I Became Dong Zhuo's Useless Son, So Why Does Everyone Think I Want the Throne?

History says Dong Zhuo dies in 192.

Lü Bu kills him.

Then the Dong clan gets exterminated.

I knew all of this.

Which would have been much more useful if I had not opened my eyes as Dong Zhuo's nineteen-year-old son.

There are worse transmigrations.

Few come with such a clear expiration date.

Fortunately, the original Dong Yu left me one magnificent inheritance:

Everyone already thinks I'm useless.

Lazy. Cowardly. Drunk whenever possible. More interested in beautiful women than military affairs.

Perfect.

All I have to do is protect that reputation, get Mother somewhere safe, gather enough money and food to survive, and avoid every famous bastard I remember from the Three Kingdoms.

Especially Lü Bu.

Then Father asked what I wanted.

"A small estate."

"Where?"

"West."

Li Ru looked at me.

"Why west?"

"Yuan Shao went east."

The room went quiet.

That should have been my first warning.

I wanted distance from Yuan Shao.

They heard that I had already predicted rebellion.

I wanted grain because jewelry is difficult to eat.

They heard preparation for famine and war.

I counted carts because, at some point, I fully intend to run away.

Somehow that was worse.

Yesterday, Li Ru thought I was an idiot.

Today, he thinks I might have spent nineteen years pretending to be one.

Father has started asking for my opinion.

Lü Bu has started paying attention to me.

And every time I desperately try to prove that I am a cowardly, lazy, womanizing waste of a noble son, everyone becomes a little more convinced that the act itself is part of some terrifying plan.

I know how this story ends.

I am trying very hard not to be important enough to change it.

Unfortunately, the people around me seem determined to promote me into treason.