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The activist's eyes scan across vast expanses of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

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

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.

The path by the river extends over 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 bought in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his