"Are you Walt Whitman? The Walt Whitman who can compose a hundred poems after a fight and a jug of wine?" The astonishment on William Reed's face was at least as great as the other's. He took a half-step back, eyes wide in shock.

"Indeed, I am he. As for composing a hundred poems after a jug of wine, that is merely the exaggerated praise of friends. Compared to the righteous deeds of Brother Reed in years past, I, Lee, am nothing more than a drunken scribbler!" Walt Whitman smiled, shaking his head in modesty.

"Haha, haha, this fight has turned out to be quite entertaining! With your great name, Walt Whitman, I trust you wouldn't associate with those troublemakers who come looking for a fight and wreck other people's places!" William Reed laughed heartily, first cupping his hands in a circle to Walt Whitman and the other out-of-towners beside him, then turning his head toward Henry Carter. "Brother, do me a favor today—whatever misunderstanding happened between your two groups before, let it go with a laugh, what do you say?"

With that, he ignored the others and fixed his bright gaze on Henry Carter.

Back when Edward Bennett stepped forward to stir up trouble again, Henry Carter had already sensed that something was off today. Then, upon hearing that the middle-aged man who had fought him to a draw was the famous poet Walt Whitman, he found the whole affair even more peculiar. Now that William Reed had stepped in to mediate, he was happy to take the opportunity to de-escalate. He nodded and replied generously, "Since Brother Reed has spoken, how could I possibly refuse? But when did you arrive in the capital? Why didn't you let us know in advance?"

"My affairs—I'll tell you all about them when we have time later!" William Reed nodded apologetically to him, then turned his gaze to Walt Whitman and the others. "I wonder if the renowned Whitman would be willing to do me, Old Reed, this small favor?"

"It's really nothing serious. If they stop chasing us, that's exactly what we want!" Walt Whitman smiled and nodded lightly.

"Good, then let's call it settled for today. Just a misunderstanding—no need for anyone to hold a grudge. Another day, I'll host everyone at Linfeng Tavern in the city for a drink!" William Reed concluded with a laugh. "Haha, look at my memory—Linfeng Tavern is actually owned by Brother Carter, so if we all go there, there's no way Old Reed will have to worry about paying the bill!"

William Reed was a famous hero of the martial world; in his day, his influence among street knights was no less than Walt Whitman's among scholars and poets. Even though he had kept a low profile for some time, everyone still had to give him face. They all laughed and agreed. Samuel Foster and David Foster were not petty men either; though they'd suffered a bit of a loss at the cockfighting pit that afternoon, seeing both sides make peace, they decided not to hold a grudge. Instead, they took the initiative to cup their hands to Mr. Harris, whose head had been cracked by a brick, and asked with concern, "Hey, outsider, are you badly hurt? Do you need us to fetch a doctor for you?"

"Just now, I..." Mr. Harris frowned, trying to recall, clearly still a bit dazed. Suddenly, he clutched his head and cried out, "Oh dear, I was knocked out by a brat with a brick just now! How shameful, how shameful—half a lifetime's reputation gone with the wind! How can I show my face to ask for money for medicine?"

"Haha, haha, haha!" Everyone burst out laughing even more heartily. When the laughter subsided, Walt Whitman cupped his hands to the Foster brothers and said in a low voice, "We owe our escape to your quick thinking just now. We have no way to thank you enough, so let us at least pay for the medicine ourselves!"

"If you ever feel something is amiss in the future, you can come find us brothers at the The Foster Estate in Yongjia Lane. Just mention today's events, and we brothers will never go back on our word." David Foster smiled, returning the courtesy as an equal.

The out-of-towners, hearing him mention Yongjia Lane and seeing how forthright the brothers were—recalling also their earlier conversation with Lady Guo—realized these two were not unreasonable bullies. They gave up any thoughts of revenge, smiled, and said, "No, no, it's just a minor injury, not worth making a fuss!"

After that, both sides exchanged names. The middle-aged man who'd been hit on the head by Edward Bennett was surnamed Harris, given name William; he had been a county constable in Fengqiu, but resigned in anger after seeing his superiors oppress the people, and was now visiting friends in the capital. The man who had chased Edward Bennett with a sword was called John Evans, a successful candidate in the third year of the Tianbao era, not yet appointed to office and currently idling in the capital. The remaining out-of-towners included one surnamed Baker and one surnamed Carter, both minor celebrities among scholars.

"Heavens! At least today's fight happened by Qujiang Pool, where not many people saw it. If word gets out, we'll really be 'recorded in the annals of history'!" Hearing the names of the out-of-towners, Henry Carter was secretly amazed. He shot a cold glance at Edward Bennett, only to see the other man avoiding his gaze, never daring to meet his eyes.

After a few more pleasantries, they agreed on the exact time to meet at Linfeng Tavern three days later, then cupped hands and parted ways. Before Walt Whitman and the others had gone far, the Foster brothers and Henry Carter had already surrounded William Reed, all talking at once: "Brother Reed, when did you arrive in the capital? Why aren't you staying at home?"

"Brother Reed, you're really not being fair—if not for this muddled fight today, you might still be hiding from us!"