Each time my boss drives the screw into his employees, he repeats the same thing: "Which pieces of Chinese onion do you think you are? Put a hand on your heart, which one of you dares to tell me he or she is too good to be replaced?

"Remember: There's always another patch of green grass only 10 steps away; doctoral degree holders are all over the place if you open the door! If you fail to achieve, let's 'boil the pork till it burns through the pot' - I'll replace the whole pot of you!"

We trembled like tiny onion seedlings in a thunderstorm. It seemed like a sharp pickaxe was already roaring towards us. We were soon to be uprooted and thrown out into the job market wilderness.

However, the Chinese onions have developed a resistance to the pests of criticism. Now, these loud reprimands are just an autumn breeze that sweeps by the donkeys' ears; the falling Mount Taishan is simply a straw hat on a bald head. As long as the boss doesn't give a name, he isn't talking to anyone in particular in the group.

We have woken up to see the truth. Without our hard work, could our boss be our boss? Which pieces of Chinese onion do you think we are? We are the Chinese onion that is mixed cold with bean curd, fried with eggs, baked with pancake and dipped in sweet sauce.