Chapter 238: Tang Army Spies

Damascus, the capital of the Umayyad dynasty, did not fade away with the end of that dynasty. After the wars subsided, it gradually regained its former prosperity. Even before Baghdad was built, Damascus had always been the largest city in the Arab world. As soon as the sun rose, the people of Damascus filled the narrow, covered streets, dressed in loose trousers and distinctive red pointed shoes, wearing large headscarves, and began their day’s work in the heat. Vendors selling fruit juices and candies shouted their wares at the top of their voices, competing with the noise of passersby and caravans of donkeys and camels carrying desert and agricultural products. The city’s air was filled with every scent the nose could detect.

Damascus was also an international metropolis. There were dark-skinned Bedouins wearing loose coats, headscarves, and headbands. Occasionally, Frankish people in European clothing could be seen, along with scholars and travelers—most of whom were merchants. There were also Sogdians and Turks from the East, leading camels loaded with silk and porcelain from the Tang Dynasty, hoping to sell them at a good price in Damascus.

The locally wealthy Damascus nobles, who were Arab rulers, rode horses wearing white silk cloaks, armed with swords or spears. There were few women in the streets, only a few passersby covered in veils. Some women peeked at the people in the market and squares through the slits in their lattice windows.

The busiest part of the large squares was the slave market, where dozens of wooden platforms were filled with slaves brought from all over the world—black people from south of Egypt with curly hair, short and sturdy Turks, blond and blue-eyed Spaniards, as well as many Sogdians and Indians. There were even a few from the farthest East, mainly from Silla, but ordinary Arabs could not distinguish them and simply called them “Tang people.”

Most of them had been captured in wars, especially during the conquests by the Abbasid army, which brought a large number of slaves from various parts of the world. Slavery was a tradition among the Arabs; almost every ordinary family owned slaves. It was common for any Umayyad prince to have around a thousand male and female slaves. In the Battle of Siffin, a common soldier in the Syrian army had one to ten slaves at his service.

This tradition did not change with the shift of dynasties, and the slave market in Damascus remained as bustling as ever. Slaves were mostly sold in batches. At that moment, a group of dark-skinned slaves was driven onto the platform, each with bare chests, including young, old, and weak ones—this was the custom, as otherwise the weak slaves would not sell. As soon as the slaves stepped onto the wooden platform, the slave traders began shouting loudly, “Forty Egyptian black slaves, twenty-five thousand dirhams!” The shrewd buyers searched among these forty for strong, muscular men with attractive full chests and buttocks, quickly assessing whether the prices were reasonable. White slaves were very expensive, costing a thousand dirhams each for the young ones, while black slaves from south of Egypt, being strong, cost eight hundred dirhams. The cheapest were Turks, available for just six hundred dirhams. There were not many Chinese slaves, and they generally were not sold in the slave market; when they appeared, they were quickly bought, with young Chinese women costing around one thousand five hundred dirhams. There were more women and children in this group, and twenty-five thousand dirhams seemed a bit high. Most buyers remained silent. At that point, the slave traders would lower the price until someone bought them. “Twenty-four thousand dirhams, anyone interested?” Silence reigned below. “Twenty-three thousand!” Still no response. The slave traders grew anxious. They had bought this group of slaves for twenty thousand dirhams from the army, provided them food and drink, and several had died during the journey. Lowering the price any further would mean a loss. Just then, a buyer shouted, “I’ll take this group of slaves!” The slave trader was relieved that someone was interested. He quickly ordered his men to handle the transfer of ownership while he went to meet the buyer. The buyer was an old Sogdian man, accompanied by a dark-skinned young man wearing a turban and a black robe edged with gold. He had a kind smile and seemed to be a Turk, but upon closer inspection, he didn’t quite fit that description. With his professional eye, the slave trader immediately recognized that he was not a Turk but a Chinese person. It was the first time such a free Chinese person had been seen in Damascus. The slave trader glanced at him again. He had heard that Khorasan was unstable, with battles against Chinese troops. The appearance of this Chinese man on the streets of Damascus was quite unusual. “Let’s go pay over there!” The merchant from Kanggu enthusiastically invited the slave trader to a small hut nearby. The slave trader turned back to look at the young Chinese man, but he had disappeared, lost in the crowd.

