Neal was glad to be out of the backwards, frigid hell that was Mongolia. The Mali lacked the production to be a true world power, but they were a clever people, and, thanks largely to the generosity of their Chinese benefactors, they led healthy, happy lives. Qin was shipping, gratis, Silk, Banana, Dye, Rice, Deer, Fish, Clams, Iron, Spices, Sugar, and Pigs from far-off Cathay. With those resources in place, Neal could focus on pumping out Workers to improve the central African jungles and Settlers to, eventually, take South America.
The Chinese advisor to the Malinesian court took note of Mansa Musa's sudden inquisitiveness about his own empire. The king was suddenly contradicting his earlier orders to build Longbows, and studying the ledger sheets that he himself had penned. This could only mean one thing. He immediately sent word to Beijing.
An appointment for a meeting with Qin Shi Huang was nothing new. Leaders hopped in to make requests, demands, or trade offers all the time. Nevertheless, Neal had never before been a vassal, even a willing one, so a sit-down with a master was new. And something else that Neal couldn't quite put his finger on filled him with dread.
"So, King of the World," the immortal Chinese emperor intoned, a note of irony in his voice. "You've finally landed under my thumb. That was quite a trick you pulled with Genghis Khan. Needless to say, the Mongolian people continue to suffer for your temerity. " Neal shifted uneasily, both at being recognized and at the reference to his failure. "Well, know this: Mali is particularly vulnerable, and China is particularly strong. If you summon the gall to break our... agreement, we will have no reason to continue propping up your economy with our resources. There will be sickness and rioting in the streets. In addition, we will consider your declaration of independence an act of war. Don't believe me? See how the crowds in Timbuktu react to a few years of hardship."
And, with that, the Chinese cancelled one gift per turn, until the Malinesian core was a festering pit of disease and resentment. His point proven, and with Neal humbled, Qin restored his gifts, one by one, and Mali once again began to prosper.
Before the starving times could take full effect, though, Neal founded an outpost in the jungles:
With enough Workers, that had the potential to be a powerful city.
The Mali army, meanwhile, had no real desire to join the crusade against the Greeks. They instead struck south, claiming Circassian and its Workers for their own:
Circassian was isolated, true, but better to claim it before Saladin could get his own troops into position.
With Corporation in hand, Neal set his sights on Astronomy. Those that held it kept it as a closely-guarded secret, so the Mali had to research it on their own. What Neal could get for Corporation, though, was gold enough to fund deficit research for a while:
Getting Frederick out of the war on Greece was, perhaps, a mistake.
Neal found a source of Iron in the hills of the Sahara, which would be a valuable piece of the independence puzzle. Between domestic military resources and the potential for South American production and luxuries, perhaps Neal could tell Qin to take a long walk on a short pier, after all.
Unfortunately for later pursuits, across the sea the Aztecs' brutal war against the Americans had reached its usual conclusion:
With Montezuma coming up next, I was hoping to be able to wipe out Roosevelt and spare myself that particular endgame

Ah, well. It was fated to happen.
Our South American holdings began simply enough in 1615:
My Internet was down as of Brasilia's founding, so it's a bit off. Bear with me, folks. This is alternate history
Meanwhile, the Apostolic Palace (in Qin's hands, and
so close to being razed by the Mongols!) continued to offer difficulties. In the election, I was shackled by my vassal agreement into voting for the Chinese emperor, but I was able to vote against him in his attempt to take back Nanjing from India.
With Mali being a land of commerce more than production, I'd decided at this point to gun for Rifling (pun intended). Unfortunately, Gunpowder was, like Astronomy, not shared willingly, so the burden of research fell upon the Mali people. Unfortunately, at this point, the gold deals weren't really worth the technologies we would be giving away:
20 gold, Saladin? Really? For Astronomy? I daresay, I'm insulted.
The conquest of South Africa continued:
The city auto-razed and was replaced by Johannesburg 1N.
