Transmigrated as Jane’s Ghostly Godmother - Chapter 13

Chapter 13: The Rising Wind Foretells the Storm—Pre-competition Preparations

The daily schedule at Whirlwood Public School was like a precision timepiece: rigorous and regular. At seven o’clock, the morning bell woke the girls; at seven-thirty, the dining hall served warm milk, bread, and oatmeal; and at eight o’clock sharp, the day’s lessons officially began.

The curriculum, determined by the instructors, covered French, history, geography, natural sciences, drawing, and music. Of course, there was the indispensable etiquette class taught by Miss Victor herself, designed to mold every student into a portrait of grace and decorum.

As the inter-school competition approached, the leisurely atmosphere of the campus was quietly stained with the colors of tension. Students spent their free time lingering in the library and practice rooms. Even the liveliest discussions grew hushed, replaced by the rustle of turning pages and the intermittent sound of pianos.

In this wave, Jane threw herself in heart and soul. The six months leading up to the competition were Jane’s period of metamorphosis.

At the beginning, everything was a struggle. Jane was like an ugly duckling lost among swans. Her taciturn nature, her overly pale face, and her lack of systematic knowledge—never encountered at Gateshead—made her feel entirely out of place. In class, she was always the one sitting the straightest, listening intently to every word the teacher said, yet appearing exceptionally tense because of it.

When she answered Miss Lana’s questions in French class with a voice that was unpracticed yet remarkably clear, a few mockingly imitated “buzzing” sounds would often drift from the back of the room, followed by suppressed giggles.

Back then, when classmates talked about her in private, it was always with a sense of condescending sympathy or curiosity.

“That’s the transfer student Eleanor always hangs around with.”

“I heard she’s an orphan living with relatives; no wonder she knows nothing.”

“Beatrice seems to really loathe her.”

In their eyes, Jane was merely an insignificant shadow clinging to Eleanor’s kindness.

Had it been the old Jane, she might have flushed crimson and retreated into a silent shell. But now, she simply spared a calm glance toward the source of the noise before returning her gaze to the teacher, as if the sounds were nothing more than annoying summer flies.

Just as Guide No. 4 in Lin Zhao’s notebook stated: “False evaluations do not become true simply because they increase in number.”

These people didn’t know her. Their mockery stemmed from ignorance and prejudice, having nothing to do with her intrinsic value. She had already learned to filter out the meaningless noise. She kept every word of the schedule close to her heart.

“No. 3: The primary task is always learning. Remain curious; remain hungry for knowledge.”

Studying hard wasn’t just about winning a competition; it was about seizing the opportunity to stay here and change her fate. Jane followed Eleanor’s lead in catching up on the foundations she lacked. Occasionally, after the lights were out, they would use a secretly lit oil lamp in the dorm to discuss unsolved problems.

Lin Zhao, accompanying them silently, rarely joined the debate. She only offered a soft hint when Jane hit a mental wall: “Think about it—who wrote this history? What kind of story did he want posterity to see?”

This modern, critical perspective opened a brand-new window for Jane, allowing her to offer refreshing insights from angles no one else noticed. Gradually, she began to use this way of thinking naturally.

Academically, Eleanor was a natural linguist who helped Jane’s French pronunciation become more standard by the day. Meanwhile, Jane showed a startling gift for history and logic, grasping complex points with a single explanation, which often left Eleanor and Beatrice in awe.

Jane was deeply grateful that Eleanor was willing to help her bridge the gap.

“I think I understand what you said now,” Jane whispered, handing a note to Lin Zhao while Eleanor wasn’t looking. “No. 2: Find suitable campus partners.”

Lin Zhao looked at the note and nodded with a smile. To be honest, she had poured everything she knew into that schedule, revising it countless times. To see Jane understanding and applying it line by line was a miraculous feeling. Jane’s growth was being marked by her influence.

This was the meaning Jane once gave to her.

Jane, of course, didn’t know Lin Zhao’s complex thoughts. She buried her head back in her books, fully immersed in the world of study. Faced with overly difficult knowledge, Jane often felt a headache; yet the process of conquering it and reaping the reward fascinated her just as much.

Her academic results manifested steadily over time, influencing the very atmosphere of the class. The students who mocked her in the first month began to hesitate before her increasingly confident answers in the second. By the third month, Jane’s French pronunciation had shed its initial flaws, becoming more standard than that of classmates who had studied for years.

“Jane, comment peut-on surmonter les difficultés dans les études?” (Jane, how can one overcome difficulties in studies?)

Jane stood up, her eyes clear. Her voice wasn’t loud, but her pronunciation was sharp: “Je pense que, bien que la diligence soit fondamentale, la chose la plus importante est de ne jamais perdre espoir.” (I think that, although diligence is fundamental, the most important thing is never to lose hope.)

“Excellent, Jane! C’est magnifique!” Miss Lana’s face lit up with genuine surprise and praise.

“Not only is your pronunciation nearly perfect, but you used the subjunctive mood led by ‘bien que’ so skillfully—a difficulty usually mastered only by senior students! More importantly,” she looked around the class, “your answer about ‘never losing hope’ is a powerful maxim in itself. Your rate of progress is astonishing. I am proud of you.”

Under such praise, the gazes directed at Jane were naturally full of admiration—including those who had once looked down on her. Slowly, Jane was no longer discussed as “Eleanor’s hanger-on,” but as the “unexpected transfer student.” At lunch, classmates began to seek her out to discuss class questions; in the library, people would ask her for details on specific topics. She no longer needed to depend on anyone; she had won initial respect through her own ability.

