Chapter 2148: Taizong Chronicles 16: The Storm in Central Asia Ends

After victory, there was naturally no shortage of pursuing the fleeing and routing the defeated, expanding the fruits of battle—this was the victor's prerogative. Only, the pursuit encountered some twists and turns along the way, but the final results were great, the victory glorious, and one could almost declare the failure of the second Islamic Eastern Expedition.

The Islamic Eastern Expeditionary Army, which had numbered over 160,000 before the decisive battle, lost more than half in the fighting and the subsequent pursuit. The remainder fled mainly in two directions: one was Amol, the original gathering point of the holy warriors from various regions, where over 20,000 people fled along the southern shore of the Caspian Sea to Gorgan in the Hyrcania region before they could catch their breath.

The other direction was the Khorasan region, southeast of the Caspian Sea. This group was primarily composed of Ghaznavid troops and was also the main target of the Anxi Three Kingdoms' joint forces' pursuit and annihilation—a relentless chase indeed.

What was less satisfactory was that during this pursuit, Ghaznavid generals kept organizing routed soldiers along the way to resist and retreat. Though Mahmud had fled, his messengers shuttled back and forth along the retreat route, conveying the Sultan's orders—rallying troops, quelling chaos, and resisting the enemy.

A rout of a hundred li was certainly humiliating, but by the time Mahmud retreated to Tus (Mashhad), the capital of Khorasan, the defeated soldiers he had gathered plus the original city garrison totaled over 30,000 men at his disposal.

Khorasan is a term that appears with considerable frequency in Chinese historical records. Located in the northeast of the Iranian Plateau and southeast of the Caspian Sea, it is a strategic and prosperous region connecting West Asia and Central Asia, and it had been swallowed up by the rising Ghaznavid dynasty early on. Tus, meanwhile, was a holy site for Shia Muslim pilgrimage.

When the pursuing Han army arrived at the walls of Tus, they were already utterly exhausted from days of fierce fighting and pursuit, sustained only by a single breath of will. Thus, against Tus they could only manage a token attack before withdrawing. Worse, the defenders, on Mahmud's orders, even sallied out to counterattack, inflicting a defeat on the Anxi Han army with several hundred killed and wounded.

After the great battle came a period of silence. Of the Islamic Eastern Expeditionary Army, whose actual strength exceeded 200,000, fewer than 70,000 managed to escape the battlefield alive. The rest were either killed, captured, or missing.

While the soldiers below were elated and proud at having crushed the Islamic coalition, enjoying as was their due the rewards from the Three Kings and the spoils of war, the upper echelons of the Anxi Three Kingdoms found it hard to truly rejoice. Behind their joyful smiles, there was a measure of bitterness they could not quite conceal.

At that time in Tus, under Sultan Mahmud's management, the regular army had grown to over 60,000, and with a bit of mobilization, a force of 100,000 could be raised. Of course, its organization and combat effectiveness were no longer comparable to before—it could not withstand a battle of the intensity of the Mingcheng engagement for any length of time.

On the other hand, the Ghaznavid forces had more to worry about—this was the natural disadvantage of the defender. Therefore, throughout the early, middle, and late phases of the Battle of Tus, there was little the Ghaznavids could do: defend primarily, scorch the earth, hold the cities, contact reinforcements, and at the same time send elite cavalry north to light fires behind the Three Kingdoms' coalition, diverting the Han army's attention and relieving pressure on the main front at Tus.

The casualties among the vassal troops need not be mentioned—during the fierce fighting, they were the first to waver and were shattered by the frenzied holy warriors, suffering countless losses and even affecting the overall war situation at one point.

In the second month of the twelfth year of Yongxi, after a not-insubstantial period of rest and recuperation, hostilities between Han and the Islamic world resumed. Anxi King Liu Min conscripted another 150,000 troops from various forces and marched south in grand array, his target set squarely on Tus.

But the losses to the Han forces of the Three Kingdoms were truly damaging to their vitality. Added up over the course of the campaign, direct battle deaths numbered over ten thousand, many of them killed in close combat by Muslims trading life for life.

It should be noted that throughout the entire Han-Islamic War, at least the territory of Anxi was never stable. The Haidong region need not be mentioned—it was in a state of utter ruin—while in the Transoxiana region, rebellions and disturbances emerged one after another without end.

