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The activist's gaze sweeps over miles of dense fields, looking for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Overhead, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so delicate you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The path by the river extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered 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 arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and recording details. Defiant, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his