林枫 spurred his horse forward, his eyes scanning the horizon. The road ahead was littered with dust and debris, a testament to the chaos of war. The cries of the hungry and the desperate filled the air, a reminder of the suffering caused by the Yellow Turban Rebellion and the subsequent crackdown by the warlords.

"Find a place to hide," he urged, his voice strained but firm. "We can't stay out here. The曹贼's men are closing in."

The group of survivors, no more than a dozen or so, nodded in agreement. They were a ragged bunch, their clothes tattered and their faces gaunt. But they were alive, and that was all that mattered.

As they rode, the sound of approaching horses grew louder, heavier. The曹贼's cavalry, a fearsome force known for its discipline and ferocity, was closing in.

"散开!" shouted the leader of the group, a burly man named Zhang. "We need to make ourselves look like we're scattered, not organized. This might confuse them."