DENGFENG (China), Aug 6 — Incense drifting through ancient cedars. Saffron-robed monks, limbs a blur of movement, making quick work of imagined enemies. The boing of a giant bronze bell calling the faithful to prayer.

This is the scene at the fabled Shaolin Temple, a cradle of kung fu and Zen Buddhism nestled in the forests of the central Chinese province of Henan, where legend has it monks have trained in martial arts for centuries. But in recent days, another sound has been wafting across its hallowed grounds: the snickering of tourists trading the latest news about the abbot of Shaolin and his reportedly less than virtuous ways.

Over the past week, much of the nation has been transfixed by salacious allegations that the famed abbot, Shi Yongxin, known as China’s CEO Monk for transforming Shaolin into a global commercial empire, is a swindler and serial philanderer who secretly fathered children with two of his lovers, vows of celibacy notwithstanding.

The accusations — new tidbits have appeared almost daily in the Chinese news media — are mostly based on documents released by a self-described former monk at the temple who says the abbot owns a small fleet of fancy cars, has embezzled millions of dollars from a temple-run corporation and funnelled some of the cash to a mistress now living in Australia.

A monk, right, stands among tourists at the Shaolin Temple in Dengfeng, China, July 31, 2015. — Picture by Adam Dean/The New York Times

Beyond the obvious legal repercussions, the abbot’s apparent lust for women, money and bling runs counter to the virtues of chastity and austere living that he has long sought to personify as one of the most prominent figures in Chinese Buddhism. To his growing legion of critics, the scandal has heightened public cynicism about a society in which greed and crass materialism often seem to trump morality, especially among those in positions of power.

The informer, a mysterious figure using a name that translates as “seeker of justice,” has told reporters he is fed up with the abbot’s hypocrisy and wants to see the “grounds of Shaolin purified again.” He declined interview requests and has yet to appear in public, saying he is afraid for his safety following threats from what he called “Shi Yongxin’s henchmen.”

During a visit to the temple last week, the modest grey-brick pavilion where Shi Yongxin lives and works was padlocked, and monastery officials declined interview requests. In a statement posted online, they called the allegations against Shi Yongxin “vicious, groundless libel.”

Local police officials say they have opened an investigation, perhaps moved by the media maelstrom and a public finger wag by the powerful State Administration for Religious Affairs, which warned that the scandal threatened to tarnish Chinese Buddhism.

A monk sells souvenirs and religious trinkets at the Shaolin Temple in Dengfeng, China, July 31, 2015. — Picture by Adam Dean/The New York Times

Critics have complained for years that Shi Yongxin has over-commercialised Shaolin through product licensing and overseas franchises, including plans for a US$300 million (RM1.2 billion) luxury Shaolin kung fu resort and golf course in southeastern Australia.

Like the paying tourists who flock to Shaolin’s hourly “fighting monks” acrobatic show, other controversies have come and gone, including reports that the monastery spent more than US$400,000 on “luxury toilets” and an initial public stock offering that was scuttled amid criticism that monks sworn to asceticism should not be playing the stock market.

News accounts have also detailed Shi Yongxin’s taste for Apple products and gold-filament robes — all gifts, he pointed out — and a 2011 Xinhua report said the authorities were investigating claims that he managed to escape prosecution after being caught in a brothel raid.

Through it all, the abbot has remained stoic, refusing to respond to allegations of impropriety while brushing off requests to release details of the monastery’s finances, which include those of Shaolin Intangible Assets Management, a corporation that invests in seven Buddhist-themed enterprises and is largely owned by him.

“If these things are problems, they would have become problems by now,” he told the BBC elliptically during a visit to London last year.

Monks talk together outside before a kung fu performance at the Shaolin Temple in Dengfeng, China, July 31, 2015. — Picture by Adam Dean/The New York Times

Even if officially atheist, China’s ruling Communist Party has come to appreciate Shaolin’s global profile and its ability to generate revenue. Judging from the parade of officials who have visited in recent years, many also evidently believe in the mythological protective powers of Shaolin’s fighting monks, a reputation dating from the seventh century, when, as the story goes, a band of 13 monks saved a Tang dynasty prince from a predacious warlord.

Appreciative officials have returned the favour, giving Shi Yongxin a US$125,000 luxury vehicle and anointing him as a representative to the country’s ceremonial legislature, the National People’s Congress. His other political sinecure is a top job with the state-run Buddhist Association of China.

Shi Yongxin’s defenders say successful people invariably draw enemies. Li Xiangping, director of the Religion and Society Research Institute at East China Normal University, said the critics had misunderstood his role as a bridge between Buddhism and the secular world, and especially a government that has the ultimate say over religious affairs in China.

“They think monks should just study scripture really hard and sit meditating morning and night,” Li said. “But if you really want to promote Buddhism and influence society, you have to interact with the society.”

Amid a party campaign against corruption and gluttony that has toppled scores of powerful figures, the fact that the story has remained alive in the tightly controlled state news media for so many days does not bode well for Shi Yongxin. On Monday, news outlets gleefully reported that he failed to show up in Thailand over the weekend for a previously scheduled martial arts performance because he was “tied up” with the investigation. — The New York Times