Of course, Liu Min's will was already as hard as steel, as firm as iron and stone. Though he felt some regret, he would not apologize to Liu Wengong over strategic decisions. And this bout of weeping also punctured the illusion of the "intimate, seamless" relationship between Anxi and Beiting, prompting Liu Wengong to completely change Beiting's development strategy after the war ended.

This campaign was a great victory—there was no doubt about that—and judging by its results, it was a martial achievement worthy of praise in any era. But equally, as the victor of this campaign, the price of victory was extremely costly.

And before the war ended, Liu Min, as commander of the Three Kingdoms, had no time to attend to internal discord. The war had begun, a great victory had been won, and they had counterattacked into Khorasan—for Liu Min, abandoning the war was simply not under consideration.

Therefore, even though Liu Min gave substantial compensation in the subsequent distribution of prisoners and spoils, not a trace of joy could be seen on Liu Wengong's face. He even wept bitterly at the victory banquet. Everyone knew he was crying for his brother Liu Wentao and the thousands of dead Beiting Han soldiers.

Only, in this process, the Three Kingdoms' coalition had more freedom of action. They thoroughly implemented the strategy of "living off the enemy's grain," burning, killing, and looting in Khorasan without any burden. The Ghaznavid side, by contrast, bore a much heavier load—on one hand they had to deal with Han cavalry raids and plundering, on the other they had to defend the cities, and they also needed to replenish their strength for the next great battle—clearly they could not cover everything.

In fact, during the winter-spring transition of Yongxi 11–12, both sides were licking their wounds and recovering their strength, like two wounded beasts that had briefly separated but might tear into each other again at any moment.

At the same time, the quality of the 150,000 troops was far inferior to before—nearly 100,000 were vassal troops, many of them cannon fodder hastily raised and converted on the spot. After the Battle of Mingcheng, the upper ranks of the Han army had largely set aside their arrogance, at least becoming vigilant about the enormous casualties the Han army could suffer. Field battles were one thing, but for siege warfare, they would have to rely on these cannon fodder from Transoxiana, Persia, and Arabia—a convenient way to expend them, reduce destabilizing elements, and make control easier.

Of the more than 10,000 Han soldiers who died, nearly half came from Beiting—a bone-deep wound, a pain that cut to the heart. And such a result was unacceptable to Beiting King Liu Wengong and his soldiers.

And Beiting King Liu Wengong was not the type to run from battle—he had the most basic sense of responsibility. The dignity belonging to the Han people, the glory belonging to the Han army, had to be upheld. Of course, such talk was rather abstract; the fundamental reason was that the previous losses had been too great and needed to be made up for, and Khorasan was far wealthier than Haidong. In the earlier looting, the Beiting army had been especially active.

This time, the leading role on the Han side was played by Anxi and Kangju, while the Beiting army, which had suffered heavy casualties at the Battle of Mingcheng, could only play a supporting role—both kings understood this.

From the stalemate phase onward, the war had in effect become the Ghaznavid dynasty single-handedly facing the Anxi Three Kingdoms' coalition. The other Islamic forces could not provide much effective assistance to Ghaznavid for the time being. Though holy warriors still came from the east, the only ones that could pose a real threat were that Eastern Expeditionary Army that had regrouped in the Gorgan region. But compared to Mahmud's fervor and order in Tus, Gorgan's chaotic situation and internal frictions made it difficult for them to pose any substantial threat to the Han.

It could be said with certainty that casualties of this magnitude had never occurred in any war against Islamic civilization, large or small, since Liu Min had destroyed the Kara-Khanids. How many Han people were there in the Three Kingdoms altogether? How many elite Han troops? How many people were there in the Islamic world? How many battles of such consumption could the Three Kingdoms afford?

The depletion of materiel and national strength need not be mentioned—there is nothing in the world more costly in money and effort than war. What truly pained the Three Kingdoms was the loss of military strength.

Among the Three Kingdoms, Beiting naturally suffered the greatest losses. The fruits of their management in the Haidong region went down the drain, the great Muslim uprising, Mingcheng nearly destroyed by war, and the Haidong Han troops under Beiting's command lost seventy percent.

Continuing the war became his only choice, and Mahmud, who had retreated to Tus, remained his primary hunting target. However, before that, replenishing troops and supplies and resting and recovering were things that had to take time, which brought the war into its second phase: the stalemate.