The midday sun in Damascus was particularly dazzling, forcing Pei Yu to squint. He had been traveling in Al-Andalus for almost half a year yet still couldn’t get used to its harsh sunlight. Pei Yu had been sent to Al-Andalus half a year ago by Li Qing’an to explore its customs and culture and assess its national strength. To put it bluntly, he was actually a high-ranking spy for the Tang army.

Pei Yu had come to Al-Andalus with a Sogdian merchant, who was a friend of Li Huichun from the Han-Tang Association. This journey was heavily supported financially by the Han-Tang Association, which had established trading firms in Al-Andalus, located in Mosul, Kufa, and Damascus.

Pei Yu had just returned from Egypt, where the Abbasid conquest was in full swing, making the region quite unstable. He had almost been captured as a slave several times. On the contrary, slave traders were the freest and most respected merchants; as long as they had a large group of slaves, Al-Andalus soldiers wouldn’t even ask questions and let them pass unimpeded. Realizing this, Pei Yu and the Sogdian merchant rushed to Damascus to buy some slaves. The slave trader’s surprised gaze made Pei Yu cautious. Although he could speak fluent Turkic and had a basic understanding of Arabic, almost everyone he met treated him as a Turk. But there were exceptions—like that slave trader, who clearly recognized his true identity. He had been careless, forgetting that slave traders had much sharper eyes than ordinary people.

“Nusair, where are you?”

A shout interrupted Pei Yu’s thoughts. He then realized that Nusair was his Arabic name. He quickly turned around and saw the Sogdian merchant searching for him.

“Uncle Momo, I’m here!”

Pei Yu walked over quickly and said with a smile, “Was the deal done?”

“Yes, it was. The slaves will be brought to our inn later. Nusair, I bought them in your name. They’re all yours now. There are several young women with good looks among them; you can take them as concubines to ease the hardships of your journey.”

As he spoke, the old Sogdian merchant Momo wore an ambiguous smile that didn’t match his somewhat aged appearance.

“Thank you, Uncle Momo. Go back to the inn first! I still have some things to do.”

Momo seemed to know what he had to do and didn’t ask further. He smiled and said, “Alright then! I’ll go back to receive the slaves. Be careful on your own.”

Momo left with a few attendants leading camels, while Pei Yu mounted a horse and slowly left the square, heading north toward Damascus.

Like in other cities, the Arabs of Damascus lived scattered throughout its various neighborhoods according to their tribal affiliations. Every Arab household had its door facing the street; entering through the door led to a courtyard, in the center of which was a large pool. The mist sprayed from the fountain formed a curtain of water, and orange or citron trees were planted along the edges of the pool. Rooms surrounded the courtyard, and some larger households had covered corridors. Further inside lay the vast inner courtyards, home to countless wives, concubines, and children.

Pei Yu rode along Damascus’ wide streets. Although it was the largest city in the Abbasid Empire, it paled in comparison to the majestic city of Chang’an. To the north of the city lay Damascus’ noble district, with enormous mansions stretching along both banks of the Yezid River. These had originally belonged to the Umayyad nobles but had now changed hands, with the Abbasid nobles moving in. The capital of the Abbasid Dynasty was Kufa, and at that time, the Abbasids had not yet overturned the Umayyad caliph Marwan II and established a temporary capital there. Compared to the grandeur of Damascus, Kufa appeared cramped and narrow. Though the Abbasids did not particularly like Damascus, they spent most of their time in the former Umayyad palace, where they found everything they desired—beautiful women, sweet and rich wines, exquisitely crafted palaces, and a prosperous economy.

