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The conservationist's vision darts across miles of open meadows, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the vast metropolis of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

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

They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in 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 clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies 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 sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled 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 held accountable.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires 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 tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

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

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation 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 little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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