that period, she felt finance work change. The firm started using tax and finance service platforms capable of automatically extracting invoices, recording bank flows, generating vouchers, and enabling multi-level audit automation. At an annual fee of just over two hundred yuan, 滕云 estimated, "It could probably replace the work of three people in our firm." After the 2024 launch of the new electronic tax bureau, she no longer processes large volumes of paper bills or manual vouchers. "Previously, we'd hire assistant accountants and chief accountants, checking for junior and intermediate titles. Now, the system handles the basic work; one assistant accountant is basically sufficient." Her firm, including herself, has just five people serving over a hundred small and medium enterprises.

The company she once worked for still operates well, but its ten-person finance team has shrunk to three. The business didn't vanish—only the basic tasks requiring dense manpower did. Financial software, electronic invoicing, e-tax bureaus, and shared services centers in large companies are all re-standardizing what was once scattered across human hands. This creates an awkward situation: companies no longer need people who merely record vouchers, match invoices, or prepare simple reports, yet newcomers must pass through these tasks to build experience. When AI enters financial settings, it takes over precisely this most standardized part. 罗昊宇, a finance manager at a Shenzhen chip company with nearly a decade of experience and CPA credentials, earning roughly 400,000 yuan annually, believes AI hasn't yet replaced finance staff on a large scale—at least his circle doesn't rely on it for solving financial problems. But repetitive work like data extraction, number verification, and basic report generation is increasingly automated. Breaking out of basic roles has become an urgent question for all accountants.

罗昊宇 works especially hard, even though he initially didn't want to be a finance professional. In university, he dreamt of writing web novels and neglected his coursework. After graduating in 2018, he became a cashier at a Shenzhen chip startup, earning 6,000 yuan a month, initially unsure how to execute his duties, learning through courses and a mentor. He simultaneously studied for the CPA and tax advisor exams, eventually passing both after four years. Fortunately, that cashier role still gave him a starting point. The next year, he moved to an accountant position, with a 3,000-yuan raise. From then on, he realized that in a first-tier city like Shenzhen, merely "knowing how to do accounts" was far from sufficient. He needed higher professional barriers and to distance himself from the most replaceable foundational tasks. The CPA became his first step. During those years of preparation, 罗昊宇 studied almost constantly, until 11 p.m., during commutes and lunch breaks, living a life with only two points in Shenzhen—office and home. Four years later, he finally secured both the CPA and tax advisor certificates.

But certificates aren't the end. A 2025 business technology survey from CPA Australia found that 32% of respondents in the Asia-Pacific region said their companies reduced recruitment of junior finance staff over the past 12 months; meanwhile, 18% were expanding finance teams with AI-literate talent. For 罗昊宇 now, what truly determines advancement is participating in the company's business and decision-making processes—and he is moving in that direction.

Why 'More Valuable With Age' No Longer Holds

"Accounting being 'more valuable with age'? That saying doesn't apply anymore." 罗昊宇 and 滕云 gave almost identical answers. In the past, the job relied heavily on experience and seniority—the longer you handled accounts, the more familiar with company operations, and the more bosses trusted you. Finance roles had low turnover; it wasn't rare for accountants to stay at one company for over a decade, even decades. When 滕云 first opened her firm, she took over a small company's business from an 88-year-old accountant who had handled declarations, invoicing, and settlements since the last century—working nearly his whole life until age made employers worry about miscalculations and they turned to 滕云.

But by 滕云's generation, the basis for value accumulation changed. Tools and policies constantly evolve. Since opening her firm, 滕云 spends less time on simple bookkeeping and more on understanding how a business truly operates: supply channels, sales methods, applicable tax policies, risk points, and how to control costs compliantly. "If an accountant doesn't learn, they'll definitely be eliminated," she says. Advantages built on proficiency and repetition can be flattened by new systems quickly. This summer, two undergraduate accounting interns came to her firm. Conversations revealed that after over a decade, much of what schools teach remains largely unchanged from her own studies. Filling invoices, verifying data, creating basic vouchers—once core fundamentals for newcomers—are now often done with one click on tax and finance platforms. "The difference in time between issuing 10,000 invoices and one is not that large," 滕云 notes. What's genuinely hard to learn is what lies behind the systems. Operating a platform can be learned in a day, but truly using it to solve a company's financial issues requires understanding business models, upstream and downstream relationships, tax policy, and risk assessment. "It takes at least three months to learn."

The two interns were nearly useless at first; 滕云 didn't pay them, only provided lunch, yet they stayed because much of this isn't taught at school. On the day of our interview, a farm owner visited the firm, wanting to expand local mutton sales abroad and seeking advice on export tax issues. They talked all morning. First, 滕云 clarified his operational chain, then assessed how the locally tax-exempt agricultural products would be treated under export value-added tax rules, calculated profit, tax owed, and included invoice costs. This isn't merely "doing accounts" anymore. The accounting profession is visibly transforming: the more standardized and basic the role, the more compressible it becomes, while those who can engage with operations, comprehend business, and handle complex issues gain importance.

After turning 30, 罗昊宇 felt age pressure more acutely. In Shenzhen, he rarely sees older finance professionals. Aside from some executives, most of his peers are post-90s. His current finance director is only 30, a year younger than him. With a career crisis ahead and AI looming behind, 罗昊宇's solution is to embed himself deeper into the company's business. As a chip company's finance lead, he must understand how products are sold, where costs and profit margins sit, and participate in operational analysis and decisions. The company is currently pushing for an IPO, and 罗昊宇 often works overtime, though he values the experience. Completing an IPO is something he has always wanted to achieve. With such experience, he believes he can leap further up. "If I can't find a job in 10 years, I'll work hard now to save enough for retirement."

Of course, not everyone chooses to keep climbing in this industry. 熙熙 finally changed roles. On a friend's recommendation, she moved to a sales position, shifting from facing numbers and spreadsheets to constantly meeting people, communicating, and solving unexpected problems. At first, it was overwhelming, but she doesn't regret it. To hit her targets, she started using AI to write code. "Handling people and solving problems gives me great satisfaction." Occasionally, she misses the accounting days, when interpersonal interactions were straightforward because numbers are always honest. But she also knows she doesn't want to return. 滕云 has begun considering a different path for the next generation. Before her son's high school entrance exam, she and her husband discussed his future major. He jokingly suggested, "Carry on the family business—become an accountant." "No," 滕云 shook her head quickly. "Accounting is a sunset industry. Don't study it."