Pei Yu gazed from afar at the Abbasid palace, a huge structure with a circular dome. It had originally been white but had now been painted black. Standing so abruptly in the sky, it gave off an eerie sense of a dark world. The area was surrounded by the caliph’s heavily armored guards, ensuring strict security. Pei Yu had an intuition that the Abbasid caliph, dressed in black, was not in Kufa but in this black palace.

Suddenly, Pei Yu noticed something troubling: the street he was on was under document inspection. This street was the main route leading to the palace’s main entrance, with the highest level of security. Soldiers were checking each passerby’s documents, namely tax certificates. Only legitimate citizens of the Abbasid Dynasty possessed such certificates; slaves and foreigners did not. Usually, inspections took place only when entering the city. Pei Yu also had one, but it wasn’t his—it was a tax certificate from a person from the Shi state. Although there were no photos, his Sogdian was not good, and if questioned in Sogdian, he might easily be exposed. In the past, Uncle Momo had always been there to cover for him, but today was the first time he was facing it alone.

Pei Yu immediately broke into a cold sweat. Soldiers were checking him from all sides. Fortunately, there were many people on the road, so he hadn’t been noticed yet. What should he do? Retreating would surely lead to discovery, and if caught, a thorough identity check might expose his Tang Dynasty origins. But if he was found without documents, he would still be taken away. Not far away, several foreign merchants without documents had been taken away; they protested loudly, only to be met with punches and kicks.

“Hey! You!”

Finally, it was his turn. An officer pointed at him and shouted, “Show me your documents.”

With no choice, Pei Yu took out the parchment from his bosom—his tax certificate—and handed it over, hoping the officer didn’t speak Sogdian. The officer took the document, glanced at it, and asked, “Turk?”

Pei Yu’s heart sank in relief. The officer was speaking Turkic. He immediately replied in Turkic, “My name is Nusair. I grew up at Tiemen Pass. I’m a merchant. I went to Samarkand the year before last.”

Tiemen Pass used to be the westernmost border of the Western Turkic Khaganate. Uncle Momo said he had a slight accent from that area, so he had even visited Tiemen Pass in the Shi state, a key passage between Samarkand and Bukhara on the way to Barihei, a place with bustling trade and a mixed crowd. His Turkic was fluent, without any flaws. The officer nodded and was about to return the document when chaos broke out at the other end of the road. A large group of cavalry was charging toward them, and pedestrians scattered to avoid them. Someone shouted, “The Muslim general is coming! Everyone, get out of the way!”

The officer cursed under his breath in Arabic. Although Pei Yu’s Arabic wasn’t very good, he understood. He was cursing, “This isn’t his Khorasan. Why be so arrogant?”

Pei Yu’s mind raced. He could tell the officer was extremely hostile toward Muslims. Months earlier, he had heard that the Arabs were divided into many factions, fighting fiercely for power, especially between Abu Muslim and Mansur. Could there also be conflicts between Muslims and the Abbasids?

At that moment, the officer shoved the document back at him. “Go quickly! The governor of Khorasan doesn’t like Turks at all. If he sees you, he’ll lock you up.”

Pei Yu took the document and hurriedly hid among the crowd by the roadside, peeking through the gaps. He saw groups of Khorasan cavalry passing by—over a thousand men. Among them was a burly middle-aged man who sat head bowed, looking preoccupied.

“So this is Abu Muslim!” Pei Yu thought to himself.

