That "sacred assembly," a mixture of fanatical passion and silent deception, concluded in the darkness before dawn, and Dublin's night sky also began to shed its heavy, oppressive leaden gray.
A clean, fish-belly white seeped from the eastern horizon, its color resembling fine Irish linen.
Lin Jie and Julian, riding in the carriage that had waited all night in the cold wind, left the abandoned quarry with the "Silver-Stringed Harp" once again wrapped in thick velvet and the torn fragntary score recording the "Deathly Lant."
Behind them were hundreds of revolutionaries, moved by the awakening of the "Spirit of the Gael" and filled with a sense of mission. They would return to Dublin and, with the pen and tongue of idealism, weave the "miracle" of last night into a pseudo-history, an epic that would inspire young Irishn to fight for national independence for decades to co.
And ahead of them lay O'Connor Manor, which had also waited all night. There, another microscopic drama concerning human sin and historical destiny awaited them to draw its final curtain.
As the carriage entered the ancient manor shrouded in a gloomy atmosphere, Lin Jie sensed that the ominous spiritual aura haunting this land had grown much fainter than yesterday.
With the harp, the source of the curse, rendered ineffective, the Blood and Tears Curse that had entangled the O'Connor family for three hundred years had finally completed its final severance from the land it had once ravaged.
William's tall figure was already waiting on the steps, his face still wearing that expressionless mask.
But when he saw Lin Jie and Julian return safely with the wrapped "spoils of war," a look of profound relief flickered deep within his eyes.
"All normal," he reported succinctly. "Target secure. Threat eliminated."
He gestured with his chin towards the direction of a dark storage room at the side of the manor, which he had securely locked with heavy chains, indicating that the captured "little mouse" was still safely imprisoned inside.
At that mont, the manor's massive main door, carved with the O'Connor family crest, was pushed open.
The young, neurotic last male heir of this ancient family, Kevin O'Connor, erged, supported by the butler.
After just one night, this young man's condition had undergone a dramatic transformation.
Although his face, twisted with fear yesterday, still bore a sickly pallor and deep exhaustion, the madness that seed on the verge of collapse had vanished.
All that remained was the numbness and calm of emotions hollowed out by imnse grief and sorrow.
He was dressed in a neat, black formal mourning suit, and his disheveled black curls had been carefully combed.
He slowly descended the steps to stand before Lin Jie, Julian, and William, who had provided him with solid protection during the darkest night of his life.
Then, with the bearing of a noble from a bygone era, he bowed deeply to the three of them.
"I do not know who you truly are," Kevin's voice was hoarse and weary but no longer trembled. "Nor do I know what thod you employed last night."
"But I can feel it. That 'thing' that haunted and our entire family for centuries... it is gone."
"Last night, when I believed death was certain, I did hear that heart-rending wail," a lingering trace of fear flashed in his eyes. "But imdiately after, I felt a warm and powerful force."
"It was as if my long-deceased mother was gently stroking my forehead with her hand, and then all the pain and fear disappeared."
Lin Jie and Julian exchanged a glance. They knew that "warm force" ca from the seductive, soothing sound waves released by the "Catacomb Nightingale fragnts."
"I survived," Kevin's face showed a bewildered smile. "I do not know why, but I know it must be connected to you."
"Therefore, I must extend to you the most sincere gratitude from myself and the entire O'Connor family."
Having said that, he fell silent. His blue eyes gazed with an abnormally calm expression towards the dark storage room securely locked by William.
There, imprisoned, was another person intimately connected to this three-century-long bloody tragedy.
William stepped forward and, with a loud *clang*, used a massive pair of bolt cutters to sever the thick chains. Then he yanked open the rickety wooden door.
The small, thin assassin boy nad "Patrick," dressed in servant's clothing, was dragged out roughly by William like a chick and thrown at Kevin's feet.
The boy's face was streaked with tear tracks. His ill-fitting servant's uniform was even more filthy after a night of imprisonnt and struggle.
