Not long after this the important question of coinage came up. We have already seen that the medium in Koryŭ was little bottle-shaped pieces, but as these were each a pound in weight they could be used only for large transactions. Each one of them was worth a hundred pieces of linen. It was decided to change to a system of regular coinage, and so the silver was coined into “dollars” each worth eight pieces of five-strand linen. It is probable that in all small transactions barter was the common method of exchange although there may have been a metal medium of exchange as far back as the days of ancient Chosŭn, a thousand years before Christ. The question again came up as to the advisability of moving the capital to Han-yang, the present Seoul. Enquiry was made at the ancestral temple but what answer the spirits made, if any, we are not told. All dishes and implements as well as tile were made black because the peninsula is nearly surrounded by water and black is the color that corresponds to water according to Chinese and Korean notions. Black was substituted for the prevailing color in dress which was at that time blue-green, and men, women and monks all donned the sable attire. It was at length decided to change the capital to the other site and palaces were ordered built there. They were, so some say, probably outside the present south gate of Seoul. It is said that in order to decide about the removal of the capital the king had recourse to that form of divination which consisted in making scrawls at random with a pen and then examining them to see what Chinese characters the marks most resembled. At first they did not favor a change, but after several trials the favorable response was obtained. The year 1359 beheld a recurrence of the dreaded Japanese incursions. At this time the robbers burned 300 Koryŭ boats at Kak-san. An official, Yi Tal-jung, was sent to govern the great north-eastern section of the land. He was a friend of Yi Whan-jo, the prefect of Sang-sŭng. As he approached that place his friend Yi Whan-jo came out to meet him, accompanied by his son Yi Song-gye who was to become the founder of the present dynasty, and whom we shall designate by his posthumous title T‘ă-jo. When Yi Whan-jo handed his friend a cup of wine he drank it standing, but when Yi T‘ă-jo handed him one, so the story runs, he drank it on his knees. When the father demanded why this greater deference was shown his son the guest replied, “This boy is different from us,” and, turning to the young man, he continued. “When I have passed away you must always befriend my descendants.” The Japanese raids had now reached such alarming proportions that an extra wall was built about Song-do and all the government granaries along the coast were moved far inland to be out of the reach of piratical parties, who would naturally hesitate to go far from their boats.