Transmigrated as Jane’s Ghostly Godmother - Chapter 59

Chapter 59: So-Called Happiness — Admit it, You Love Her

The question that had haunted her for half a year was tossed back in front of her.

Jane fell into an almost instinctive silence.

It was a clear day. The afternoon sun spilled into the study, bathing the teacher and student in a warm, golden glow as they sat across from each other. Jane’s gaze drifted from the pages of her book, past Miss Temple’s gentle eyes, and settled on the dust motes dancing in the light.

To speak of love was to think of Lin Zhao.

She had so much to say, yet she was painfully aware that, in truth, there was nothing to say. The love Miss Temple spoke of—the kind mentioned in the same breath as marriage—was a reality Jane still couldn’t wrap her mind around.

“I don’t know…” she finally whispered, her voice so soft it was as if she were talking to herself. “I don’t know what it really is.”

She paused, voicing the sharpest confusion in her heart: “I cannot even understand why the end of love is always marriage. Almost every engagement I see is merely a transfer of property, a surrender of a name…”

Miss Temple did not argue with the sharpness of her words. Instead, her gaze grew even softer.

“Jane,” she said gently, “it is because throughout your upbringing, you saw too many relationships distorted by interest far too early. You were misled by their actions. The true order of things is that people first possess love, and only then do they desire to enter into a marriage.”

She leaned forward slightly, as if to transmit this ideal more clearly to Jane.

“Because a marriage contract is the strongest bond one can forge in this world outside of blood relations. People long to use it to ensure they are never separated from the one they love. Do you understand it better when put that way?”

Jane nodded thoughtfully.

Never separated…

That phrase should have filled her with longing, but because of recent events, she thought of Alistair Davis’s polite face and the cold calculation behind it. Just the thought of forging such a “strong bond” with a man like that filled her with visceral disgust.

He shouldn’t be out here wasting her time and energy. If she were to have a relationship of that nature, the person she longed to share it with was someone else entirely.

Miss Temple said marriage was a tool people used to stay with their beloved forever.

But what if… what if she couldn’t use that tool?

Would that longing for eternal presence—the very essence of love—change or cease to exist because of it?

Her heart grew restless; something was on the verge of breaking through. Jane’s lips parted, realizing there was only one final confusion she had to resolve.

“Then, Miss Temple… must the object of this love be… a being recognized by the world? If it is not, does that mean the feeling is merely an illusion?”

She asked vaguely, but in her heart, the reference was crystal clear: Can the object of love only be a human? A man?

Miss Temple watched her quietly. She more or less sensed that Jane had someone specific in mind—perhaps even someone she herself knew…

But she exposed nothing. Instead, she took Jane’s definition of love, lifted it gently, and brushed away the last bit of worldly dust.

“Jane,” she said calmly, changing the subject. “You lived in England for nearly thirteen years. When you first came to Madeira, did you feel out of place?”

Jane blinked, puzzled by the sudden question. She nodded truthfully. “Yes, Miss Temple. The weather, the food, the way people spoke… everything was new. At first, I felt utterly lost. But now, I am used to it.”

“Used to it,” Miss Temple repeated softly, her gaze returning to Jane’s troubled face.

“You see, Jane, your initial ‘displacement’ was because you were measuring a brand-new place by a familiar, pre-set standard—the English way of life. But what finally made you comfortable wasn’t that Madeira changed; it was that through your own feet, eyes, and heart, you built your own new habits here.”

She watched Jane warmly, her voice rhythmic.

“Life belongs to you, Jane, not to some ‘correct’ paradigm. You will eventually find that what brings you happiness is always what you personally feel and accept, not the standard answers others give you. Is love not the same?”

All the anxiety in Jane’s heart settled under Miss Temple’s words. She relaxed her brow, her hand absentmindedly brushing the cover of the book before her.

Noticing the shift in her expression, Miss Temple smiled and brought the conversation back. “So, let us return to the original question: When we talk about love, what are we talking about?”

Jane looked at her with silent expectation.

Miss Temple continued: “We love our families; that is an innate responsibility and affection. We love God; that is a faith and a home beyond this world. We love a good book or a piece of music; that is a resonance with wisdom and beauty. We may admire the noble character of a great person; that is a yearning for virtue.”

She paused, her eyes deepening.

“So, the crux of the matter is perhaps not what the ‘object’ of love is—be it a stalk of heather growing stubbornly on a moor, a hound faithfully guarding its master, or… a being we cannot define by common logic.”

Her voice became especially soft at the last phrase, her gaze toward Jane turning incredibly tender.

“The key is: What does this feeling bring to you?”

“Does it make you more tolerant, more brave, more hungry for knowledge and truth? Does it purify your soul, elevate your thoughts, and make you discover more beautiful parts of yourself that even you hadn’t noticed? A true, noble love—no matter its object—its ultimate goal should be the light that guides us upward, not a fog that drags us into confusion.”

She looked at Jane again, her eyes full of encouragement and trust.

“So, Jane, you don’t need to ask me if the object of love has limitations. You should ask your own heart: Does the complex emotion within you make you a better Jane Eyre?”