When Kevin saw this boy, similar in age to himself but with eyes filled with a deep-seated class hatred, a profound confusion surfaced on his numb face.
"Why?" he asked softly. "What does our O'Connor family owe you, that you would resort to such a vicious thod to commit murder?"
The boy nad "Patrick" lifted his face, sared with mud and tears. Staring at the descendant of his enemy, who represented "oppression" and "historical original sin," his eyes erupted with flas of bitter resentnt and unwillingness.
He violently spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at Kevin.
"You owe nothing!" the boy's voice beca sharp and twisted with hatred. "You owe my ancestors! You owe the great bard 'Blind-Eyed' Tarlough, whose heart was pierced from behind by the treacherous and faithless sword of your vile ancestor, 'Bloody-Handed' Liam!"
"You, the running dogs and traitors of the English, bought your family's centuries of wealth and honor with the blood and bones of our Irish people!"
"And my family, because of your betrayal, has been hunted and ostracized like rats on this land, barely surviving for three hundred years!"
"I grew up listening to my great-grandfather's dying words! He told we are 'Tarlough's bloodline'! Our veins flow with an unquenchable fire of vengeance! Our sole purpose in this life is to make your O'Connor family pay the blood debt and end your line!"
The inflammatory and tragic accusation echoed in the empty courtyard, but Lin Jie, Julian, and even William, seasoned observers accustod to tales of gratitude and grudges, listened coldly.
This was rely another small microcosm of the countless tragedies crushed by history's rciless "at grinder."
"So," Lin Jie stepped forward, looking at this young man whose soul had been corroded by hatred. "You infiltrated this manor as the most inconspicuous servant, waiting for the lant played by those fools from the Fenian Brotherhood to complete your revenge."
"And you had a 'backup plan'," Lin Jie's gaze fell on the poison-tipped corkscrew gleaming with a green phosphorescence beside the boy. "If the curse failed for so reason, you were prepared to personally intervene and disguise Mr. Kevin's death as a 'perfect accident'."
A flicker of panic at being seen through crossed the boy's face, but it was imdiately replaced by even more frantic hatred.
"So what?!" he shrieked hysterically. "For revenge! I can use any ans!"
After hearing this final, inhuman declaration, an expression of disgust appeared on Kevin's numb, calm face.
He turned away, no longer looking at the boy.
He addressed William, Professor O'Donoghue who was present, and the old butler in a weary, liberated tone.
"Hand him over to the police."
"Say he is a distant relative coveting our family's property, who attempted to murder out of jealousy," Kevin's voice was abnormally calm. "Omit all parts concerning the curse, the harp, and my poor sister. I do not wish for the spirits of the long-dead to continue disturbing the world of us, the living."
"The history of the O'Connor family, that past filled with blood and sin, I will personally bring it to an end."
That afternoon, the Dublin tropolitan Police took away from O'Connor Manor a young suspect arrested for "attempted murder." This "feud among the wealthy" that caused a small stir in aristocratic circles was quickly forgotten by the public after a few days of sensational reporting in *The Irish Tis*.
The boy nad "Patrick" was ultimately sentenced to imprisonnt due to conclusive evidence, and his three-century-long revenge finally drew its last curtain.
And on the third day after that, all of Dublin's mainstream newspapers published a minor, inconspicuous social news item in a corner.
"Mr. Kevin O'Connor, the last heir of the O'Connor family, has entrusted all his land, manor, and property in Ireland to Sotheby's auction house for public sale. A portion of the proceeds will be donated free of charge to social welfare organizations."
"According to his lawyer, after handling all family affairs, Mr. O'Connor will depart alone by steamship for the United States of Arica to begin his new life."
This ancient surna, once illustrious in Irish history, finally, in this late autumn of 1888, as the steamship set sail for the New World, drew a final punctuation mark on this land it had once deeply loved and also betrayed—a mark filled with regret and rebirth.
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