Cockroach.
Even at the young age of nearly sixteen, a youth enrolled in the Dai Li's training academy knows something about stealth. Kun already knew how to use his stone gloves and shoes to climb a stone pillar with the slow, deliberate finesse of a tree frog. He was learning how to silently hang, upside down, from the ceiling of a hall or cavern like a fox-bat.
He knew how to lurk in a dark alley or cranny, keeping his breathing as soft as the flapping of a butterfly's wings. He knew how to watch someone from the other side of a roof, peering over the ridge at them and listening to their every word like a crested bobcat watching a bird. He was learning how to stalk even the wariest of civilians, making even the impact of his stone clogs sound as faint as a mouse walking over a wooden table-and then charge at them with the singleminded, implacable determination and speed of a camelephant bull in musth. He already knew how to scramble up a sheer stone wall like a meowing gecko if the situation required it.
These were all vital skills he'd need to call upon in the future as an agent, and Kun was proud of mastering them, of showing his classmates and instructors and superiors his steady progress, displaying just what he could do. It made him feel confident and bold.
Privately however, all this stealthy lurking and stalking and laying in wait also made Kun Yong feel creepy, like he was some nasty insect. Like he was a cockroach.