This was very normal. Previously, the stability of the Anxi Three Kingdoms had been built on the strength of the Han army and strict internal control and suppression. When the main forces—and even most of the vassal troops—were committed to foreign campaigns, internal unrest was understandable.

Of course, victory could usually suppress many contradictions. After the Three Kingdoms' coalition achieved a complete victory at the Battle of Mingcheng, the rear was stabilized—at least the endless stream of rebellions decreased considerably. The hostile elements were not without sense; they did not foment chaos regardless of timing.

The incitement and provocation from the Ghaznavid forces and holy warriors did have a stirring effect on some Transoxiana people who had suffered under "religious oppression," and it could indeed cause some adverse effects on Han army operations. But ultimately, it was limited. After all, the Han army's operations did not depend as much on logistics as one might imagine in the short term. As long as there was still something to plunder, grain and clothing to seize, the war machine of the Han army could be driven forward.

At Tus, another bloody battle of the Han-Islamic War erupted. This city, rich in historical depth and steeped in religious atmosphere, inevitably became a meat grinder—and what was ground out was the blood of the Muslims, both current and former believers of Allah.

The roles of attacker and defender had reversed. Just like the siege of Mingcheng, the slaughter at Tus lasted about a month. As Sultan of Ghaznavid, Mahmud made a very risky move: he remained inside the city, using this method to inspire the Ghaznavid soldiers and call on the faithful to unite in resisting the Han invasion.

The effect was remarkable. With Mahmud personally overseeing the battle, the defenders of Tus displayed considerable combat power and will, fighting fiercely against the besieging "Han army." As for casualties—during wartime, human life was the cheapest thing of all.

The defenders of Tus fought hard, and the Three Kingdoms' coalition attacked with great difficulty. After probing Tus's defensive strength, Liu Min and the other two kings dared not commit their precious Han troops to siege warfare. And relying on cannon fodder alone, it was very difficult to take the city—at least a great city like Tus was not so easily conquered.

The factor that changed the war situation did not appear on the Tus battlefield, but erupted in the upper reaches of the Jihun River, two thousand li from the front. A Ghaznavid army of 20,000 sallied from their northern stronghold of Balkh, crossed the Jihun River, and launched a surprise attack on Han forts and strongpoints along the river. In just fifteen days, the cities of Er, Yue, and Chi on the northern bank of the Jihun all fell in succession, and even the strategic pass of Iron Gate was taken.

This stretch of the Jihun River region belonged to Kangju, but its loss threatened far more than just Kangju. North of Chi and Iron Gate lay Kashgar, and further north was the Central Asian hub of Samarkand—the core transportation artery of the Seven Rivers region and the Silk Road.

If Samarkand were taken, the power of the Anxi Three Kingdoms would be effectively cut at the waist—a mortal threat. Therefore, when the war report from the Jihun River direction reached the front at Tus, all the senior figures of the Three Kingdoms, from Liu Min on down, clearly realized that Tus could not be taken and the war in Khorasan could not continue.

A retreat began. First, Kangju King Liu Ye led his national troops eastward to rush to the aid of Kashgar, then the entire coalition withdrew. The Ghaznavid forces in Tus clearly detected the Han army's movements, and Mahmud sent troops out of the city to pursue. But under Liu Min and the others' composed and orderly command, they gained nothing, instead falling into several ambushes and suffering considerable losses, after which they dared not pursue further.

Before withdrawing, Liu Min ordered the northern part of Khorasan to be razed, then pulled back to Haidong. Along the way, he sent troops westward to take Gorgan, thoroughly extinguishing the fervor of the Arab holy warriors from West Asia, while extending his reach to the southern shore of the Caspian Sea.

Kangju King Liu Ye led his army through a grueling march back and finally returned to his country in the summer of that year, just before Kashgar fell. The Ghaznavid forces slipped away quickly and did not engage Liu Ye's army in battle.

Originally, slipping away would have been fine—after nearly a year of warfare, the Kangju army was thoroughly exhausted. But the enemy's intention to use the cover of summer heat to occupy the northern bend of the Jihun River without leaving thoroughly enraged Liu Ye.

Thus, after a brief rest, Liu Ye led his troops south to recover the lost territory. As the three cities on the northern bank and various strongpoints were gradually restored, and as the last Ghaznavid soldier who had invaded north was shot dead in the Jihun River, the Fifth Han-Islamic War was declared at an end.

The impact of this protracted war was profound and significant. The territorial changes among the various states were not great, but it established an entirely new pattern in Central and West Asia, and to a certain extent, it could be said to have influenced the historical development of the entire Arab region.

The Eastern Expeditionary Army suffered incalculable losses, the holy war frenzy was forcibly halted, and the Ghaznavid dynasty was badly wounded—but it proved with facts that a dynasty on the rise was not so easy to deal with.

After this war, Ghaznavid at least firmly secured its position as the top dog. Mahmud's reputation as a hero and a wise ruler spread widely throughout the Islamic world—at least he was the first Arab prince who could trade blows with the ferocious Han.

Of course, the price of this war was also heavy—it would need at least ten years to recover, which would greatly affect its development trajectory.

In comparison, the Anxi Three Kingdoms thwarted yet another Islamic attempt to make a comeback, achieved one proud victory after another, plundered great wealth from the Khorasan region, severely wounded the Ghaznavid dynasty, and greatly weakened its war potential.

But their own casualties—especially the Han military strength that was their foundation—suffered the most severe losses since the founding of their kingdoms. This was something that affected their ability to rule and could not be taken lightly. This war also made the upper echelons of the Three Kingdoms set aside that arrogance and hubris which, though not obvious, was rooted in their bones—at least they truly realized that those Arabs and Muslims were not all sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

And what had the most far-reaching significance for the Three Kingdoms was that it was precisely from this great war that the intimate, seamless relationship that had continued since the "Anxi Protectorate era" began to become clear—the Three Kingdoms became increasingly independent from one another politically and militarily.

For the first time, the upper echelons of the Three Kingdoms truly engaged in deep, serious thinking about their respective future development, rather than blindly confining themselves to the nearly politically correct strategic framework of "westward expansion."

In fact, from the very beginning of Emperor Shizu's enfeoffment, there had been differences and even conflicts of core interest among the Three Kingdoms, and these divergences in core interests destined their strategic development to diverge as well.

In the past, because of blood ties, historical connections, and the threat of Islamic forces, the Three Kingdoms had no choice but to muddle along together. But after the "Five Great Wars," muddling along was clearly no longer viable. In the following decade or so, the Three Kingdoms indeed each went their own way in strategic development.

Beiting completely withdrew from the Transoxiana region, focusing on domestic management. While developing northward, it actively communicated with the Empire and strengthened ties in all areas.

On the Anxi side, Liu Min made a major decision: he moved the capital from Suyab to Hezhong City (formerly Bukhara, capital of the Samanid dynasty, today's Bukhara). After all, Anxi was by then a major Central Asian state spanning the Seven Rivers region and stretching thousands of li. Suyab, as the royal city, lay on the eastern frontier—though it had many advantages, it was indeed unsuitable as the capital of the new Anxi.

After moving the capital, Liu Min settled down and continued his reforms and development, making deep and solid plans for the state with his Anxi ministers. The conquest of the Islamic world was not something to be accomplished overnight.

While cultivating internal strength, the fundamental policy of expansion could not be abandoned. It was still the same point: relying on natural development alone, Anxi would find it very difficult to take on the entire Islamic world single-handedly. Only, Liu Min shifted his key focus of management to the Caspian coast and the Persian region to the southwest.

As for Kangju King Liu Ye, he had always had grievances against his sixth brother Liu Min. The two brothers had worked together while being at odds in their hearts, with many contradictions. After the complete separation, they actually became much closer.

With his back against Anxi and the Great Han, Liu Ye pooled the strength of Kangju, focusing his efforts on managing the "Afghanistan" region, and vying with Ghaznavid with all his might for the upper reaches of the Jihun River and its northern territories. Facing these two states as well, yet after the two states each fought on their own, the pressure on the Ghaznavid dynasty did not decrease but instead increased.

The destruction of Khotan was precisely something Liu Ye did as a matter of convenience in the course of his struggle with the Ghaznavid dynasty. Liu Ye would always remember how his second brother the Emperor had forcibly halted that matter back then, and so, after Emperor Taizong's passing, he had already been itching to make his move.

What truly set things in motion was the death of the former King of Khotan, Yuchi Baoxiang, as well as the easing of pressure on the western front (Mahmud had gone south to conquer India to find his confidence again). As for the attitude of the central empire—whether it was Kangzong Liu Wenpeng before, or Liu Wenji now—Liu Ye, the Imperial Uncle, simply did not care about their attitudes at all.