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Silva Gu's eyes scan across vast expanses of open meadows, looking for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Caught

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to southern locales to breed and eat.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, no-one cared," he remarks.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He remembers wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided 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 being investigated by Silva and fought back.

"He assembled 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 seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission 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 support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the paths worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display 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 understand 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 adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall 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 quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played 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 covered in dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no transactions 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