The activist's gaze sweeps over miles of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.
He speaks in a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.
And then, as the sky starts to lighten before dawn, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.
Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your 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 comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to find food and shelter.
The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.
The area of meadow being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.
It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.
The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.
This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.
Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.
"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.
So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.
"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.
His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.
He recalls wandering in the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."
Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.
The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.
"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 found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.
"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.
He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on 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 can't do it part-time."
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 developed new ways to hunt the hunters.
He studies aerial photos to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show netting setups 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 own songbirds are now often affluent."
While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.
Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate 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 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 often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."
On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.
A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.
This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have created their own market.
The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to false teeth.
We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.
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 in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.
But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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
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