In the bustling heart of Beijing, where ancient alleyways mix with cutting-edge tech hubs, an unseen battle unfolds.

The bad guys don't carry knives or break into homes — they hide behind fake profiles, phony investment apps and sweet-talking phone calls. For the good guys, their weapons are a mix of sharp detective skills, a whole lot of heart and the kind of patience that makes even the most skeptical victims trust them.

Among the front-line is Xing Yunwei, a veteran anti-fraud police officer from the capital's Shijingshan district. With about five years of experience on the beat, Xing is not just saving people's life savings from being stolen — he's picking up the pieces after the scammers strike.

Throughout Xing's career, he's had a front-row seat to how China's crime scene has evolved.

Back when he started as a rookie at a local police station, his days were spent chasing burglars and breaking up street fights. A year later, he moved to the criminal investigation team, tackling everything from gang violence to old-school scams.

But around 2020, as China's internet and telecommunication penetration expanded, cases of telecom fraud began to surge. More and more people were walking into stations saying, "I sent money to someone online, and now they're gone." Online fraud was exploding, and Xing was handpicked to join the district's new anti-fraud center.

"It was like learning a whole new job," he said. "Before, I could follow footprints or check surveillance cameras. With these scams? The scammers are in another province — or country — typing behind a laptop."

Telecom fraud makes up nearly 70 percent of all criminal cases in China, and the scammers update their tricks every year. One year, it's fake logistics customer service calls saying your package is "lost", and you need to pay a fee to get it back. Next, it's "investment gurus" promising 10-fold returns on crypto. These scams spare no one.

Xing's seen 7-year-olds tricked into sending game skins, 90-year-olds conned out of their pension, and everyone in between. "No one's too smart to be scammed," he said. "Scammers study human nature — they know exactly what buttons to push."

What makes these scams particularly insidious is their psychological toll. Unlike traditional theft, telecom fraud leaves deep emotional scars. Xing recalled a case where the police recovered funds for a victim, only to have the money rejected.

"He said the money didn't matter — he'd spent a year trying to forget the scam, and getting the cash back would only reopen old wounds," Xing said. "That's when I realized: we're not just fighting for people's money. We're fighting for their peace of mind."

Xing's approach to anti-fraud work is a master class in empathy and strategy. He categorizes scammers' tactics into two core psychological traps: "avoiding harm" and "chasing gain". Elderly victims often fall prey to fear-based scams — scammers claim their bank cards are linked to crimes or threaten unpaid fees, exploiting their respect for authority. Younger people, meanwhile, are lured by promises of easy money: fake investment schemes, part-time brushing scams, or get-rich-quick business opportunities.

Emotional scams targeting women are among the hardest to combat. Xing said many female victims, especially older or lonely ones, crave connection in a fast-paced society. "We're a reserved culture — people don't always share their troubles with family," he said.

One case involved a devoted wife and mother who, after battling cancer, felt neglected by her family. A scammer posed as a caring friend, listened to her grievances, and eventually convinced her to invest in a fake platform. "He didn't offer her money," Xing said. "He offered her attention — and that's what made her trust him."

To turn these victims around, Xing has to be more than a cop — he becomes a confidant. Persuading potential victims to abandon scams requires equal parts patience, professionalism and empathy.

He never says, "How could you be so dumb?" Instead, he says, "Anyone would trust someone who makes them feel seen." He'll help them check the scammer's "identity", call the bank to request freezing funds, and even just sit with them while they cry.

"Sometimes, they just need to talk about how stupid they feel," he said. "I tell them: 'Scammers spend years practicing this. You didn't stand a chance — but you do now.'"

His most memorable case involved a retired 70-year-old teacher who fell for a fake investment scam. Too ashamed to admit her mistake, she avoided police calls until she rushed to the station, injuring her leg in the process.

"She'd dedicated her life to educating others and couldn't bear the thought of being seen as a fool," Xing said. After verifying the scam and helping her secure her funds, the woman hugged him and said, "You saved me from drowning in shame." That moment reinforced Xing's belief that emotional support is as crucial as financial recovery.

Over the years, Xing has persuaded over 1,000 potential victims, recovering tens of millions of yuan. He said there is a stark gender divide in his work: while men and women are scammed in roughly equal numbers, women are harder to persuade because their scams are often emotionally rooted. Men, by contrast, tend to fall for quick-money schemes and respond better to logical arguments.

These days, Xing's job is getting harder — scammers are using artificial intelligence to make fake voices and deepfakes to pretend to be family members. But he's not backing down. He's on platforms such as Douyin, making short videos about scams, visiting communities to give talks, and even texting former victims to check in. "Scammers use technology," he said. "But we have something they don't — human connection."

He advocates a holistic approach to anti-fraud: stricter law enforcement, widespread public education, and more community support for victims. "Scams thrive on isolation," Xing said. "If families talk more, if communities care more, we can cut off scammers' access to people's hearts."