For centuries, the Shaolin Temple in Henan province has been a global symbol of martial arts and Buddhist discipline. But its reputation was tarnished by allegations of financial and sexual misconduct against former abbot Shi Yongxin, who led the temple for over two decades. When Shi Yinle, the reserved and respected 59-year-old former abbot of The White Horse Temple, took the helm on July 29, 2025, he wasted no time.

Determined to realign the temple with its spiritual roots, he introduced five sweeping reforms: halting commercial performances, banning costly consecration rituals, shutting down temple shops, promoting self-sufficiency through farming, and overhauling income distribution to eliminate controversial fees.

Shi Yinle’s vision is clear: the temple must return to its core values. “Some monks neither truly practice nor properly work,” he said, pointing to behaviors like ordering takeout in meditation rooms or listening to pop music during sacred chants.

His reforms are a bold attempt to strip away the commercial trappings that have crept into Shaolin’s hallowed halls, including suspending international tours by the temple’s famed martial arts team and closing its lucrative cultural shops and online stores.

The new regimen is unrelenting. Monks now rise at 4:30 a.m. for morning prayers, followed by hours of farming and afternoon Zen martial arts practice. Mobile phones are locked away in a central storeroom, with screen time slashed to a mere 30 minutes a day.

Entertainment is forbidden, and the diet is strictly vegetarian, with tofu allowed only once a week. This austere lifestyle, likened by netizens to the “996” work culture of China’s tech giants—9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week—has been humorously dubbed the “Buddhist 996.” Adding to the pressure, a “bottom-tier elimination system” threatens to expel monks who fail monthly assessments for three consecutive months.

The changes have not been universally welcomed. Within a week of Shi Yinle’s appointment, more than 30 monks and staff reportedly left the temple, though it’s unclear whether they transferred to other monasteries or abandoned monastic life entirely. One young monk described the confiscation of his phone, used for reading scriptures, as “like losing an arm.”

Another quipped that the sight of vegetables now makes him feel ill. The exodus has ignited a firestorm of discussion on Chinese social media. “This weeds out the fakes who became monks just to enjoy life,” one user commented. Another added, “Those leaving chanted ‘gold’ instead of scriptures. Let them go and take the impurities with them.” A third offered a wry observation: “Pilgrims visiting Shaolin will see how hard the monks live and suddenly feel their own lives aren’t so bad.”

For Shi Yinle, the reforms are a necessary reckoning. His 20-year tenure at The White Horse Temple, China’s oldest Buddhist site, earned him a reputation for quiet dedication, and he now faces the challenge of steering Shaolin back to its spiritual moorings. Supporters see his measures as a bold stand against the commercialization that has plagued the temple, while critics argue the rules are too harsh, alienating monks accustomed to a less rigid life.

As the dust settles, the Shaolin Temple stands at a crossroads. Shi Yinle’s vision of a disciplined, self-sufficient monastery may restore its sacred legacy—or risk alienating a new generation of monks. For now, the “Buddhist 996” is reshaping life within these ancient walls, proving that even in a place steeped in tradition, change can come with the force of a kung fu strike.