His Army of Green Soldiers

Wang Kai, the director of the Million Tree Project.

When all company workers are busy preparing their end-of-year reports, this man is burying his contract in the snow. That is his “Spring Sowing Contract,” his promise to plant a frontline of green soldiers across the undulating dunes in Inner Mongolia.

Wang Kai’s calendar is much different from that of metropolitan workers: signing contracts by March, checking on woodland by April, sowing by May, and reporting to donors by December. In this annual schedule measured entirely by trees and shrubs, seasons are refined by the growth of trees.

“Many people think planting trees marks the end of our job, but it’s just the beginning. Monitoring and sustaining the woodland is more important. We hope that our cultivation can create long-term effects, not limited to just a few years after the trees are planted,” he explained. After systematically recounting his monthly schedule, he knew it by heart after working on this job for more than 10 years.

“We usually plant poplars here (in Inner Mongolia), their life cycle spans  30 to 50 years. They will wilt naturally when they enter a certain life stage. A major part of our job is replanting and maintaining the ecological functions of a wilting poplar population.”

This decade-long routine isn't merely about persistence—it's a deliberate strategy to achieve layered ecological goals. When asked about the deeper purpose behind this cyclical work, his answer crystallized into three interconnected missions:

“First, the most obvious goal is to combat desertification. Desertification is very different from “desert”; it refers to when land crumbles and forms cracks. We are trying to present that.”

“Next, we are trying to control the amount of sand and dust in the air. When the saplings grow into forests, they can balance out the harm done to nearby lands from over-exploitation or grazing.”

“Our third mission is carbon absorption. This is the most long-term and challenging objective. Our woodlands can secure and absorb the excessive carbon emissions in the air. If you just plant one or two trees, there is not going to be much difference. But with a plantation of hundreds of millions, that is going to create a definite impact.”

He knew the woodlands like his own children. To him, each seedling embodies a layered purpose: roots that bind dust into soil, leaves that scrub particulate skies, and cellulose that locks carbon into living vaults. This systems-level insight turns every sapling into a soldier battling the overgrazed fields and choked skies.

Yet nurturing these "living carbon vaults" was never a clear path. As his fingers brushed the saplings—soldiers in his silent war—he saw beyond their leaves: the chokehold of financial challenges and the scythe of opposing locals looming over every root.

“In the past, our biggest challenge was negotiating with locals. Transforming potential pasture or farmland into woodland isn’t the most rewarding deal. With a pasture or farmland, you can obtain significantly more financial income, while you don’t get much from a woodland.”

“Now, with China establishing laws promoting what we are doing and providing subsidies, this issue is resolved. Currently, our primary obstacle is keeping up with the rising financial costs. A few years ago, the cost for farmers to plant trees for us was about 100 RMB; now it would cost us 300-400. The forage that we use in Ningxia to secure sand, which used to cost us a few hundred per ton, now costs us a few thousand.”

The cost curve now rises faster than the rate at which desertification spreads. While laws have stabilized the policy landscape, an economic drought tightens its grip: each sand-binding root today anchors two ledgers—one thirsting for water, the other weighted by labor fees that have skyrocketed.

Yet hope had never truly evaporated under these ledger-bent dunes. More than a decade ago, it was Wang Kai who had planted the saplings that have now grown into a firm barricade.

Wang Kai walking among the saplings that had grown into forests.

 “When I first joined Roots and Shoots. We were hosting a program to plant trees with local children and volunteers. That very woodland became one of the oldest and most successful among the 40 established woodlands that we have here.”

“Every year when I check on that piece of woodland, I get rewarded with a sense of accomplishment. You feel proud seeing a sapling, thick as your thumb, tall as your waist, inching to more than 10, 12 meters,” he chuckled, “This feeling… It's quite hard to describe.”

Up to now, Wang Kai leads his green army, which still advances—each growth ring a service medal, each straw grid a freshly dug trench. While spreadsheets howl like sandstorms, these silent soldiers etch their orders in root networks: Standing, they are the border; fallen, they become the boundary stones.