Zhou blinked a few times, wondering if this was heaven.  Looking to his side, he saw Bruno and concluded that he was in hell.  He looked at himself: he was ten years younger.  The decoration in this...place was foreign to him, as was the man with the large hair that stood in front of the table.  The man spoke, and though Zhou Yu could understand him, he had the uncanny feeling that he wasn't speaking Chinese.  When it was revealed, the size of the meal did not offend Zhou Yu, he was, after all, used to delicacies that were served in small portions, and though foreign, Zhou Yu could assume that this place shared similar concepts when it came to luxury foods.  "Thank you," Zhou Yu said, offering what courtesy he could despite his confusion.  Turning to his partner at his table, Zhou Yu greeted Bruno, "Please eat slowly," he said; a customary Chinese courtesy one often said before eating.  He then took the fork (a rather barbaric utensil compared to the chopsticks he was used to), and partook of the delicacy that he had been served, and did his utmost to appreciate and savor the subtleties of flavor and spice that such a delicacy would undoubtedly be prepared with.