“I heard that Muslim and Prince Mansur were competing for the position of emir, and Prince Mansur won. Alas! General Muslim offended Prince Mansur; he will surely suffer when Prince Mansur becomes caliph.”
“Not only Mansur, but his relationship with Ali the Elder was also very poor. He killed too many Shiites by the river, and Ali the Elder hated him deeply.”
A few Arab nobles were whispering among themselves. Pei Yu kept this information in mind—Muslim, Mansur, and Ali the Elder all had poor relationships.
At that moment, Abu Muslim’s cavalry passed by, and the streets returned to normal. Pei Yu spurred his horse toward another street not far away and rode straight to the end. He dismounted in front of a luxuriously decorated shop that specialized in silk, porcelain, tea, and other goods with an Eastern flair from the Tang Dynasty. These were high-end items highly favored by Damascus’ nobles. This was the Han-Tang Association’s trading shop in Damascus. Through this shop, the Han-Tang Association earned huge profits, which were sent to Suiye to support their secret operations.
Pei Yu entered the shop. It was spacious, with silk samples hanging on the walls and various types of porcelain displayed on shelves—white porcelain from Dayi in Shuzhou and blue porcelain from Yuezhou. Coming from a wealthy family, Pei Yu was surprised. These porcelains and silks were top-quality, especially several large blue porcelain vases that couldn’t even be found in Chang’an. Their prices were exorbitant—each piece of high-quality Wu silk cost 300 silver dirhams, which, compared to rice prices, was equivalent to 30 guan, ten times the price in Chang’an.
This was his second time here. Last time, he hadn’t paid close attention to the prices. It was only today that he noticed. At that moment, the shop owner, who was attracting customers in a corner of the shop, saw him and immediately gave him a signal. Pei Yu entered a back room through a side door.
The shop owner was named Shalum, a Turk in his fifties, also a member of the Han-Tang Association. He had been in al-Andalus for nearly twenty years and was extremely loyal to the association.
In the room, Pei Yu took out a thick booklet containing intelligence he had gathered from various places in al-Andalus over the past two months. Instead of giving it to Shalum right away, he added another note at the back: Muslim’s poor relations with Mansur and Ali the Elder.
He carefully sealed the booklet and handed it to Shalum, smiling, “I’ve traveled to many places these past three months. I’ll leave the rest to you.”
“Don’t worry, young master. I’ll send it away tomorrow. By the way, there’s a letter for you from Suiye. It arrived half a month ago. Since I couldn’t find you, I had to keep it here.”

Pei Yu perked up and quickly asked, “Where is the letter?”
“Please wait a moment, young master!”
Shalum went out. A moment later, he returned with a wooden box and handed it to Pei Yu with a smile, saying, “It seems there’s more than one letter. I haven’t opened it.”
The wooden box was tightly sealed. Pei Yu drew out his dagger and slowly pried it open along the seams. Inside were two letters. The first one was addressed to him. He tore it open—it was written in Li Qing’an’s own hand, beginning with, “You could serve as an envoy to Constantinople to persuade the Byzantines to establish a trade market with the Tang Dynasty in Itil City…”
Pei Yu was stunned. He slowly picked up the second letter, which had an inscription in Turkic on its cover: “To Emperor Leo III, from Li Qing’an, Governor of Anxi, Duke of Tingguo, and Great General.”
……
At the very moment Pei Yu received Li Qing’an’s new mission, another dispute broke out in the palace in Damascus.
Inside the splendid palace were four men representing the highest rulers of the Abbasid Empire. Apart from Abbas’s uncle, Ali the Elder, who was fighting in Egypt, the rest were present. The first one was, of course, Abbas, the founder of the Abbasid dynasty. The scorching heat in Kufa made Abbas long for the coolness and lushness of Damascus. He had come to Damascus to spend the summer since mid-May. His health was not good—he had been pierced by an enemy spear during the battle on the Tigris River. Although his wounds had healed, they had damaged his internal organs, making him more vulnerable to illness than ordinary people.
This was also why he appointed his brother Mansur as the caliph successor as soon as he ascended the throne. He was worried that he might die early, and his young son would not be able to carry on his legacy. It would be better to rule him out of the succession from the start, lest his young son be killed by ambitious people.
Abbas now faced a dilemma: should he go to war with the Tang Dynasty? Originally, with the empire just established, his top priority was to consolidate power, not to create a powerful enemy right away. He was reluctant to be at war with the Tang Dynasty. The battle against Gao Xianzhi had been a small-scale counterattack, and after that he had decided to stop. Moreover, the war in Egypt was not yet over—could the empire withstand the pressure of fighting on two fronts?
Therefore, he had been delaying his approval of Abu Muslim’s proposal to launch a full-scale war against the Tang forces. Abbas was deeply conflicted—he didn’t want to go to war with the Tang army, but he also didn’t want to lose the Transoxian region.
“Jafar, do you think we really need to fight this war?”

