At the age of twenty-one, he traveled to Beijing from out of town to find a master and learn his craft, only to face rejection after rejection. Shortly after, he and a few friends formed a small club, surviving by performing on the streets.
Every night, while others returned home to warmth and comfort, he stood on an empty stage, endlessly rehearsing new routines until his voice grew hoarse and his tongue trembled. His friends, moved by his dedication, tried to dissuade him, asking, "Isn't it just about making a living? Why push yourself so hard?"
While appreciating their concern, he continued to diligently record, memorize, and practice traditional crosstalk segments. For a whole year, he watched no movies, took no strolls, and slept poorly. His sweat paid off. In just one year, he mastered over 600 traditional routines, earning a modest reputation within his circle.
However, fate seemed to toy with those who work hard. Failure struck repeatedly, making success feel out of reach. The days of silent labor and obscurity were painfully dull. On one such night, after practicing until late, he rode his bicycle home. Not far from home, the bike broke down. It was midnight, public transport had stopped, and he had no money for a taxi, yet he had a crucial performance the next afternoon. Clenching his teeth, he left the bike on the roadside and walked stubbornly to his rental in the suburbs.
It was a season of continuous autumn rain. By the time he reached his home, soaked to the bone, it was dawn. Dizzy from fever, he collapsed onto his bed. Knowing this state was dangerous, he forced himself up, searched his belongings, and sold a broken pager for a few dozen yuan. He bought two mantou and some cold medicine, and somehow survived.
That afternoon, with a wax-yellow complexion, he arrived at the performance venue. His partner was shocked and immediately asked what had happened. He smiled and recounted the previous night's ordeal. Seeing his haggard face, his partner’s eyes welled up with tears. Without a word, his partner patted his shoulder gently and supported him onto the stage.
With nothing to his name, he relied on his stubbornness to establish a foothold in the fiercely competitive Beijing. Years later, during a competition, his confidence and humor caught the attention of the renowned crosstalk artist Hou Yaowen. Hou indirectly expressed his desire to accept him as a disciple. Upon hearing the news, he asked his partner Yu Qian to hit him. Yu Qian slapped him twice, and Guo Degang burst into tears. The two men embraced tightly, crying like children.
A few years later, Guo Degang had become a household name across the country. A journalist, having unearthed his past struggles, asked him what kept him going. He smiled and replied: "When I was young, my family was poor. When it rained, other kids stood in the classroom waiting for umbrellas. But I knew my family didn't have one, so I ran home through the rain. If you don't have an umbrella, you must run with all your might! For people like us, with no background, no wealth, no connections, and no money—who have nothing—if you don't work desperately and run with everything you have, what is the meaning of life?"
