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Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across miles of dense fields, looking for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a spot to hide in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, we hear footsteps. 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 taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," 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 invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

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

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

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

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted 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 requires patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture 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 quite wealthy."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

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

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult 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 local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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