Abbas turned his confusion to his brother Ja’far, who was also Mansur—Mansur being his title, just as Abbas’s title was Sa’fah, meaning “the one who makes people bleed,” while Mansur meant “conqueror.” Yet in front of his caliphic brother, he remained Ja’far.

Mansur was firmly in favor of fighting against the Tang forces. If the corrupt Umayyad dynasty hadn’t lost Transoxiana, how could the new Abbasid dynasty do so? But he didn’t agree that Muslims should fight against the Tangs; instead, he believed he, as the supreme military commander of the Abbasid dynasty, should lead the battle.

Understanding his brother’s concerns, Mansur persuaded him, “Your Majesty, the honorable Caliph, if the Tang forces had merely lingered in the Syr Darya region, I would be the first to oppose the war. But they didn’t do that—they advanced westward, captured Tashkent, and even seized our city of Talas. In fact, the battle has already begun. They defeated the brave General Humaid. I’m sure their next move will be Samarkand. It’s not a matter of whether we want to fight the Tangs or not; we must fight them. Would Your Majesty really like to hand over Transoxiana as a gift to the Tangs?”

Abbas sighed and said, “If it were just one battle against the Tangs, like last year, I wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice soldiers’ lives. What worries me is that this war could go on endlessly, which would be very harmful to our new dynasty!”

At that moment, Abu Muslim bowed and said, “Your Majesty, Caliph, that’s exactly why I’ve come to Damascus to urge you to make up your mind. As long as you provide me with enough food and weapons, I’m confident I can defeat the Tangs, drive them back to Syr Darya, and end their dreams of controlling Transoxiana.”

As many know, Muslim and Mansur were not on good terms. Their conflict erupted last month in Kufa when Mansur found craftsmen among the Tang prisoners and discovered that the truth was not what Muslim had claimed—there were no craftsmen who could make paper; none of those Tang craftsmen knew how.

Realizing he had been deceived, Mansur became furious and had a fierce argument with Muslim. Word of this spread throughout Kufa.

Although the two were at odds, they agreed on the need to go to war against the Tangs. Seeing Abbas wavering, Mansur gave a subtle signal to the vizier Fahd.

The vizier was an official position equivalent to the prime minister in the Tang dynasty, holding the highest administrative power in the Abbasid dynasty. The first vizier was Fahd, Abbas’s trusted confidant in charge of finances.

Fahd smiled and said, “Your Majesty the Caliph need not worry. At the height of the Umayyad dynasty, they could collect 15 million dirhams from Egypt each year. Now we have already received 8 million silver dirhams, and I believe 12 million by the end of the year should not be a problem. This shows that Egypt has been largely conquered by us. Syria and Armenia have also begun to pay taxes regularly. On the other hand, taxes from Transoxiana, Sindh, and Punjab have significantly decreased. This means our focus should shift to the East. It is very necessary to fight against the Tang army. Moreover, our major silver mines are concentrated in eastern Khorasan. If we cannot consolidate our rule over the East, it will greatly harm our dynasty’s financial resources.”

Under the persuasion of the three ministers, Abbas finally decided to go to war against the Tang army. He said to Muslim, “Fighting against the Tang dynasty is no ordinary task. The armies of Khorasan alone cannot win. I appoint you as the commander of the vanguard, and Jafar will lead the Syrian army as the rear guard.”

Muslim was shocked. His greatest fear had come true—Man Sulur would get involved in matters in Khorasan. Just as he was about to protest, Abbas waved his hand to stop him and said in a firm tone that left no room for argument, “This is my order. If you cannot defeat the Tang army in the first battle, Jafar will fight in the second!”