Beatrice remained stubborn with her words, but her actions were far more honest. During etiquette practice, she would coldly correct Jane’s every minor error, from the angle of her fingers to the arc of her skirt, with near-draconian demands.

“Keep your spine straight, but relax your shoulders! You look like a wooden pole ready to poke a hole in the ceiling!”

“No! Your curtsy is too stiff. Are you going into a duel? Elegance, Jane Eyre, elegance! Like a swan!”

“Perhaps if there weren’t a squawking duck nearby, the swan would perform better,” Jane couldn’t help but mutter.

“What did you say?!”

“All right, all right, you two!” Eleanor hurried to make peace, imitating Beatrice’s posture with a perfect curtsy. “Look, Betty is just being strict. Jane, you’re a fast learner. Try again!”

Under Eleanor’s mediation, the bickering turned into momentum. When Jane finally completed a series of elegant movements fluently, even Beatrice had to let out an almost inaudible “hmpf” from her nose—a grudging acknowledgment.

Lin Zhao looked from Beatrice back to Jane. The girl’s shoulders and back had straightened out from the etiquette drills, and she seemed to have grown a bit taller. She couldn’t help but marvel: “Even Beatrice, when needed, has become a good teacher.”

Jane, thinking of Beatrice’s “exasperated teacher” face, also couldn’t help but curl her lips. She knew that beneath that sharpness was an unacknowledged concern for their team’s honor. She winked at Lin Zhao, her tone playful: “Guide No. 6: Good teachers and friends are major boosts to progress. Learn to find something to learn from everyone. Is that it?”

“Yes,” the mentor herself couldn’t resist patting Jane’s head. “Well learned, Jane.”

During these six months, Jane’s world expanded as never before. She immersed herself in the sea of knowledge, feeling the charm of logic and history; she learned cooperation and expression through her friends; and she built a solid confidence through repeated challenges and recognition. She was no longer the sensitive, insecure orphan of Gateshead who could only rely on an imaginary friend for comfort. Her inner self was becoming rich and powerful.

This was Jane’s daytime schedule—full, busy, and bursting with visible growth. But what no one knew was that at night, when the dormitory lights were out and the world fell silent, she had another “lesson.”

When Eleanor and Beatrice were deep in sleep, Jane would quietly lift a corner of her quilt to make room for the silent figure appearing by the bed. Like a wisp of light smoke, her “Fairy Godmother”—the ghost from a far-off place—would slip into the warm bed and talk to her. This was their secret time.

It was less a conversation and more Jane listening. To avoid waking her roommates, Jane responded only with nods or the faintest breath of a whisper. Lin Zhao would talk about the world she came from.

“In that world,” Lin Zhao said, “people live more according to their own hearts. Women have become much freer; they can go anywhere they want and do anything they like. Education, work, travel—these are no longer the exclusive rights of men.”

“I think I would like it there,” Jane’s eyes sparkled in the darkness. It was a world she hadn’t even imagined in her dreams.

Lin Zhao smiled and said softly, “Because people like you existed, my world became better.” She herself had found the courage to face her own difficult life because she had read Jane’s story.

“In such a world, when you were my age, what were your troubles?” Jane was always curious about the experiences Lin Zhao shared with her.

Troubles—those questions that haunt the mind without a satisfying answer—change at every stage of life. When she was Jane’s age, because she had read Jane Eyre, she spent a long time worrying about the troubles she learned from Jane.

“You know, Jane,” Lin Zhao moved, touching her forehead to Jane’s, “in my language, you have a name that means ‘Love’ (Ai).”

One part of the original book that had left a deep impression on Lin Zhao was the debate between Jane and Helen Burns about love and forgiveness. But the Jane before her had the cheerful Eleanor by her side. Their friendship was warm and direct, and it seemed they hadn’t yet touched upon such profound philosophical questions. Perhaps it was the difference in her friends’ personalities. So, Lin Zhao tried to adapt Jane’s once-felt confusion.

“Back then, I had a friend,” Lin Zhao said carefully, “who would worry about ‘love’.”

“Love?” Jane’s eyes instantly lit up. The word held an infinite attraction for her. This whispered word was a bit too loud; Eleanor murmured and rolled over in the next bed. Jane covered her mouth, signaling Lin Zhao to continue with an expectant look.

Lin Zhao chuckled softly and added, “She felt she was willing to give everything for love.”

Jane’s hand covered most of her face, but she still nodded vigorously, her eyes full of agreement.

“Love is important. Without it, life would feel very empty,” Lin Zhao lowered her eyes, looking at the little girl full of curiosity. For a moment, she felt like she was back in another time and space, discussing the same topic with the “Jane” in her heart.

“But,” she paused, her voice becoming exceptionally tender, “there are many kinds of love. Love for others is not the only kind of love.”

Lin Zhao’s voice in the small space of the bed covers was exceptionally clear and solemn.

“There is also love for yourself, love for knowledge, and love for independence. They are the foundation—the strength that allows you to stand straight even when you are alone, with a full heart. They make you whole. When you meet someone worth giving your emotions to, you go to share your world with them, rather than begging them to fill your emptiness.”

Jane listened quietly. This was the first time she had heard such a view; it felt strange and new. Yet these feelings weren’t enough to explain the violent thumping in her chest. She felt something striking there, demanding she speak something in return.

But for now, she didn’t know what to say. So, she simply did as she always did: she memorized Lin Zhao’s words meticulously, waiting for the day of sudden realization.