Transmigrated as Jane’s Ghostly Godmother - Chapter 55

Chapter 55: What is Love? — Drunk, And Remembering Everything…

Among the many subjects of education Jane received at Vine Manor, the one most closely linked to the future wine business was the wine-tasting class.

Her instructor, Laura, spoke highly of her, believing Jane had an extraordinary natural talent for discerning flavors and even taught her some skill in blending.

But as for actual drinking—due to her youth, Jane’s tolerance was mediocre at best. In public, she was always careful not to touch alcohol to avoid any accidents.

But tonight, frustrated and within the safety of her own home, she had downed the glass she took in spite. She decided to use this opportunity to “train” her tolerance by getting properly drunk, asking a servant for a tray of wine before retreating to her room.

Before leaving the hall, she made sure to tell Mrs. Alvis she was heading to bed so no one would worry.

Now, with the tray beside her and glass after glass disappearing, the world began to spin. She leaned against her bed, hugging a pillow. Being drunk did, indeed, make her feel much better.

No—it was more that in this blurred world, everything lost its shape, taking her complex, painful emotions along with it. The feeling was subtle, as if she were the only person left in existence.

Without her usual self-imposed restraint, memories of the past began to float to the surface. Accompanying those memories was loneliness—a feeling that hadn’t surfaced even when Lin Zhao was avoiding her, but now wrapped around her like an old shroud.

She remembered the darkest, loneliest years of her life.

“…A little brat abandoned by your parents; I doubt even the Heavenly Father could love you. Stay here and reflect on your sins!”

At Gateshead, Mrs. Reed had frequently whipped her under various pretexts before tossing her into solitary confinement. Perhaps the reason Jane could never truly find faith like others was because of those constant scoldings.

She would stare at the door, the insults echoing in her ears. She had grown numb to the words of hate and spite, so she dug out the one word that felt utterly out of place from that dense thicket of malice: Love.

Love. What was love?

It seemed to be something so essential that life became unbearable without it.

That was why they used this word to show her how terrifying a price she was paying. Even the Heavenly Father—whom most believed would save all who suffered—would supposedly refuse her because she was so “horrible.”

Speaking of faith, Jane rarely had the chance to attend service with the Reeds and was forbidden from praying with them. In those moments, watching people with palms pressed together and eyes piously closed, she couldn’t help but wonder.

Does such a great being truly exist?

What does it feel like to believe there is always someone who loves you, who can accept all your flaws and embrace all your suffering?

If I believed like that, could I find peace? Love? Happiness?

She had once tried that prayer posture herself, even more “piously,” pressing her hands to her brow to feel the only warmth in the darkness, asking the unknown Heavens:

“Dear Heavenly Father, please tell me—does someone truly exist in this world who is willing to treat me with sincerity and love me without reservation?”

There was no answer. It was just another lonely night. Even with “faith,” her world remained tiny, and her days were a dead-end of despair.

Jane returned to the present in her wine-induced floating state. Compared to the Heavenly Father, the peace brought by alcohol was far more tangible. She recalled everything without much emotion, feeling that only the original question was worth exploring again.

What is love?

Tonight, the reason for her drunkenness—a certain person whose heart she could never see through—had also spoken to her of this word.

In the nights at Wheelwood, tucked under the covers where only their breathing existed, Lin Zhao had touched her forehead with her own. That warmth was unmistakably real.

Lin had said: Jane, do you know? You have a name that means “Love.”

She said: Some are willing to give everything for love.

She said: Without love, life becomes empty.

She said: There are many kinds of love, and loving oneself is the first.

Before Lin Zhao said those things, Jane had once thought love was only one thing: one person being willing to give everything—materially, spiritually—to another, their heart swaying every second for that person’s sake.

But it seemed it wasn’t just that.

As she met Lin Zhao, the narrow world expanded, and love became “many kinds.” Thus, the word became even more mysterious.

Now that she thought about it, she still didn’t quite understand it. Otherwise, why was it that whenever she thought of “love,” she thought of Lin Zhao?

Finishing the last glass of wine, Jane stared at the empty cup. She realized her thoughts had circled the globe only to return to the person she started with.

Lin Zhao.

An eccentric ghost from a place further than the North Pole. Sometimes more human than humans. With that distinctive black hair and those dark eyes, visible only to her, she had crashed into Jane’s life.

Lin rarely showed interest in anything besides Jane herself. She was usually expressionless but shared Jane’s love for books. She seemed to possess mind-reading and prophecy, seeing through Jane’s unspoken troubles and soothing her fears about the future.

She was tall, dressed oddly, and even in the clothes of this world, she maintained a mysterious style.

She seemed to share a similar past, saying “I understand” with such comfort that she could contain all of Jane’s sadness. Yet she had a life Jane couldn’t comprehend; no matter how much effort Jane spent observing, she could never get close to that heart.

In her lightheadedness, Jane’s emotions flared briefly—sad for Lin, worried for Lin, angry for Lin, frustrated for Lin—until they all melted back into the purest joy.

Regardless, Lin Zhao was here. Just as she had always been.

Just thinking of that felt like a magical power surging through her. Jane found the courage to do anything. This reliable Ghost Miss was always running around for her, desperate to solve every difficulty. She listened to her sorrows, shared her laughter, embraced her anger, and promised her happiness.

Those beautiful eyes were always looking at her, through joy or sorrow. Her emotions shifted only for Jane.

Looking at it this way, there was very little difference between this and the “love” Jane had first imagined.

Why couldn’t she believe that Lin was the person she had prayed for as a child? The person sent to love her?

So what if she was a ghost?

Perhaps because she was thinking so hard about her, several “Lin Zhaos” began to appear in her swaying vision. In the hallucinations, they looked different—some from her strange dreams—but they all looked at her and called her name.

“Jane.”

Jane’s mood improved. She hummed softly and reached out a finger, trying to count exactly how many Lins were there.

But they began to float again, from the bedside to the corners of the room, finally stacking back together in a neat line right by her bed, within reach.

“Jane? Are you drunk?”

This Lin Zhao was exactly like the one she knew. Even the slight furrow of the brow and the concerned tone were perfect.

Jane shifted the direction of her finger, resting it right in that furrowed brow—finding a warm point of contact in the floating world—and opened her mouth.

“Lin?”

“It’s me. Your face is completely flushed. How are you feeling?”

“…I’m very good. But I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“What is love, really? Lin, teach me again.”

As the words fell, the spinning world stalled, shattering into countless blurred points of light. In the chaotic shadows, she couldn’t see Lin Zhao’s expression. So, she simply lunged forward, physically grabbing the largest cluster of color.

She vaguely heard rapid breathing and a pounding heart.

But because they were practically embracing, Jane couldn’t tell whose body the sounds were coming from. Aside from those sounds, no one spoke for a long time. She felt lazy, hooking her arms around the other’s neck, possessing an almost infinite patience as she waited for an answer.

It was okay if there was no answer. She would happily nestle here for a lifetime. At this moment, she wanted to be nowhere else but by Lin’s side.

But the moments one wishes to keep always slip away. She heard a soft sigh, and then a warmth covered her eyes; the world turned to black.

“You’re drunk. Have a good sleep first, alright?”

I’m not drunk.

She wanted to argue, but only a short breath escaped her lips. The deep intoxication built from glass after glass of wine finally surged like a tidal wave, pulling her under.

Lin Zhao had dodged her question again. How many times had that been?

Accompanied by this small resentment, she lost consciousness entirely.

Holding her steadily and feeling her breathing stabilize, Lin Zhao couldn’t help but sigh again.

She had looked away for one second, and the girl had polished off a whole tray of wine. The child really was growing up—now she was learning to drink away her sorrows.

And then there was that question.

Based on her observations of classmates back when she was this age, once curiosity starts, practice follows. It was the classic “adolescent hormones” phase. Lin Zhao instantly imagined ten thousand disastrous developments. She felt like the “plot” was conspiring toward some major event.

But for now, she had to stick to a standard intervention for a simple adolescent problem.

A few years ago, she had prepared for many scenarios as Jane entered this stage. But Jane had been so busy balancing her new family and new life, striving for perfection, that Lin Zhao had gradually relaxed her guard, chalking it up to Jane’s maturity.

Now it seemed that no matter how mature, adolescence would not be denied.

A single rumor involving intimacy, and Jane gets wasted and asks what love is. But Lin Zhao wasn’t prepared for this at all. Her original plan for Jane’s new life was for the girl to dive into commerce, throw her ambition into her career, and stay busy for at least another ten years…

Calm down, Lin Zhao. Calm down.

She laid Jane carefully on the bed, tucked her in, and patted her own face to control her racing thoughts. Since Jane was truly curious, she had to find a way to address it.

Although Jane said “teach me again,” the concepts of “love and justice” she taught the child were different from the personal emotional knowledge—specifically, romantic love—that was needed now.

Perhaps she should ask someone reliable to talk to Jane about this? After all, even counting her age before she entered the book, she was someone who had been single for twenty years. She shouldn’t be teaching this haphazardly…

Lin Zhao fell into deep thought again.

A memory surfaced of her conversation with the “Adult Jane” phantom in the corridor:

“…She knows much better than you what will bring her true happiness.”

No, not that one.

“You used a fake identity for Jane to sign a fake engagement with Eleanor…”

Yes, that one. Eleanor. London. England.

She needed to follow up on the progress of the matters she had entrusted to Constance anyway. It was the perfect timing—she would write a letter to London and ask that young lady for help.

No sooner said than done. Lin Zhao gathered the scattered wine glasses onto the tray and, just as quietly as she had arrived, left the room.