Miss Temple’s tone was peaceful; she said nothing explicitly, but her words and her gaze made it clear she knew Jane was asking far more than a single question.

Jane’s breathing grew heavy.

Answers she couldn’t voice surged like a tidal wave in her heart.

She remembered so many things.

When others pointed fingers, she had avoided the ghost’s gaze, only for the ghost to crouch before her and say with absolute certainty that none of it was her fault. When she was bullied, the ghost took her hand and led her away from nightmares, never forgetting to punish the bastards. On lonely, confused nights, the ghost slept beside her, sharing a world and a future worth longing for. In the joys and sorrows of social life, she never had to hide before the ghost; every step forward was taken in company. And then there was the journey that changed her fate—under the vast sky and sea, the ghost had promised her a future once more.

Even though she deliberately used the word “ghost,” the most unforgettable part of those memories was always those smiling eyes.

Jane heard her heart screaming: Yes, this is love!

That solace of having one’s soul entirely understood, that unprecedented peace and joy—what else could it be but love? What did the form matter? Did God, when creating souls, dictate what shape they must take to love another?

But her reason shrieked: Absurd! This is madness!

How can you love a ghost, a woman like yourself! This is impure, contrary to nature and ethics! It is a mere illusion, a morbid dependency born of long-term loneliness!

She tried once more to recall the “practical considerations” that had made her push Lin Zhao away. But at this moment, as the overwhelming emotions drowned her like a sea, her mind went blank and her vision blurred. At some point, tears began streaming down her face.

She could no longer use “practicality” to blur her heart. She could no longer say separation was expected. She could no longer deny that her love for Lin Zhao encompassed far too much—including desires the world deemed unspeakable.

She should have realized it long ago; her dependency and longing had changed their meaning. She craved her company, her presence, her touch, her every breath, and her every look.

She longed to never be separated from her.

She longed for her to love her back just as fiercely.

It was a thought she should never have, a thought that would be crushed by reality the moment it was spoken. Yet Jane felt her blood burning, her heart beating so fast it wanted to burst from her chest. She wished she could grow wings and fly the 883 miles from Funchal to London just to see Lin Zhao with her own eyes and confirm that none of this was a fantasy.

“There is no need to rush your answer, Jane. Only your heart will not deceive you.” Seeing Jane’s tearful eyes, Miss Temple gently handed her a handkerchief. “It is okay if you cannot figure it all out right now. You are young; you have plenty of time.”

Jane took the handkerchief silently, wiped her tears, and gave a small nod.

Miss Temple smiled and opened the book on the table. “Then, let us begin today’s reading. It is a simple yet profound story. I believe it will give you much to reflect on.”

Jane lowered her eyes obediently and looked at the title on the cover.

The Collected Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen.

Miss Temple’s finger was resting lightly on one specific story: The Little Mermaid.

“Have you read this story?”

She nodded again.

“In your view, what do you think of the ending?”

“I… I cannot say.” Her heart still hadn’t settled from the shock. Jane forced her voice out. “The Little Mermaid did not receive the Prince’s kiss or truly become human. But in the end, she gained an immortal soul and achieved her original longing.”

“Yes,” Miss Temple agreed. “She did not gain happiness in the worldly sense. But for her, this ending is not something to be pitied.”

She looked at Jane with a meaningful gaze.

“This ending makes many people’s hearts break for her, Jane. People think she gave up everything and gained nothing. If she could do it all over again… do you think she would still choose to walk that path where every step feels like treading on knives?”

“Yes.”

Jane didn’t hesitate for a second. Her answer was resolute.

“She definitely would,” Jane whispered, her voice growing steady. “She knew much better than most readers what she was truly pursuing.”

What the Little Mermaid longed for was never marriage, but a soul. How could she give up that ultimate transcendence just because the journey was rocky?

Just like her. What she longed for was only love itself.

Happiness—happiness in the worldly sense—did it truly apply to everyone? The answer had already been decided back in her argument with Beatrice, the moment she chose to seek business opportunities from her adoptive father.

The happiness she craved was never related to social norms.

At first, it was leaving Gateshead. Then, it was becoming less lonely. After coming to Funchal, it was the hope that Lin Zhao would stay with her forever. And now, it had become the longing for Lin Zhao to love her just as she loved her.

It was a paradox similar to the one the Little Mermaid faced. This love was destined for an ending where sorrow outweighed joy.

Even if she admitted her heart, she could never achieve this happiness—unless she was prepared to take responsibility for it.

When she looked up again, Jane’s eyes were strikingly bright.

“Thank you, Miss Temple.” Her words were rapid, her voice trembling with suppressed determination. “Today’s lesson… was profoundly deep for me. Now, I must go do what I have to do.”

She thanked her hurriedly. Upon receiving Miss Temple’s encouraging nod, she turned immediately and ran out the door.

“What are you thinking about, Mr. Lintner?” Seeing Lin Zhao sitting motionless across the table, Constance couldn’t help but peek at the open letter before her. “Is something happening at the manor?”

Lin Zhao was startled back by the concern. She shook her head, her fingertip tapping the paper gently.

It was a letter from Jane.