Err, how does one say this? Where have all the migrant workers gone?

We seem to have lost a vast swathe of the nation's lifeblood since the end of Spring Festival, sparking a shortage of workers in key industries across the country.

In just a few weeks since the start of the Year of the Rabbit, the landscape of China's labor market has been transformed. At a cursory glance, it paints a picture of a land with too many jobs and not enough workers, resulting in a wage war between employers desperate to fill vacancies from a depleted workforce.

At some places candidates no longer queue for hours hoping to get hired, HR departments are not being deluged with applications, and those who were once forced to travel hundreds of miles away from their families to find work can now get a job down the road, often with wages much higher than in the weeks before the New Year.

But what is really going on in the labor market, and is the current snapshot an accurate portrayal of what is taking place among the 150 million people who make up China's backbone, often doing hard, dirty work for long hours with low pay?

At first, I wondered whether several trains had been sent down the wrong track during the Spring Festival return travel rush, and whether somewhere in the middle of the country a million stranded migrant workers were continuing the party with only a bottle of baijiu for comfort. Or perhaps they all decided to hide for a couple of weeks forcing up the price of their labor in an elaborate game of corporate hide and seek.

But seriously, across China's manufacturing provinces and those commonly called the world's factory floor, businesses are resorting to innovative methods to lure workers.

It used to be that people flocked to the capital-rich coastal regions in search of work, but the trend seems to be reversing, sparking a fierce competition between the inland and coastal regions to attract migrant workers.

In Chongqing, firms have set up booths at railway and bus stations to persuade workers to stay home instead of going to work elsewhere. The city's labor bureau posted an open letter urging locals to take jobs closer to home.

The capital of Guangdong province raised its minimum monthly salary from 1,100 to 1,300 yuan (about $166 to $200), the greatest amount seen among mainland cities. The national average was 1,350 to 1,420 yuan in 2009.

One furniture manufacturer in East China's Fujian province is offering 1,600 yuan per month for roughcast makers and 1,400 yuan for milling machine operators.

Officials in Shaoxing, East China's Zhejiang province, even resorted to contacting authorities in Chongqing and Sichuan province for help in hiring more workers, only to be turned down.

Shanghai faced a similar problem and dispatched 400 buses to bring in workers from Anhui, Henan and Hubei provinces to keep production lines moving.

Traditional gender stereotypes in the workplace are also changing. A sewing machine factory in Southwest China's Sichuan province has witnessed a growing number of male applicants for jobs customarily held by women.

Women in Xiantao, Central China's Hubei province would normally have to consider leaving their children behind to find work many miles away. But a shortage of 20,000 workers in the city has given them a chance to work closer to home and spend more time with their family.

The changes in China's labor market may appear more stunning when they eventually settle and we understand what is taking place. A surplus of jobs in a competing market can only be a good thing when it raises the wages of those who historically have been poorly paid, rarely on time and are often badly treated.

Maybe the battle taking place in the labor market will not only give China's grassroots a much deserved pay raise, but also the security they truly deserve, such as pensions, medical care and work accident compensation.

I'd stay missing a little longer if I were you.

The author is a copy editor with China Daily website.