Meanwhile, back in the Americas, Neal founded his own version of French Guiana:
The cities themselves held against Barbarian attacks, but getting the surrounding tiles improved and worked was a constant struggle.
Life was dull for the Mali, outside of China's turn-by-turn generosity shifts, but the round was proving fruitful. The Congo wouldn't be deforested by the time Neal had to move on, nor would South America be entirely colonized, but progress was being made on both fronts. Hopefully, Mansa Musa would see the wisdom of Neal's course of action and continue apace.
There is an ancient curse regarding living in interesting times. Leave it to the Greeks to spice things up just as Neal became complacent. As Alexander's European and Turkish holdings were under withering assault by the Chinese and assorted allies, the Hellenic bastard decided to make a play at replenishing his losses with Malinesian gains:
Not a big deal, Neal thought. His army, weak as it was, was stationed in the very city Alexander was attacking! Neal suicided his Catapults to cripple the invaders, then hunkered down to defend. The garrison should have been more than enough to hold off the assault. After all, all four of the battles would need to be lost to lose Gao.
Unfortunately, luck was with the Greeks that day:
Had Neal simply rushed the War Elephant or left a single Catapult in reserve, the massacre could have, at least, been delayed. Ah, well. The retaking of Gao would be a worthy goal for the final few years of Mali rule.
The people of Johannesburg, to the south, dug around in the Barbarian ruins and found, surprisingly enough, state of the art scientific treatises!
The King of the World was taken aback by this. Maybe... just maybe
we're the Barbarians here. Then again, maybe not. And Neal had been a backwards, bloodthirsty warmonger before. There's no shame in it.
Neal parlayed this progress into a favorable deal with the Indians:
Maybe Military Tradition would teach them a little discipline and respect. Then again, maybe it would just result in more orderly munchie runs. Military Tradition also netted Chemistry and a small purse of gold from the English.
In 1685, a bizarre Roman fleet slipped silently past Kumbi Saleh:
That's the kind of bizarre AI behavior that drives me nuts. I'm sure that there are a pair of Settlers, half a dozen Workers, and a good 10 or 20 military units cooling their heels in Rome or Madrid right now. Rome could have a stranglehold on South America, or even make a decent show of a war with Montezuma, but, no. He'd rather putt around the oceans of the world with his ghost fleet.
As the curtain began to fall on Neal's reign as Mansa Musa, he decided to make a push for Gao, with what few troops he could muster:
With the Greek army pushing southwest, the surprise attack succeeded, though the city immediately fell back into Greek hands. Ah, well. Neal had tried.
By the time 1700 A.D. rolled around, Greece's Mediterranean influence was on the wane:
It's only a matter of time until he, too, kisses the Chinese ring.
Mali, meanwhile, had expanded, but not altogether prospered:
The Greek distraction had brought the colonization of South America to a halt, and the lack of production in the jungles and deserts had slowed Neal's efforts considerably.
Bah. Mongolia had been a disaster and Mali wasn't much better. Neal was ready to make a real difference in the world. As he closed his eyes on West Africa, he smelled the disturbingly-familiar tang of blood in the air. Ominous drums and chanting clashed sharply with the cool breeze on his face. He opened his eyes to find himself nearly naked and slick with blood atop a step pyramid, with a knife in one hand and a slimy heart in the other. Neal fought hard to control his bile, for to show weakness to the Aztecs was to invite insurrection.
We are once again the Barbarians at the gates, waving primitive sticks from our crude huts. Unlike Mongols, though, the Aztecs have the Production to do some major damage. We have a LOT of sticks and a LOT of huts. That said, I think that attaining Astronomy before the round's end is an unrealistic goal, so we won't be "reverse colonizing," I'm afraid. So, what should our goals be? Knock back the outsiders and claim the Amazon for ourselves? Look for an excuse to break Roosevelt's vassalage and stretch him over an altar? Try to climb back into the tech race? I look forward to your suggestions.
Here's the save: