The verse sets you in a jade field with a shovel in your hand, frustrated that the plot is small and the goldmine refuses to yield. In matters of love, this is the stick that catches you mid-dig. You have been treating connection like an excavation site, measuring effort against return, comparing your patch of ground to someone else's, suspecting that if you just worked harder, the jade would surface. The stick reflects that strain back to you. The exhaustion you feel is not proof that love is hidden somewhere deeper; it is proof that you have been mining a thing that was never meant to be mined.
Notice what the poem actually warns against: not the wanting, but the grumbling and the endless striving. You may be auditing a partner who has not earned the audit, or interrogating a budding relationship for guarantees it cannot give yet. You may be staying late at a connection that has already told you, quietly, what it is. The jade-field imagery is honest about scale. Some plots are small. Some seasons are lean. The stick rates this Average because nothing here is broken, but the harder you push, the more you confirm a poverty that may not be real.