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The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, no-one cared," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But today there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his